24.
“Women under twenty-five require the husband’s co-signature in Utah,” the screengirl said.
“But I’m getting divorced.” Milly looked towards the car lot. “A van: one-way. Please? I’m a good driver.”
“Father?”
“Not an option.”
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t know yet.”
The screengirl sighed in sympathy. “Hardship exception — extra deposit.” A map appeared on-screen. “Here are cities with our drop-offs. Don’t make me regret this.”
Milly scanned her ID and then drove the rental van off the lot.
Stacked boxes awaited inside the house; Damien was nowhere near. Milly heaped stuff into the van, then pulled off the side of the road a few kilometers from the Regional checkpoint. She left music on.
🎵 “Sisyphus” – Andrew Bird 🎵
Milly opened the van door, pushed aside one of the guitar cases, and squeezed out the polymer-encased computer core. She grabbed a bottle of lighter fluid and a book of matches. Walking out into the sand, Milly’s phone rang.
She answered: “I’ve left.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Damien screamed.
“You don’t get to keep them. No one belongs to anyone.”
“I’m going to kill you!”
“No. No, I don’t think you will”—Milly exhaled—“not if you ever want what I now have. Thank you for helping me make a decision.” She hung up. “Block Damien.”
“OK, he’s blocked,” Cat responded.
She stuffed the computer core back in the van. Milly held up her phone, plucked the ID chip out, dropped it in the sand, and then lit the chip aflame.
There’s more to that computer when there’s time. But Milly was napping, remember? Now she’s waking up.