A Different Blue

A Different Blue by Amy Harmon



Because of you,

I’ve always known who I am.





Prologue


AUGUST 1993



The heat was stifling, and the little girl tossed in the back seat. Her face was flushed, and

the blanket she laid on had ridden up and her cheek lay against the plastic seat. She slept on,

seemingly unbothered. She was amazingly resilient for such a tiny girl. Didn't cry often, didn't

complain. Her mother rolled down the windows all the way, not that it helped all that much, but

the sun had gone down and it no longer beat against the car. The darkness was a relief, even if

it was still over 100 degrees outside, plus it made them less conspicuous. The air-conditioner

worked well enough as long as the car was in motion, but they had been sitting in a wedge of

paltry shade watching the truck for two hours, waiting for the man to come out.

The woman behind the wheel bit at her fingernails and debated whether or not to give it up. What

would she say to him? But she needed help. The money she had taken from her mother hadn't lasted

long. Ethan's parents had given her $2,000, but gas and motels and food ate it up quicker than

she would have ever believed. So she'd done a few things along the way she wasn't proud of, but

she rationalized that she did what she had to do. She had a kid now. She had to take care of

her, even if it meant trading sex for money or favors. Or drugs, a little voice whispered inside

her head. She pushed the thought away, knowing she wasn't going to last long. She needed another

hit.

She had come so far. She couldn't believe she had ended up here, not that far from home. A few

hours is all. And she had been halfway across the country and back with nothing to show for it.

Suddenly, he was there, walking back toward the truck. He pulled his keys from his pocket and

attempted to unlock the passenger door. He was met by a scruffy grey and black dog that had been

sleeping beneath the vehicle, waiting, like she was, for the man to return to his truck. The dog

circled the man's legs as he jimmied the handle back and forth. She heard the man curse under

his breath.

“Damn thing. Gonna have to replace that handle.”

The man managed to yank the passenger door open, and the dog leaped up into the seat, confident

of his place in the world. The man shut the door behind the dog and wiggled the handle once

more. The man didn't see her watching him. He just walked around the front of his truck, climbed

in behind the wheel, and eased the truck and trailer out of the parking space he had occupied

for the last few hours. His eyes slid right over her as he rumbled past, not pausing, not

hesitating. Wasn't that just typical? Not even a second look. Not even a second thought. Anger

welled up inside her. She was tired of being looked over, passed by, ignored, rejected.

She started her car and followed him, keeping far enough back that he wouldn't get suspicious.

But why would he? He didn't even know she existed. That made her invisible, didn't it? She would

follow him all night if she had to.





AUGUST 5, 1993



The call came in just before four o'clock in the afternoon, and Officer Moody was in no mood for

it. His shift was about to end, but he told dispatch he would respond and pulled into the

parking lot of the Stowaway. If the name was an indicator, only stowaways would want to stay at