“I don’t know, I kind of like Wilco,” Jasper offers, his eyes still on the window.
And my hand is so close now, only an inch or two more and I’ll have my answer. I’ll have my relief. Because the crazy thing about being so worried all the time, and having worked for so many years with Dr. Shepard, is that there’s this whole part of me that knows that the baby isn’t the point. She isn’t what I’m actually freaking out about. I’m worried about Cassie being okay, who my dad has become, surviving this, and above all else, surviving my mom being gone. That’s the way anxiety works. It’s a decoy. Because I can’t do anything about those big things, I worry about something else. I worry about this baby next to me, who is definitely, totally fine. But maybe, just maybe, might not be.
Already my fingers are on the baby’s seat, then the edge of her blankets. Crawling across the folds. But it’s not as easy to find her toes as I imagined. Not easy at all. When I move my hand around, all I feel are blankets and more blankets.
Too many blankets, actually, the more I think about it. So many that it doesn’t seem right. Boom, boom, boom, goes my heart as I push my hand one last time, deep into the center of the car seat.
And inside, I do not find the warm body of a baby. But I do not find a cold baby either. Inside, I find nothing at all.
Stop! Your baby is gone!
The words shoot to my lips, but my mouth stays shut as my pulse surges and my brain gets fuzzy on the rush.
No, don’t say that, I think. Don’t say a word.
Instead, I look over at Jasper. His eyes are closed, head resting against the window. I wonder for a second whether he’s asleep. But when I push one of my knuckles hard into the side of his leg, he lifts his head and turns.
I shake my head a tiny bit, widen my eyes before he can ask what’s wrong. I point a low finger at the car seat, then mouth the words: “No baby.” I hope that will be enough for him to get what I mean, but not ask questions.
Because as soon as Doug and Lexi know—that we know—we will have lost the only thing we have going for us: the element of surprise. And what is it that I think I know? There’s no baby in the seat, but I don’t know why or what that means. We asked them for a ride, I remind myself. Doug didn’t even want to take us.
Maybe these are just the people you run into in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. People running from something. People with something to hide. For all we know, they stole this car with all its warm and fuzzy bumper stickers and its empty car seat. I don’t want to know. Lexi and Doug can keep their secrets, thank you very much. We just need to get the hell out of their car.
I quietly pull in a mouthful of air, but I am already so light-headed. My eyes are off, too, like the filter has been switched to antique, everything a little too soft and the tiniest bit yellow. At least there is no dark tunnel yet and I haven’t started to go numb. But if I can’t keep it together, it will only be a matter of time before the lights go out.
Lexi glances at me over her shoulder, then smiles like she has so many times since I first saw her swaying back and forth next to her car. A minute ago that smile seemed so sweet and warm. Now it lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. I press my fingers against my thighs. Dig in my nails as I smile back at her.
But whatever Doug and Lexi are up to, it has nothing to do with us. It started before we ever pulled into that gas station. Maybe they’re friendly neighborhood outlaws, environmental terrorists, or conscientious political protesters on the run for some crime of principle, and the pretend baby is cover. Not wanting to be found doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a bad person. I know that firsthand. And yet I still have such a bad, bad feeling.
“So your friend—” Lexi asks, finally settling on a song. “Wait, what did you say her name was again?”
I turn to Jasper, shake my head again. Don’t tell her anything else. Not another thing, I try to say with my eyes. Jasper squints at me for a second.
“Victoria,” Jasper answers finally. His lie is all the proof that I need. He gets it. “Her name is Victoria.”
I tap open my phone map, to see if we’ve veered off course. But the little blue dot that is us is still headed on Route 203 toward Seneca. Lexi and Doug could have something to hide but still be doing us a favor. This could be more of an unfortunate coincidence, a less dangerous disaster. My chest loosens a tiny bit. Yes, maybe. But we still need to get out of the car.
When I look down, I have only one bar of signal left on my phone. Soon even that might be gone. I am angry at my dad, of course. It feels like he actually may have permanently broken us. But I am still way more afraid of Lexi and Doug than I am angry at him.