Maybe it was the crack about smoking. Maybe it was getting caught doing something stupid and careless and preventable. Whatever the cause, I snapped. “When have you ever been stressed out? What would you have to be stressed out about? Because you can’t find an Offender episode on TV? Because somebody accidentally made eye contact with you at the dump? You don’t know anything about stress! You’ve never lived in the real world, never had to deal with . . .”
I ran out of gas as Petty’s expression became icy steel and she walked toward me. I backed up until I hit the wall.
She poked me in the chest. “I never knew my mother. I was kidnapped by her husband. I’ve been locked in my bedroom every night for my whole life. I almost died of the flu because my dad wouldn’t take me to a doctor. I’ve been assaulted at the dump and had to fight for my life. I was attacked by Randy King. I’m on the run from the law. And now I’m having to drag a whiny boy along with me so I can find my real father. So don’t tell me I don’t know about stress, you sheltered, spoiled brat!”
She yelled the last part and slugged me hard in the arm. It hurt.
A voice shouted from inside the motel. “Shut the fuck up!”
“You shut up!” Petty shouted back.
I stood rubbing my arm, wishing I could redo the last thirty minutes, realizing that she was right. I was a sheltered, spoiled brat.
“Petty, I’m sorry. I won’t take anything of yours ever again.”
“If you do? I’m going to do more than slug you.” She touched the knife beneath her shirt.
My nose twitched but didn’t say anything. The air in the room seemed chillier now. Her wall of suspicion had returned, and I’d built it for her. I’d blown it.
“Petty . . .” I said.
She ignored me, walked to the couch and lay down with her back to me.
I'D THOUGHT DEKKER was my friend, but now I didn’t know anymore. Although my dad—-or the man I’d thought was my dad—-had been silent and sullen the last years of his life, he’d been solid, dependable, always there.
I wanted to talk to Deirdre Walsh. I wanted her to be real and to be my true friend. But the picture of Deirdre in my mind morphed into Roxanne. Roxanne and her cherry--pink hair, her big, black--rimmed eyes. Roxanne, who didn’t want anything from me. She was my friend. She’d said so, and I believed her. I held on to that picture of Roxanne in my head with all my strength, and I felt a little better.
I sat up on the couch. Dekker started, sitting there on the bed, like I was going to jump up and cut him.
“So we’re going to Paiute first thing tomorrow, right?” I said.
“Yes,” Dekker said. “Whenever you want.”
“Do you mind if I turn on the TV?” I said.
“No,” Dekker said. “Do you want me to go get you a snack or something? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Just say the word.”
He was trying to make it up to me. It didn’t exactly excuse what he’d done, but it seemed to me he really was sorry. Hearing about the rock show in Kansas City changed something inside me. That was the reason he hadn’t wanted to bring me to Denver, not because he didn’t like me. This revelation loosened the tension in my jaw and chest, giving way to relief, which made me want to forgive him. Eventually. For now I figured he could squirm a little so he’d know his behavior was unacceptable.
“Maybe we could go get some ice cream in a little bit,” I said.
“Sure,” he said in an eager voice. “I think I saw a Dairy Queen not too far from here.”
I sat on the chair and faced the television. He flicked on the remote and handed it to me. I channel surfed, not really seeing the TV, thinking about my baby pictures and my real name. Anne Marie Rhones. Maybe when I found my real dad, I’d change my name back. Anne Marie Bellandini. It sounded exotic, like the name of someone who traveled a lot and wore big hats. I pictured my new name, my new family, my new home, my new life—-maybe in Paiute, Colorado.
I woke with a start. I must have nodded off. The motion and sound on the TV remained the same, Dekker’s position in the chair hadn’t changed. But my OODA Loop activated. Something was different. I listened. Glanced quickly around.
Someone was outside the door.
I jumped off the bed, startling Dekker. “What the—-”
I held my finger to my lips and grabbed onto my knife, listening for sounds beyond the room, sounds hidden by TV noise.
Fright stiffened Dekker’s shoulders as he stared at me. An urgent knock at the door jangled his limbs.
“Gas leak,” shouted a familiar voice. “We need everybody out in the parking lot immediately.”
I shook my head at Dekker but he leapt to the door as if he couldn’t see me.
“The water and now the gas,” Dekker said. “A real palace I picked out for us, huh?”
In my mind I shouted NO! but he reached for the doorknob as I dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. I heard the knob turn just as the door was kicked inward. The sounds of Dekker straining to close the door were drowned out by the voice on the other side.
“Open this door, you son of a bitch!” Someone repeatedly threw himself against the door. It slammed against the wall and there was scuffling.
I heard Dekker gargle, as if someone held his throat.
“Where is she, you little bastard?”
It was the voice of Randy King.
Chapter 23
I STARED INTO the furious face of Randy King, who slammed the door shut before throwing me onto the bed, knocking the wind out of me.