Chapter 4
It was 7:18 AM when Mark read Susan’s note on the kitchen table, and 7:29 when he received Susan’s curt text reply. Mark decided the best course of action was to trail her down to Carolina Beach. He caught the inbound route 9 CATS bus on Central Avenue a few minutes after 8:00 AM. He had a change of clothes in his black-yellow backpack.
At 8:15 AM he was leaving the Charlotte bus station and walking towards Exceptional Rent-A-Car on East Trade Street. He rented a nondescript 2011 white Ford Focus with unlimited mileage for two days. He signed the papers and was on his way, headed east-southeast. ‘Whatever you do, Susan, don’t open that damn trunk. Promise me that, my infuriating wife.’
Soon he was driving on US 74 East, passing under the Briar Creek Bridge at 8:40 AM as a cyclist with an orange shirt crossed over from left to right. Damn, that cyclist dude sure has a bright orange jersey. Probably for safety. Or, might he be from the Netherlands? A Tennessee alum?
He was running about two and a half hours behind Susan. Mark drove a little on the fast side, but never more than six miles an hour over the posted speed limit. He couldn’t afford another speeding ticket. He couldn’t afford the lost time, either.
After passing the sweeping curve on US 74 in Wadesboro known as the holy roller, he stopped for an energy drink. Mark gulped down a Monster Blue Zero and was on his way again. Ah, now I feel more alive. Susan, my not-so-sweetie, I’m coming for your trunk. No, not for your fat ass – for the gold that you don’t even know is in there. I’m closing in, darling. Closing the gap.
After bypassing Maxton, he couldn’t hold it any longer; he had to urinate. He was down to less than sixty seconds. God, I’ve got to go like a racehorse! Please let there be a convenience store at this exit. Please. That or I’m going to flood the floorboard.
By some strange bladder-full twist of fate, his chosen piss stop was the same convenience store on NC 710 that Susan had stopped at, about one hundred and forty-five minutes earlier.
Mark parked the white sedan on the side of the little building and immediately headed for the men’s room. He relieved himself and grabbed some pretzels and a Zero candy bar. He used his only viable credit card to pay for the two items.
“Is there a minimum amount for a credit card purchase?” Mark asked the older, white-haired man behind the counter.
“No, no minimum, mate. Your plastic’s good here,” the clerk-owner stated in a military-like manner.
“Ah, excellent. Thanks.” I should’ve taken out some cash before leaving. Oh, well.
“Ah, a van Buren, huh?” the store’s proprietor casually asked as he handed Mark’s card back to him. “You don’t see that last name ‘round here much. Well, not unless you’re in the library reading a US History book.”
“Yeah, it’s Dutch. Pretty rare around here, I guess.”
“Oh, but something that is statistically very odd occurred this morning.”
“Oh?” Mark was genuinely curious.
“You’re the second person that has come into my little store within the past three hours with that last name.”
“Oh, wow. A female? White with black hair?”
“Yep. Your wife, by chance?” The owner’s eyes rose above his bifocals, lending an almost furtive glance.
“Yeah, you got it. She got an early start on our annual beach trip. I had to attend to some business and secure the house. She was eager to get rolling after she downed three cups of coffee.”
“Ah, I hear ya. I know the drill. What beach?”
“Carolina Beach.”
“The wild and raucous party beach.”
“Well, we’ll be the tame ones, I’m sure.”
“Well, have a nice time. Don’t do what I used to do down there in the early ‘70s. Ha-ha …”
“Ok, thanks. And likewise.” What did he do down there in the early ‘70s? Did he cruise the beach in a speedo? Was he pumping old wives in the exterior showers? Was he selling/doing dope on the drive-on beach area known as Freeman Park?
Once back on the highway, Mark became anxious. Please, please, don’t let her open that trunk. Gosh, I hope I can find our car down there in a trunk-unopened condition. I’ll search all of Pleasure Island if I have to.
The dashed white lane lines taunted him. He switched the radio to a beach music station. It seemed to have a temporary tranquilizing yet positive effect on his mind. He was confident again that all was going to be fine. Relax, sport, you will soon be the golden boy.