I made a U--turn, cursing the angel on my shoulder.
I BOUGHT MY ticket, pushed open the restroom door and, after I’d investigated every stall, walked into the last one. Luckily it was large. I wedged my suitcase between the toilet and the wall then sat on it. Unless someone got on his knees and looked under the door, I was invisible. From my bag I pulled a paperback and started reading but saw I’d become too engrossed and my OODA Loop would disappear entirely. I put the book back in my bag and promised myself I’d get it out once the bus crossed the Nebraska state line.
It was going to be a long night. I sat listening, turning over in my head what I would do if Randy King came busting in there. My back ached from sitting awkwardly, but I hoped it would help me stay awake and alert.
Twenty minutes later the restroom door opened and I heard high heels on the linoleum. Then I heard the stall doors being pushed open one by one. And finally: “Petty Moshen? Are you in here?”
I held my breath, sitting silent and still. More clicking high heels coming toward my stall. A tinny knock on the stall door. A female voice Randy couldn’t fake. “Petty Moshen?”
“No,” I said.
“Aren’t you the one who just bought a ticket to Detroit?”
“No.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, irritation peppering her voice. “Come on out here. There’s a man who wants to talk to you.”
How had he found me?
“Please,” I said. “Please tell him I’m not here.”
“Come on out of there, now.”
“Please,” I whispered.
“He says he has something of yours.”
Has something of mine?
“Does this man have a big mustache?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I’d probably notice if he did. This kid doesn’t look like he could grow any facial hair at all.”
Dekker?
The woman huffed. “Now come out of there. I need to get back to work.” Her shoes made brisk sharp sounds as she walked across the linoleum and out the door.
I got to my feet and unlocked the stall. I went to the restroom door and peeked out. A blur of passengers—-all ages, sizes, and races—-trooped wearily past carrying suitcases and backpacks. In the midst of this migration stood Dekker.
“Come out of there,” he said.
I scanned the crowd once more. “Is anyone with you?”
“It’s just me.”
“What do you want?”
He rolled his eyes. “Would you just come here?”
I hesitated, then walked into the lobby, keeping an eye out for Randy or Mr. Dooley.
“Nobody’s here,” Dekker said.
“Why did you come back?”
“I was at the last stoplight on the way out of town,” he said, “and I started wondering.” He lowered his voice. “What could make a girl so desperate she’d kidnap a delivery boy and then turn around and give him a thousand dollars? And all day I kept thinking you had a smudge on your face, but then at some point you turned your head and I saw what it really was.”
I put my hand to the cheek Randy had slapped.
“So I had to come back and return your money and make sure you were going to be okay.”
In that moment I had an odd sensation in my chest and arms. They were tingling. I realized what it was. I wanted to hug Dekker, and it was very nearly a physical pull. Which set off alarms.
“I’m fine,” I said. “And I won’t take that money back. That’s yours. You earned it. I threatened to shoot you.”
He seemed to mull this over. “When does your bus leave?”
“Tomorrow morning at ten forty--five.”
“What are you going to do until then?”
“Sit in the bathroom,” I said.
“How about you come with me instead?”
I looked at him and then away. My muscles all seemed to loosen then, while my stomach simultaneously contracted. Everything jumbled in my head, the signals in my body contradicting each other, jockeying for control. What was going on? “Come with me” sounded comforting, thrilling, and terrifying at the same time. My dad hadn’t trained me for this.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I said.
“I didn’t take you to the police, so that should tell you something right there.”
“Maybe that’s where you’re going to take me right now,” I said, but I didn’t really mean it.
“I know a place you can stay tonight, and it’s not the county jail.”
“I don’t think I should—-”
“It’s safer and more comfortable than a bathroom. Come on.”
I thought about how Dad had said I could trust Mr. Dooley, and I could trust Randy King. But he’d also said, “You judge a man by his actions.” The way those two acted was not honorable. Dekker, on the other hand, had come back for me, and tried to give back the money.
These were trustworthy actions.
It seemed Dad hadn’t been the best judge of character. Maybe I could do better. Maybe I could figure out who to trust all on my own. I went in the bathroom, got my suitcase and hauled it out to the lobby.
Dekker picked it up.
“Let’s go,” he said.
I followed him out the door.
Chapter 13