Pieces of Hate Read Free Page A

now, and from what she could see, there was absolutely no sign that it had ever been there. Forcing herself to calm down, she glanced at the officer as she continued, “. . . and I, um . . . well, I . . .” She glanced back at that place where the thing had been, just to make sure. What could she tell the highway patrolman when she wasn’t even sure what had happened? Had she dreamed the whole thing? Had she gotten so tired she’d pulled over to — yes, that was it. It would have to do for now.
    “I got very tired,” she said, looking at him again. “There didn’t seem to be any rest stops or motels or restaurants ahead and I figured there wouldn’t be for miles, maybe hours . . . so I pulled over to take a nap. I guess I slept longer than intended.”
    He nodded. “Have you been drinking?”
    She flinched, offended by the suggestion. “No, of course I haven’t been drinking, I’ve been sleeping. I’m on my way from Los Angeles to Harlie to see my sister because she’s dy . . . she’s, um, sick. In the hospital. Very sick.”
    He nodded again. “Sorry, ma’ am. I was just asking. That’s part of my job. You did the right thing, you know. Pulling over like that. You might’ve saved yourself and somebody else by doing that. But in the future, try to plan ahead so that won’t happen again. It’s a good idea to make sure you’re plenty rested up before you start on a long trip.”
    She just nodded, not knowing what to say.
    The patrolman stood. “You have a safe trip, now. And hope your sister gets better.”
    He nodded with a rather tight smile, then walked away. She looked in her rearview mirror and saw him getting into his white patrol car, watched as he pulled the door closed with a muffled clump, and waited for him to start his engine. But he didn’t.
    Margaret sucked in a deep breath and let it out sharply as she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, then scrubbed her palms over her face vigorously. She lit a cigarette, took a deep drag as she started the Lexus, then backed out of the ditch. This time, it was easy . . . but she remembered it being impossible last night . . . if, indeed, that had happened at all.
    Once she’d backed up, she heard the patrol car start. He pulled around the Lexus, waving as he got back on the interstate and drove away.
    Margaret stared at the large section of ground that had — unless she’d dreamed it — been occupied by some gigantic, glowing craft the night before. She could still almost see it . . . a ghost-like memory of it, filling her windshield, swallowing her view of the desert.
    She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, muttering. “What happened to me?”
    After awhile, she took a deep breath, put the car in gear and pulled back onto the interstate . . .
     
    3
     
    Harlie was a small town about eighty miles east of Tucson. The biggest hotel in town was the Royal House, which was where the reunion was being held. She decided she wouldn’t be caught dead staying in the same hotel as some of her former classmates from out of town. As she drove around, she saw a Motel 6, the Cactus Flower Motor Inn, a ratty little joint called simply Desert Cottages, and a couple of bed and breakfast establishments that were probably overpriced. She finally settled on a Best Western Inn on the very edge of Harlie, near the freeway. It wasn’t exactly what she’d grown accustomed to on her frequent business trips as a successful woman in the high-pressure advertising biz, but it was a far cry from having to go outside in the middle of the night if she wanted ice.
    The second her things were scattered over her bed, Margaret shed her clothes and took a long hot shower.
    She took her time under the spray of water. Her body was stiff from sleeping all night in her car and she’d developed an industrial-strength headache during the remainder of her drive to Harlie. She’d spent that whole drive going over and over her memories of the night