“You said the secrets make you stutter. But now there aren't any. I know it all. And I'm not running. I'll run away with you. I don't care what you sound like anyway. You should have known better than to think I would. And when things are clear, when my face is completely forgotten, we can get Johnny. You have to understand he needs me. He’s the only part of my old life I can’t let go of.”
I wait for Sam’s response. I know it’s a huge gamble, asking him to help me kidnap Johnny someday. I know how crazy it all sounds. But I also know things are different now. I am different. So is he. And what once sounded insane, now seems like the natural progression of things. We were preparing to have a family. This can be that family. Sam looks away, the intersecting thoughts in his mind visible in his distant stare. Eventually, he nods pensively.
I sigh with relief, but deep inside I know I can’t steal Johnny. I may find a way to see him again, from a distance or in secret, but I can’t bring him into the madness. My asking was a way for me to come to terms to that. I can tell myself it wasn’t my idea to leave him behind. Otherwise, it’s not possible to reconcile my love for Johnny and this choice.
Silence falls upon the room. I think of the letter, about the invisible hand he speaks of wrapping around his throat and I grow frustrated. “You picked me because you saw me with Johnny, because I don't see people that way. I might know and accept more about you than anyone else. So why?” I take the wrinkled paper and wave it between us. “Why are you still writing me notes instead of just talking to me?”
He writes a small note on the pad, tears it off and hands it to me as he stands up, turning his back to leave the room.
Because you make my heart race, Vesp.
Sam flings the last of his bags into the truck.
“What about the animals?” I ask.
Sam nods and jogs to the barn. I follow closely as he opens the door and leads them out. He swats Beverly on her hind until she runs away. The goats take a few steps but linger nearby.
“Will they be okay?” I ask as we head back to the truck.
They’re free now. They have everything they need here.
Sam points to the floor of the truck.
I look at him quizzically and he huffs before pulling out the notepad again.
You need to lie down until we are well out of town. People will recognize you.
“You know, you wouldn't have to write it down if you just spoke,” I snipe.
He shoots me a stern look out of the corner of his eye before walking over to the driver's side. I freeze anxiously. I've never done anything like this. I feel like a criminal.
Sam stops short when he senses my hesitation. He takes a breath and walks over to me. I stiffen, wondering if the stress of recent events has shortened his patience. But he palms my face in his hands and locks his eyes on mine, tilting his forehead down to mine. He locks his gaze on me, so that all I see are those eyes. For so long, it was all I knew of him. It was my greatest source of terror and uncertainty. But now, I'd follow those eyes into hell. Hell is my home now.
I gulp. “Okay,” I whisper. His hands travel down from my cheeks, to my shoulders, and then my hands. In an uncommon gesture of affection, he squeezes my palms. For a second I swear a see a glimpse of regret in his usually unwavering gaze.
He grabs his pad and writes something. His expression goes solemn as he shows it to me.
You need to understand. If we are discovered, I'm not going to prison.
“What do you mean?” I ask, the calm he coaxed washed away with the white waters of fear.
He grabs his pen, but then stops and looks me in the eyes again. He puts his fingers to his temple in the shape of a gun and pulls the trigger.
“No,” I shake my head sternly. “I won't let you do that.”
It would be better for both of us that way.
“They won't okay? We are gonna get out of here,” I vow.
He nods solemnly and I crawl to the floor of the truck, where he's placed some blankets and a pillow for my comfort.
We drive around for a while, my view from the floor rarely changing. Sometimes I see nothing but the passing tree or a tall sign. Other times, nothing but sky and clouds. I figure I see the least when we are on the freeway. Sam keeps the radio on the stations he knows I'll like, and occasionally, he'll peek back to check on me and I give him a thumbs up. After a while, the anxiety subsides, and the steady rhythm of the car lulls me into a nap.
It's only when that steady drone is broken up by intermittent bumps and jolts am I stirred.
“How long have a I been asleep?” I ask, hoping to trick Sam into speech.
He doesn't answer.
“Can I sit up now?” I ask.
No answer.
I study the window, unable to see much from my angle except that we are surrounded by trees so tall I can't even see where they end. Their trunks are wide and a rusty brown. Sequoias. Though they nearly block the sky from view, I can see from the hazy rays of sienna peering through the trees, that the sun is setting.
The truck stops abruptly.