Chapter 7
“So, here’s kind of the thing,” Thumper said, settling into a confidential tone. He looked around, as if for spies, and continued. “I don’t have any money.”
Not huge, as revelations went, and one I probably should have seen coming. I’m not saying I was proud of my plan to ride the coattails of a kid half my age across the country in retaliation for his f*****g around with my husband, but plans were thin on the ground, and to date this had been the best one to present itself. I had to get back to Seattle some kind of way, and half of the money in my wallet—which was to say half of my net financial worth—was in the form of a brightly colored currency from a country that the cashier at this truck stop probably couldn’t point to on a map. Thirty-five quetzales wouldn’t get me that
