“The kind I can’t run from anymore.”
Several hours later, I’m not even sure what state we’re in when Mom pulls into a roadside motel with a forest of birch trees behind it. The building is nondescript, save for the flashing neon sign of a girl diving into a pool, and it’s remote enough to be unsettling without the circumstances that led us there. The closest sign of civilization is a tiny strip mall we passed a mile back, whose highlights included a pawnshop, a secondhand clothing store, and a gas station with only one working pump. Mom smooths her hair and checks her lipstick in the rearview mirror before climbing out and telling me to stay in the car.
“Your shirt,” I say, and she pauses with the door open to look down at the blood on her shoulder. My blood from when we’d switched cars at Walgreens.
She removes the pins holding up her long auburn hair and arranges it carefully over one shoulder. Then she’s gone, disappearing into the office and returning minutes later with a key for room 5.
The chill from the air conditioner sets my teeth chattering again, and I let Mom steer me to the bed and sit me down on the salmon-colored bedspread. The curtains are already drawn, but she pulls them together again before hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside knob.
She leaves me again but returns quickly, carrying my backpack, her duffel, and the bags from her eight-minute shopping trip. She speaks while she removes various first-aid items and starts cleaning the nicks on my arms before moving to my head. Warm fingers prod around the source of the pain along my temple. “I can’t take you to a hospital. We’re going to have to do the best we can on our own. It’s not deep, but I have no way to stitch you up, so it’s likely going to scar.” Her fingers slide an inch to my hairline. “Are you dizzy?”
“Not as much as I was.”
“Good.”
It takes another five minutes before she sits back at my feet and lifts her hand to chew on her thumbnail, a gesture so familiar in such an unfamiliar situation that I get a lump in my throat. “You may have a concussion.”
I’d had one once before, from falling out of a tree. This feels worse. “You promised to explain. Mom—”
“Stop.” Her back snaps tight. “There isn’t time to tell you everything. I need to get rid of that car and—”
“Then tell me some of it. Anything.” She doesn’t want to, that much is obvious, but perhaps because I’m literally bleeding in front of her, she starts talking.
“I’ve been hiding for a very long time, since before I had you.”
“Did Dad know?”
She hesitates, as though the answer might reveal more than she wants. “He…No, he didn’t know.” The bed dips as she sits next to me. “I was careful, always careful. Sometimes I could almost believe they weren’t looking anymore—” She bites off whatever she was going to say next. “But now it’s different. We can’t hide. They know what we look like, where we live….”
Because I showed them. That’s what she isn’t saying. I created a dating profile with a picture of the two of us standing in front of the house they’d broken into. There was no house number in the photo; it was mostly a tree and the side of the house. And I didn’t even use her full name. But someone found us. Less than two hours after I posted it.
That isn’t possible. People can’t be found like that, can they?
I’m going to be sick again.
She brushes the hair back from my head again, careful not to press too hard. “With a concussion, you need to be woken up every hour, so I’m going to set an alarm on this phone.” She moves to reach into another bag and presses a disposable cell phone into my hand. I try to give it back to her.
“Why can’t you just wake me?” I clamp my free hand down on her forearm when she doesn’t answer right away. “Mom?”
She flinches. “Because I have to go.” She extricates herself from my grip. “Listen carefully: You are not to leave this room for any reason. Do not open the door. Do not peer out the window. Do not use the room phone. Do not answer the room phone. Do not make outgoing calls on this phone.” She hesitates, then rips the cord out of the wall. If I were inclined to ignore her demands—which I’m not—she just took the choice from me. “It’s only for a few days. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
I stare at her. “You’re not seriously leaving me? Why can’t we go to the police?”
“Because the police can’t help us!”
I recoil at the sudden volume of her voice.
In a softer tone, she says, “I’m sorry, but there’s no time anymore. There are people looking for us right now. Think how fast they found us from that profile. They probably already have Mr. Guillory’s car, which means they are way too close to finding that car.” She points behind her to the silver car parked outside our room. “I have to go, and you aren’t coming with me. You can’t.”
My jaw is quivering. “You can’t just leave me like this. You haven’t told me anything. Why are we hiding? Who is chasing us? How do you know about stealing cars?”
She keeps silent, checking the room again, drawing the curtains still further closed, looking everywhere but at me.
“Please take me with you,” I say. But my pleading had no effect; it never does. Not when I’m begging to stay out an hour later or to get a ride with a friend whose car she hasn’t inspected. Her paranoia is making a scary kind of sense now, but it’s also contagious.
“No, you’ll be safe here if you do what I say. Do you understand?”
All I understand is that my mom has been lying to me my entire life. “If you leave, how am I supposed to be safe? I don’t know anything!”
She stops when I practically scream that last word, turning to look at me for the first time in minutes. Her gaze lingers on the bandage on my head before lowering to the drops of blood on my shirt. Her fingers twitch at her side, and she’s taking a step toward me before she can stop herself. And then she’s holding me, stroking my head.
“If there was any other way, I would take it. I made a mistake. When the time is right, I—not you—will be the one to pay for it.” She pulls back enough to meet my gaze without fully letting me go. “And if I didn’t think you were strong enough or smart enough for me to leave you…” She looks up and blinks her eyes dry before meeting mine again. “You have to be strong right now. We both do. I know you’re scared and confused, but every second counts. Tell me you understand that, Katelyn.” She shakes me a little when she says my name.