The Girl She Used to Be by David Cristofano Read Free Book Online

“That’s one in ten,
     Sean. The odds of my survival are one in ten. Not too good, huh?” I gobble the rest and wipe my fingers on my jeans.
    I can feel him staring at me, stuck.
    Eventually, I say, “You asked me if I ever get to the point where I feel safe. The answer is
no
.”
    He reaches over and touches my leg in a way that is not romantic. “C’mon, no one is going to hurt you. We’re going to keep
     you safe.”
    I wash down the remainder of the orange cake and savor the flavor, as though it may be the last one I ever eat. “Like I said,
     Sean… math never lies.”
    Cape Charles is just as I imagined: another freaking pit stop. In this case, it’s your last chance to take a potty break before
     crossing the arduous Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel, a twenty-mile-long combination of bridge spans and tunnel pieces that must
     be the nightmare of every gephyrophobe and claustrophobe on the planet. If you’re going to take a break, this is a good place
     to take one. Though a bed-and-breakfast or two and a few antique shops give this town character, it still holds no more promise
     for me than any other two-month layover.
    And sure enough, we make our way to the motel with the paper-thin walls and the old radiators. The managers know we are coming
     and, like always, they are not happy. We walk around the side of the motel and it seems the only thing going for this place
     is its location right on the bay, with a hundred yards of grainy beach that points toward the bridge spans and the Chesapeake.
    The other marshal hands Sean the car keys and gets in the passenger side of another Explorer with a marshal who was waiting
     for us at the motel. Sean and I watch the vehicle speed away. We are now alone.
    As we head toward our rooms, Sean scopes the place, looking around every corner, behind every tree, up every stairwell.
    I cannot take my eyes off the water and the stream of cars flowing over the bay, all with a destination, with intent. I’m
     equally jealous and depressed.
    It is mid-May and it seems summer has arrived early in this part of Virginia. A breeze pushes us along to our rooms and it’s
     warmer and more inviting than anyone who works at this dump.
    “Listen,” Sean says, “are you curious about your last name at all?”
    I laugh at him. “Government issue. What is it?”
    “Howard.”
    “Geez, Michelle Howard. You threw me an extra syllable. How lavish.”
    We reach the door and he hands me my garbage-bag-suitcase, then gives me an additional plastic bag. “You’ll need this, too.”
    “Let me guess. Scissors and hair dye.”
    “And some other things, but the scissors and dye are the items you’ll need to use tonight.”
    I reach in the bag and pull out the box that has L’Oréal on the label. “Creamy Caramel?”
    “It’ll match your eyes.”
    “Probably not better than my natural color.”
    “Which is what?”
    I play with the doorknob to my room. “When I was six, it was sort of blond. It’s been dyed ever since. Based on the other
     hair on my body, I’m guessing it’s still blond. Or gray.”
    He reaches for his doorknob too. “Well, no matter what, I’m sure it will be stunning.”
    “And stiff.”
    He smiles and suddenly Matthew McConaughey returns. “I’ll be right over here. You need anything, just tap on the door or poke
     a hole through the wall or something.”
    I walk up quickly, stand on my toes, and kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Deputy Marshal Sean Douglas.”
    He blushes and loses his smile. “Sleep well, M. You’re safe with me.”

I INDEED FEEL QUITE SAFE WITH SEAN NEXT DOOR. HIS MERE SIZE—and commitment to acting as a valid protector—are enough to warm
     the cockles. I drop my head to my pillow and feel a rush of warmth that suggests slumber is a moment away. Even with being
     in a strange town and a strange bed and my hair now short and stinking of chemicals, I feel safe. Very safe.
    But now that there’s a knife pressed against my neck? Not so