The ride was fifteen hours long. It was across country to a place she had never been and knew no one.
She woke after nine hours as the bus pulled into a stop. She left her seat, went into the diner, used the bathroom, had a light meal, then went back to the bus, and it drove on again.
At each mile more guilt dropped like dandruff and she began to look out the window, become conscious of those around her.
She was feeling younger, lighter, as if she were fifteen, going off to summer camp. Of course, she had never been fifteen, really, and never gone to summer camp.
Her entire life, to this minute, had been, since she was five, a constant torment. It was at five when her father left.