Sarah Frances made it as far as North Zulch, and then, she no longer knew her own mind. Maybe she should turn around, head back, the devil one knows etc. etc. But she remembered the way the heat seemed to stir the dust inside her kitchen, the sweltering light that pinned her to the chicken-scratch bareness of her backyard, the sunblistered tomatoes in her kitchen garden. But she had no money, not the kind that makes you free, gives you second chances, new starts. If she could just spend the night in a clean room, a room with starched white curtains and cool white sheets fitted snugly on a soft bed, if she could just put a cold wet cloth against her forehead and close her eyes, then she could think. She could make up her mind. Find the strength to leave, really leave, leave this life far behind her.