After locking the door, I got ready for bed and looked at photos on the wall of Roxanne and the girls who must have been her sisters. They all resembled each other but Roxanne didn’t look enough like either of them to be a twin. There were ribbons on the walls too, along with medals for science fairs and trophies for tennis and golf and go--cart racing. A soft stuffed bear sat on the pillows wearing a knitted navy--blue striped sweater that said, Mr. Wugglesby.
I let myself imagine that this was my room and that Uncle Curt was my dad. But I imagined my real mom was just down the hall, maybe knitting sweaters for my other stuffed animals, ready to come running if I called out to her in the night. I closed my eyes and whispered, “Good night, Mom. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
I imagined her saying, See you in the morning light.
Tuesday
A KNOCK ON my door woke me with a start.
I leapt to my feet and took hold of my blade. The bedside lamp was still on although sunlight streamed in the window.
“Petty, it’s me, Roxanne.”
I stealth--walked to the door and listened.
“Breakfast is ready.”
It was a female voice, and it did sound like the girl I’d met just a few hours ago. I unlocked and opened the door. There she stood with a steaming blue mug in her hand. She gave it to me, turned and walked toward the stairs.
“Come on,” she said.
I took a sip of the coffee, smelled bacon frying downstairs and decided to follow her.
Down in the kitchen, Dekker and Curt were putting away groceries from cloth bags.
“How are you this morning, lady?” Curt said to me.
“I’m fine,” I said, feeling bashful. Curt talked to me as if he knew me, as if I were one of his kids. I realized that the previous night’s easy camaraderie among family members was not just a show or a figment of my imagination.
“Have any weird dreams you want to report?” he asked me.
“I don’t think so.”
“I did. I dreamed my wife had facial hair. She took real good care of it, kept it clean and trimmed and everything, but walked around like this was totally normal. I love my wife, you know, but I think I’d really have to draw the line at a beard. She’s been telling me for years it’s just a matter of time. She’s Greek, you know.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Thanks for the visual, Dad,” Roxanne said.
I looked around at everyone and was struck by how easily and completely they’d invited me into their lives, without any hesitation. I felt like I owed them a glimpse inside my head, my life, which was a terrifying proposition. But I wanted to be real friends with them, and this sort of sharing seemed to be the currency around here.
I mustered up my courage. “Actually,” I said, “I’ve had this one dream over and over.”
Curt and Roxanne both stopped what they were doing and their eyebrows rose.
I told them about my drowning in the bathtub dream.
“Wow,” Curt said. “That’s intense.”
“What do you think, Rox?” Dekker said. “You ever take psych?”
“Yeah, but no dream analysis,” she said.
“It’s obvious to me what the dream means,” he said. “It symbolizes the control your dad had over you. He held you down, held you back, and you felt like you were suffocating, like you were drowning.”
If dreams really meant something, then his interpretation seemed logical. But the dream didn’t feel symbolic to me. It felt like what it was—-drowning. But what did I know?
“So maybe you won’t have that dream anymore,” Roxanne said. “Because you’re free now.”
“Sort of,” I said.
Roxanne pulled two boxes of hair dye out of one of the grocery bags. “I told you, Dad, dyeing Petty’s hair is like killing a unicorn. I can’t let you do it.”
“I’m not going to,” Curt said. “You are.”
“On the one hand,” she said to me, “I’ll be complicit in desecrating this work of art, but on the other I’ll get to play with your hair.”
We didn’t have time for this. This was TV--movie stuff—-not what real -people did if they were on the lam. What if Randy and Mr. Dooley came driving up while we were playing dress--up? Curt said himself that the cops would be on their way at some point. Probably sooner rather than later. If you were on the run, that’s what you did. You ran. Not dye your hair. I didn’t think I could sit still long enough.
“Wait,” I said. “We have to go. We don’t have time for—-”
“It won’t take long,” Curt said. “Plus I need to get the car gassed up and ready to go for you.”
Dekker held up a box of dye. “I still think it’s a dumb idea.”
He seemed so unconcerned I felt the muscles in my neck knot up.
“If you want to get out of Kansas and stay out of jail, you’d better do it,” Curt said.
“I’m going to look so emo,” Dekker said.
I actually started to wonder if they were keeping me here on purpose, that they’d called the cops themselves to get the Crimestopper money. But remembering the car collection in the barn and looking around this beautiful house, I realized my faulty reasoning.
Roxanne took my hand and pulled me toward the stairs. Over her shoulder she said to Dekker, “I’ll do Petty first, because hers’ll take longer to process. Wait for me in Mom and Dad’s bathroom.” To me, she said, “We’ve got time. Just relax.”
I tried to do as she said, but I listened hard for sirens.