By Bettyann Moore
Anywhere, Rhonda thought, I want to be anywhere, but here.
She had just left her mother-in-law’s house. No, ex-mother-in-law’s house. No, that wasn’t it. Former? Still? What did one call one’s mother-in-law once the tie that bound them is dead?
Rhonda’s head swam. She preferred the numbness of the last week. She aimed her car toward town, trying not to think. To feel.
She saw a sign, yanked the steering wheel, the cars behind her squealing their brakes as she crossed two lanes of traffic. An empty spot in front of the building, her first break in eons.
Fantasy Destinations the sign declared. Rhonda only saw the words “destinations” and “open.” She needed a destination. Now.
She swept into the tiny office, startling the young man whose eyes had been glued to his monitor. He barely had time to minimize the porn site before the wild-eyed redhead was upon him.
“M … may I help you?” he stammered. He couldn’t stand to greet her, not at that point.
Rhonda ignored him as her eyes scanned the walls behind him. Cool, blue-green water beckoned. Palm trees swayed. She could almost smell the ocean.
Never taking her eyes off one of the posters, she demanded, “Where can I go right now?”
“The Cayman’s are hot right now,” the young man said, spiel at the ready.
“But can I go there now?” Rhonda insisted.