He shakes his head. “Just wanted to know why my daughter wasn’t in school. I brushed her off, but she looked suspicious.”
I don’t say anything, but my heart leaps a little. We can’t get out of this shithole fast enough for my taste.
He sits down on the bed and rubs his face with both hands. Since leaving Portland he’s traded his glasses for colored contacts; they make his eyes a deep oaken brown. He’s grown a mustache, too, which I hate; it makes him look geeky, and it tickles when we kiss. But he doesn’t look like himself, which I suppose is the point.
He pulls a battered road atlas out of his bag. It’s old and dog-eared, with notes scrawled in the margins. A few times it’s led us to look for landmarks or roads that just don’t exist anymore. Aiden doesn’t want to use a phone or a GPS; he says the cops will be able to track us that way.
“We could try our luck in Arizona.” He flips through the atlas. “It’ll be warm enough through the winter that we could camp—stay off the beaten path.”
“Arizona?” I make a face. “Can’t we go to a city?”
“Not yet,” he says calmly. “There’s an AMBER Alert out for you, Elyse. Bigger cities mean more people who might recognize us from the news. We can’t have anyone calling the cops.”
I don’t say anything for a minute. I know all about the AMBER Alert; we’ve been monitoring the news when we can. Aiden’s kind of paranoid about searching the Internet, but a few times now we’ve seen something on TV or in a newspaper. They always use my freshman-year school photo, which is stupid, because that picture barely looks like me anyway; I’ve lost weight since then, and my face is much more angular now.
It never seems like a major search is being mounted, though, to be honest. Just a few little line items in the corner of a newspaper. I should feel relieved. It means we might stand a chance of evading them. But honestly, a part of me just feels forgotten. Why isn’t my mom out there hitting the talk show circuit, passing out flyers? Why aren’t my friends making sure my face stays front and center on the news?
There are a few pictures they’ve used for Aiden. It’s surreal how different he looks in each image. Bearded, clean-shaven; glasses or none; hair blond, brown, red. Sometimes he looks like he’s barely out of college. Sometimes he looks fifty. Every time I see a new one, it makes something stir in the pit of my stomach. Which Aiden have I fallen in love with? Is it the real one? And how would I even know?
Now I shake off all these thoughts. Everything would be okay if I could just talk him into trying a bigger town. Somewhere I won’t be stuck in a drab motel all day; somewhere I can stretch my legs, stride out into the world. Become the person I’ve always been meant to be.
“No one ever called the cops in my old neighborhood,” I try. “But that’s because all my neighbors were cooking meth. We just need to find out where the drug dealers live.”
He looks up at me. “That’s an idea.” He flips back to California. “Humboldt County, maybe. Redway, or Garberville. I could work odd jobs on one of the pot farms. It’s not the growing season, but they might still have something.”
My heart sinks. “I meant finding a neighborhood in L.A., or Chicago or something.” I can’t quite keep a whiny note out of my voice. “I’m tired of living out in the middle of nowhere.”
“I never told you this’d be easy,” he snaps.
We’ve been squabbling like this for a week or so. It’s never over anything big—but we’ve been short with each other, easily piqued. I mean, there are still moments that are wonderful. A few nights ago we drove out to Death Valley and looked at the stars, and I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. In Idaho we played in the snow. But those moments are almost always overshadowed when some hotel clerk or waitress or person on the street looks at us a little too closely. It always puts him on edge.
Which means I should tread carefully. But I’ve been cooped up in this motel for days now, and I can’t seem to hold back.
“We’re in this together, Aiden. I should get a say in where we go next.” I cross my arms over my chest, then uncross them, feeling like a petulant child.
“I thought you wanted to live off the land.” There’s a mean-spirited sneer on his lips; his voice goes shrill and mocking. “‘I’ll go anywhere, as long as I’m with you. And as long as it’s a major metropolitan center.’”
“You know what?” I stand up off the bed. “Maybe you need a reminder. You’re not really my father. You’re not actually in charge of me.”
“Then stop acting like a child,” he says. “Do you even understand what I’ve risked for you? If I get caught I will go to prison.” He overenunciates the word, as if I’m stupid. “Sex with a minor is third-degree rape in Oregon. Plus they’ll get me on kidnapping. The FBI could get involved, because we crossed state lines. This isn’t a game.”
A hard laugh escapes from the back of my throat. “Oh, it isn’t? I didn’t realize. Because I’ve been having so much fun.”
He slams the atlas shut. There’s a hard glint in his eyes that I’ve never seen there before.
“Tell me, Elyse, what are you contributing to this situation, really? How are you helping us survive? Because the last I checked, I was doing everything. You talk a good game about how independent you are, but you’d be helpless without me. You’d starve to death in a fucking ditch.”
Without another word I get up and go into the bathroom. I shut the door firmly and quietly and lock it.
In the mirror my face is pale and drawn, my eyes cavernous. I’ve lost weight—not because I’m going hungry, but because I’ve been too stressed to eat. I pull my hair back off my neck and splash water on my face.
A soft knock comes at the door.
“Elyse, I’m sorry. Please, can you open the door so we can talk about this?” He waits for an answer, but I don’t give one. “I’m just scared. This has been hard for both of us.”
“I know.” I lean my head against the door. “Um . . . I just want to be alone for a little while. So I can calm down. Is that okay?”
He’s silent for a moment. I wonder what he’s doing, if he’s still standing there.
“Okay. I’m going to head out and get us some dinner. When I come back we can talk.”
“Something besides pizza,” I say. “Please?”
“Okay.”
When I hear his footsteps fade, I slump onto the bathroom floor, staring across the dingy linoleum. This isn’t the man who took me to the ocean for the first time, who kissed the salt spray from my face. This isn’t the man who put me in a spotlight and told me I belonged there. This sullen, paranoid man is a stranger to me.
And I barely recognize myself, for that matter. Not just my reflection, with its dyed-brown hair and sunken eyes, but the person I’ve become. Bored and bratty and irritable.
I want my mom.
The thought pops into my head out of nowhere. Which is ridiculous. I can’t think of a time that I’ve ever gone running to her for comfort or help. I’ve never had that luxury. Still, right this second, all I want is to hear her voice. Her raspy “hello,” followed by a pause as she lights her cigarette and takes a drag, the way I’ve seen her do a thousand times.
What would it hurt? It’s not like she’s set up to track a call. And Aiden’s made clear we’re leaving town as soon as possible anyway.
Slowly I crack open the door and peek out. The room is empty and silent, lit by a single lamp on his side of the bed. There’s an ancient rotary phone next to it. I pick up the receiver and dial Mom’s number.
It rings, and rings, and rings. I wonder if I misdialed. Mom made me memorize her cell number when I was little, and she’s never changed it. I hang up and dial again. Even if she’s at work or asleep or away from her phone, I should get her voice mail by now. A fresh panic washes over me.
I hang up again and sit on the edge of the bed. My stomach swims with nausea. Did she get her service turned off? Did she forget to pay her bill?
I bite the corner of my lip. Then I dial Brynn, hooking the numbers with shaking fingers.