What now? What to do? Her older brother had once showed her how to get out of a snowdrift by rocking the car, so that’s what Shake did. She threw the car into Reverse, and then into Drive, trying to rock it, begging it to inch forward, pleading for it to move forward.
A face appeared in the frosted kitchen window. Marjorie. Fifteen seconds later the door flew open and Ronnie came running out. Shake tromped down harder on the accelerator, making the tires scream like a crazed banshee. Now her teeth were chattering so hard that her fillings ached. Was her escape ruined? No, it couldn’t be. She was going to drive to Florida, after all. Have the baby and then just . . .
Ronnie ripped open the driver’s side door and screamed, “What are you freaking doing?”
Shake’s first thought was, Caught like a rat in a trap. Then she wondered, Can I possibly reason with him? If she could make Ronnie understand how terrified and upset she was, would he finally see her side of the story? Would he hop in and come with her?
“I’m getting out of here!” Shake screamed at him. “If you had any sense, you’d come with me.”
“Stop it,” Ronnie said, half climbing into the car with her. “Take your foot off the accelerator, you’re burning rubber. You’re gonna wear off any bit of tread that’s left!”
“Huh? What?” Shake lifted her foot and the car quieted down. She started to cry helplessly.
“Shake. Baby,” Ronnie said. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Anywhere,” she sobbed. “Away from here.” She lifted her eyes and saw Marjorie standing on the porch now, struggling to pull on her pink ski parka.
“Not her,” Shake said through gritted teeth. “Not now.”
Ronnie waved a hand at Marjorie. “Go back inside,” he yelled. “She’s fine.”
“She fine?” Marjorie screamed. “Are you crazy?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Ronnie yelled back. “Just . . . get away.”
Muttering loudly, throwing murderous looks at Shake, Marjorie finally retreated back inside the farmhouse.
Shake was jibbering now, scared out of her mind. “We. Have. To. Go.”
“Shhh,” Ronnie said. “Stop crying. We’ll do it, okay?”
Shake was still crying. “What?” Had she heard him correctly? “You mean we’ll run away? Together?”
“Yes, of course together. But not like this. After you have the baby. Then we’ll pack up and go. Just leave this . . . place. I know it’s not good for us.”
Relief flooded Shake’s brain. “Jeez, Ronnie, do you really mean it? You promise?” He’d jammed himself partway into the car and she was clutching at him now, as if he were her only lifeline.
“Cross my heart, I promise. Now just . . . come back inside, okay? This can’t be good for the baby and I’m freezing my nuts off out here.”
“We’ll really go? Soon?”
“I think . . . maybe next week,” Ronnie said. “Now come on . . .” He turned off the ignition, then reached a hand out and helped hoist her out of the car. “We’ll go, okay?”
Shake clung to him, nodding. “Okay, okay.”
She followed him back inside, but deep down, a tendril of fear lingered. Ronnie talked a good game right now—and she almost believed him. But what if he really didn’t have the guts to run away? Then what?
30
AFTON felt beleaguered and nauseous. Her condition wasn’t a product of Max’s erratic driving, but of all the dead ends they’d been hitting in the search for Elizabeth Ann Darden. She’d felt certain that the interview with Eleanor Winters might turn into something, but it was just another false lead. How would they ever find that baby? Each road they went down seemed to lead nowhere. She was beginning to lose heart.
Now they were on their way to interview Bob Binger. Andy Farmer had already interviewed Binger, but now Thacker wanted them to take another crack at him. Maybe the man that Richard Darden had fired from his post at Novamed would be able to shed a small amount of light on the situation—or throw some dirt on Darden. Afton wasn’t sure which.
As they bumped west on Highway 55, Afton’s restlessness grew into irritation. The seemingly endless pods of slow traffic made the drive seem even more tedious. She slumped in her seat and stared out the window. As soon as they’d made the transition from urban to suburban, fast-food franchises seemed to spring up like errant mushrooms and towering office buildings loomed at each intersection.