Kit ached from the memory of that sweetness, the way every worry, every memory vanished and all she could experience happened in the short distance between that baby and her. Giving birth to Charlie had felt like joining the human race. She had finally known love, and it was nothing like what she had felt with Manny. It was awe at seemingly nothing at all, it was what she felt when she was giving, when she heard her baby cry; it was dependence, heartbreak, a kind of rapture. She felt uplifted and bettered for having loved this baby. It all felt like a gift she didn’t deserve, but she was happy to have stolen.
Why had she smothered these memories, why had she not bathed in them and let them hold her over through hard times, let her be better to Charlie? How could she have let her daughter convince her that they were on opposite sides, when they were the very same? Why had she not told Charlie the story of her birth, how she came into the world and brought Kit with her?
She felt as if sucked into a violent current of sadness, bandied about, sobbing, swimming, her tears like a fluid she could breathe. She was scared at first, but then let the salty solution quiet her. The static cleared and every cell vibrated, liquid vibration all around and within her to her very core.
She could see herself then as a child, younger than Charlie and not clever or tough as she had always thought she had been, but as helpless as a motherless pup. When Manny found her, she had been a walking void, gutted and scraped clean. He entered the void and filled it with his perfect smile and made her feel like kin. His attention had warmed her through and through, his ideas had expanded her sense of possibility. He had taught her his trade and let her in on his secrets. She had been so grateful she wasn’t going back to foster care, she hadn’t realized that he was worse, far worse. Having never known the lasting affection of others, she had not known better than to call it love. Her throat closed up and she held her hands to her eyes as she remembered, even now, how sweet it was to have someone care for her. She had not been wrong to want those things. So lost and alone she thought she had found family in a criminal like Manny. She was not his family, or his lover; until this very moment, she was, and always had been, his prisoner.
Only now was it dawning on her that she had been his biggest con of all. With an elegant sleight of hand, he had taken her life, her body, her innocence. He had thrust himself into her bloodstream, put life inside her. And now that he had found her and Charlie, he would claim—or kill—them both.
Chapter Forty-Two
Charlie fought back drowsiness from her long day of excess.
“We’re almost to the motel,” Manny said.
She looked at the clock, after 9:00 p.m. “It’s so late though, do you think we should just call my mom and head back home? I can see your place another time,” she said. She had had her fill of adventure and wanted to end the day in her own bed. Maybe, she thought, her mom would be so glad to see her she wouldn’t ream the shit out of her when she got back.
He kept driving, squinting into the headlights of a passing car. He checked the rearview.
“I still have plans for us, cutie, but don’t worry, we’re not too far away.”
“Far from what?” she asked. She felt uneasy when he didn’t answer. “Kit’s gonna lose her shit, you know how she is.”
Manny flicked open a canister of lemon drops with his thumb. “Did she ever tell you about how we met?” He parted the wax paper, took two and pushed them into his mouth, then tipped the canister toward her.
Charlie sucked on the candy, its sour sweetness wetting her mouth. “She never tells me anything.”
The lemon drops crackled against his teeth as he rolled them around with his tongue.
“It wasn’t too far from here, I was filling up my car and went in to use the bathroom. When I’m getting ready to go, out of nowhere comes your mama, arms full of shit she’d stolen from the gas station, just booking it.”
“What? She was stealing?”
“I just watched, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She headed for my car and dove in my window to take my lunch, but she got stuck. I had to laugh, it was too funny and so strange. I tried to help by lifting her out of there, but she fought me. She was fierce. I knew right then we’d be good friends.”
“Weren’t you mad? She was stealing from you. Did you call the cops?”
“Mad? No way. I admired her. Still do. There’s something wild about her, I knew I’d never get bored.”
“That’s so crazy,” she said. “How old were you guys?”
“She must have been your age. Well, a little younger.”
Younger than me? Charlie thought. She had imagined them at twenty, fit and messy and beautiful. Why was Kit alone if she was so young? Who was watching her? Tears pushed at her eyes as she remembered how little she knew about her mother.
“But you were driving . . .” she whispered, trying to sort through the pieces that didn’t quite fit. “So you were like sixteen when you met her?”
“Me? No, I was in my late twenties, at least.” He looked over with a half grin, his face taking on the glow from the dash. “Well, don’t look so scandalized, silly. It’s not like we were lovers right then. I waited until she was of age, I’m not a pedo.”
Charlie flushed at this last, ugly word. The treats, the new clothes, the dinner, these scraps of information were beginning to take shape, but it was so grotesque, so shockingly dark, it could only be seen indirectly as a blurred monster lurking on the periphery, an alligator in the swamp. She sank into the seat and pulled her knees to her chest.
Chapter Forty-Three
A wild panic clawed its way up Kit’s throat. She fought it back and leaned on the accelerator, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight she could barely feel them. Doc had tried to tackle her to keep her from leaving, telling Kit that she needed more time to get aligned, or some shit. Kit had fought her off and climbed out of the van and into her truck, tearing blindly into the night for Charlie.
The old truck rattled as she pushed it to its natural limits, peeling around dark and dangerous curves. She moved moment to moment because to advance even one inch ahead of herself could invite terror, collapse. She rolled down her window to catch a hard breeze. A gusty smell of manure and ant killer whipped into the cabin. She barely noticed the headlights approach and pass her by; only when the car stopped, changed direction, and sped directly behind her did she shift her focus. The driver lay on the horn, swerving dangerously close, then accelerated and pulled up beside her. Kit braked slightly to drop back and look at the other vehicle, a black Suburban. It veered into her lane and nearly blew off her side mirror.
Kit punched her horn and yelled at her truck to go faster, but it maxed out at eighty. The Suburban easily matched her speed. Finally, a woman leaned out the window, banging on the door.
“Hhhheeeeyyy!!!! Hey, Kit!” It was Sugar Faye, her hairsprayed bubble barely disturbed by the rushing wind. She pointed to the side of the road. “Hey, pull over, will ya?”
Sugar. Goddamn her. Kit shook off the sting of fear in her skin and coasted to a stop. She got out and met Sugar at her door. The kids were piled in the back rows and Rob manned the wheel.
“Eeek, sorry about that! I must have given you a fright,” Sugar said.
“You almost ran me off the damn road,” Kit said. “I can’t stay here, I have to go. Charlie’s missing.”