Chapter One
"I need a one-way ticket to anywhere," Valerie Burrows
commanded the girl behind the bus counter in downtown
Dallas. A charred piece of her wedding veil sagged onto her
face. Impatiently, she flipped the singed lace away, her
throat closing off the tears that threatened her vision.
On what was supposed to be the happiest day of her
life,
she reeked of smoke, not flowers, saw red not white, tasted
bile not cake.
Glancing up from the counter the
clerk's eyes widened,
making Valerie acutely aware of her appearance. On what was
supposed to be the happiest day of her life, she felt
traumatized, not joyous.
"Whe...re do you want to
go?" the clerk stammered.
"Anywhere, as long as I leave in the next five minutes,"
Valerie insisted, wishing people would stop staring. So she
looked like a crazy woman. After this morning maybe she was
a little loco.
"The bus to Amarillo is loading now,"
the agent advised,
her large brown eyes riveted to Valerie. "I have one seat
left. The one-way fare is sixty-five dollars."
Though
she preferred to travel by plane, there was no
time or way to get to the airport. She could take the bus or
stay and face the consequences of her actions.
Valerie dug the cash out of her Bottega Veneta purse
and
handed the money to the ticket agent. "I'll take it."
Dirty lace from her wedding veil fell onto her face
again, so she yanked the offending garment off her head and
threw the veil on top of her matching Louis Vuitton luggage.
The beautiful lace of her Vera Wang wedding gown was
streaked with gray and black. Burn streaks made a crazy
pattern on the silk that didn't accessorize the seed pearls.
The heel of one of her Stuart Weitzman pumps had
snapped
several blocks ago, and her feet were blistered. And yet her
heart beat on in spite of her ruined wedding.
The clerk handed her the ticket, sympathy in her dark
eyes. "The bus is ready. You're the last one to board."
Not even time to change. Head held high, spine locked in
place, she limped to the white steel carriage, her
suitcases trailing behind.
There, she handed her two
suitcases to a gawking young
man. He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand.
"Just load my luggage."
She glanced up to see faces
pressed against the glass
windows of the bus, gaping at her like she was a freak show.
Hadn't these people ever seen a runaway bride in
real
life before? Julia Roberts may have made the movie, but she
didn't own the copyright to wedding disasters.
With her carry-on bag hanging from her shoulder,
Valerie
marched up the steps of the waiting bus as if she walked
around in a wedding gown every day. The babble of sixty
voices ceased as she handed the driver her ticket.
He
mumbled, "Lord, I need to retire."
Her silk dress pressed against her legs and swished as
she made her way to the only empty seat on her getaway bus.
Thank God she'd ditched the petticoats in the Corvette.
A gray-haired woman glanced at her as she put her
luggage
in the overhead bin.
"Hm hm hm, I can't wait to hear
this story," the elderly
Hispanic woman said. "Are you all right?"
Valerie
plopped in the seat, her ruined silk gown making
a mighty swish. She exhaled loudly, her heart aching, her
eyes
blurring with unshed tears. For the last hour she'd been
holding her breath while making her escape.
But now, now all the pain she'd carefully controlled
broke free and she chuckled. Hysterical laughter rumbled
from deep inside her, echoed through the bus. A single tear
rolled down her cheek.
"I am now."