by Holly Hood
“What is it?” I whispered, running my fingertips across the material.
“That’s two thousand dollars,” he pulled me close, his hands gently leading me to the ground.
“Roger, this is a lot of money,” I said, lying down next to him. I gripped the money with both hands, trying not to think about what might happen next. What he might want in return.
But nothing happened. He didn’t want anything from me. He was silent, and suddenly his arm found me in the dark and tugged me close to his body, his skin was warm. He held me tightly, comforting me.
“You take it. You never know when it could come in handy. I’m sure it could get you far away,” he whispered. His body and voice calming me, almost making me feel whole.
“Go on now,” he whispered as soon as we heard the car start up breaking the silence.
I jumped to my feet, blindly finding my way to the moonlit doorway.
“Goodbye, Kendall. Take care of yourself,” Roger said.
I scanned the darkness for any signs of him, jumping when I realized he was right in front of me. He gave me a gentle nudge, sending me off.
Payton and Wanda busily loaded the trunk. Mason watched me approach, his expression showing the irritation and anger. I glared right back at him, shoving my hands in my pockets, along with the money. The fumes from the car hit my nose as I finally came to stand next to Mason. The engine hummed and rattled beside us.
“Are you serious?” Mason hissed in my ear.
“It was nothing. He gave me money,” I said low, Roger suddenly appeared in front of all of us.
“It was nice seeing you again, Wanda. You take care now,” Roger said. He lifted the last suitcase from the ground and dropped it in the trunk for Wanda. She slammed the trunk shut.
Aunt Wanda nodded, rather quiet, seemed like she didn’t have much to say to Roger now that she didn’t need his help anymore.
“Will do, Roger,” she said.
Roger grabbed Wanda by the arm, his features resolute. Aunt Wanda stiffened at his touch, staring down at his grip.
“Just want you all to be careful, wherever you’re headed next. And take care of that niece of yours,” Roger said, letting go of her.
My heart plummeted. I could feel the awkwardness flowing through the air as we all stood there. Mason tugged me toward the car. I struggled to break away from his grip on my sleeve. I needed to see what was going on.
Aunt Wanda turned, studying Roger. She grabbed the door handle of the car. “You be careful to, Roger. You have a nice family and I’m sure it’s not something you want to lose over silly little Kendall,” she said, her gaze lasting longer then Roger’s. He nodded in agreement and headed back to his house.
We climbed into the car. I eagerly stole one final glimpse of Roger. He had proven to me he wasn’t any typical man. He looked past the silly infatuation and really wanted to help me. It was a good feeling, one that I never felt before.
As we drove down the driveway, I looked at the house one last time. Remembering how nice it felt to be a part of all it was. It was a home, a true home. A home made from love, a home where the people in it cared for one another.
Anna was the most loving woman I ever met. She was exactly what a mother should be like. I felt exhausted just thinking about never seeing them again.
“There all safe, that’s something to be happy about,” Mason whispered in my ear, pulling me close. I nodded, resting my head against him. He knew what we were leaving, what it all meant. And I was sure he knew how I felt. He was the only one who understood me in my eyes.
July 2nd
There we were back on the road. Back to the deviant lifestyle we all were so accustomed to. I couldn’t help but think we got a glimpse of normal at Roger’s and I was the only one who cared about it. I wanted normal.
I looked at Mason, he was asleep. Not a care in the world it seemed. His head pressed against the windshield, his long legs draped across my lap pinning me in place.
Aunt Wanda puffed on another cigarette, tuning out the world as the car floated down the highway making everything on the outside a blur. She didn’t care that Roger could have helped us. She was on to the next crazy mess she was about to make.
I knew if Payton had it her way she would have took Mason and left. So I knew she was angry having to put up with us any longer.
“Virginia is for lovers,” Mason read as we passed a sign. Aunt Wanda huffed in revulsion at such a statement. Mason tapped my leg, ready to get out of the car. It had been another unpleasant drive. I had slept a lot in the days it took to make it to the next place.
I stretched my arms, trying to relieve my aches and pains from being crammed in the backseat for so long. I reclaimed the arm that Mason was using as his own personal pillow.
Virginia wasn’t appealing to me. The air was humid just like our last stop. I groaned, not wanting to deal with another humid situation. My mood was bordering on plain pissed off.
“Look at the mountains,” Mason said, pointing out my window. I shrugged, not caring about mountains at this point. “I hear you can ski here.”
Payton twisted around in her seat to look at the two of us. “Mason, shut up. No one is excited about Virginia, get a clue.”
I raised an eyebrow at Mason. Payton was known for her snide comments, but this was something a bit different.
Aunt Wanda pulled the car into the parking lot of a small diner. Old and white. You could tell it had been around for quite some time. A couple cars sat in the parking lot, giving the impression that it was a decent enough place to eat.
We headed inside for some food. My feet thanked me for the blood returning to them. Mason was the only one full of energy. Payton looked ready to slap him a good one.
Aunt Wanda snagged a newspaper from the machine by the chairs. I knew what she was looking for. The same thing I would be looking for if I had the paper in my hand.
“How many?” A young waitress asked. Her hair was short. She was styled and manicured and all kinds of lovely. Her hair bright red, her makeup beautiful, and she wore a tiny diamond stud in her nose.
She clutched her pad of paper, looking all of us over causally.
“Four and we will take a booth,” Aunt Wanda ordered, her nose pressed in the paper already. The girl watched Wanda closer now, probably annoyed with her rude behavior.
“Right this way, Ma’am,” she said softly. “My name is Renee and I will be your server. Can I get you something to drink for starters?”
Mason slid into the booth first. He smiled, surveying the menu, his free hand drumming the tabletop.
“Ice tea for me and give her a coke,” he said. I looked at him, wondering why all the giddiness.
“Two coffees black,” Payton said, snatching the menu from the table with a huff.
Aunt Wanda said nothing. She just kept right on reading. Payton and I both watched her closely, waiting for her to say something.
“She’s not going to find anything in that paper. It’s a Virginia paper,” Mason said, he chuckled. His threw his arm around the back of the booth, his fingers grazing the back of my neck.
Payton stared at Mason, doing her best to control her anger. She wanted to hit him, to scream. You could see her body rise and fall with every breath she took. The more she stared at him and his carefree demeanor the angrier she became.
“I’ll tell you what you can do,” Payton said, looking away as she spoke. “Keep your mouth shut. These things go nationwide, dimwit.”
Aunt Wanda slammed the newspaper down on the table, the force sending the napkins fluttering to my lap. The paper was folded in half. She brought her long finger down, pointing out a spot with her red nail. We all closed in, silently trying to read all at once.
“God damn it,” Aunt Wanda grumbled, tossing the newspaper at the wall.
The waitress returned with our drinks. She smiled, oblivious to what was happening.
“Enjoy. I will give you a few more minutes to look over the menu,” she
said taking off.
“Looks like your theory has been proved wrong,” Aunt Wanda said to Mason. I grabbed the paper livid. I just wanted to know what was happening. Were we shit out of luck?
Scanning down the columns of the newspaper I came to stop on a small article about unidentified suspects involved in the murder of a drug dealer and his criminal sons. The police were baffled by the murder of the neighbor and his girlfriend. At the end of the article it stated in black and white they believed the suspects were female and possibly involved in yet another crime the next state over. I knew what crime that was. And I was frightened to see the link to the motel we had stayed in. Or how they believed the suspects were working with others now.
I swallowed, knowing that anyone who read this hated us. They were all probably rooting for the death penalty. And the worst part, they probably hoped they ran into us so they could serve up their own kind of justice for such meaningless crimes.
Mason scooted my drink to me. I pushed it away nearly knocking it over and slid out of the booth. I headed for the bathroom, sick to my stomach, ready to fall to my knees out of distress.
Sure living this lifestyle came with a lot of anxiety, anxiety that chased on your heels constantly. But never did I read about it in the paper. And nobody around us ever figured it out. We were always one step ahead. I wondered what Aunt Wanda would do, she was not one to give up or lose. What had she done to ruin it all?
I turned on the water, holding my hands in it, the cold numbing my fingertips, if only I could do that to the rest of my body. I sighed, the fear pushing tears out. My body stiffened, and I sobbed rather loudly, my cries echoing the walls of the bathroom.
I dropped down. Roger’s image flashing in my conscious. He could have helped me. He could have taken me away and fixed all my problems. But I wanted to be moral and save someone else from hurting. I didn’t want to ruin Roger’s life.
So instead of doing what I normally would, I respected Roger’s wife and Mason. I wanted to be good for Mason and the idea there could be something between us. Who was I kidding? What sort of sense did that make?
Mason was confused, he didn’t care about me. It was the idea of me and fixing the situation that he cared about.
The bathroom door opened. I jumped, standing up, I tried to conceal my crying. The red haired waitress looked shocked. She came over, setting her purse down on the sink.
“Why are you crying?” she asked, lifting my chin. She wiped my face with her hand, grabbing some paper towels from the dispenser.
“It’s nothing, please,” I said. I looked in the mirror, fixing my hair, smoothing the strands, trying not to look a mess. My eyes were translucent from all the crying. I blotted my nose with the paper towels.
“I can see there is something. Please tell me, we are probably the same age. I’m a total stranger, I could make you feel better,” she pleaded, her expression sincere.
“How did you become such a nice person?” I asked, pulling myself together.
“My dad. I like to think he had something to do with that. He was always a nice guy,” she said with a smile.
“Well, I don’t have one of those. I have Wanda. My screwed up Aunt, and a mother who never wanted to know me, not a single thing about me,” I said.
“She does seem pretty screwed up. I’ve waited tables here for five years, and I get to see a lot of people. It’s written all over her,” she laughed.
I stared at her, how calm and happy she seemed. She didn’t fidget in her skin like I did, she didn’t look horribly anxious all the time or awkward. I wanted what she had so bad.
“Your right, she’s screwed up.” I bit my lip, wringing my hands together. The knowledge, the awareness, it ate at me. And every time someone came along and showed me what normal was, something inside me wanted to confess everything.
I felt explosive in my skin. My heart ached each time I was in another situation like this one.
I gasped, coming back to reality. She was still watching me.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“I’m twenty,” I answered, staring up at the ceiling, if she only knew how hard this was.
“You’re old enough to do what you want. Spread your winds and take off, girly. I did when I was sixteen. And now I am right where I need to be. You seem smart enough to do the same.”
I stood there, alone, thinking about what she said. Wondering how so many people had the same advice to give to me. How did they know what I was capable of when they didn’t even know me?
I left the bathroom, everyone was busy eating. Mason’s expression changed once he saw me. He patted the spot next to him. Just as I expected a plate of pancakes and strawberries and eggs sat in my spot.
“You ok?” he said low. Aunt Wanda shot me a look as well, waiting for a response.
“No, I’m not,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Aunt Wanda didn’t look away. She studied me closely, trying to figure out what I meant. Rather than ask she tried to figure it out on her own.
I picked up my fork stabbing at my pancakes. I knew it was obvious to everyone I had been crying. I imagined the pancakes were Wanda as I broke them apart.
Mason gave me a confused look and went back to eating.
“Virginia isn’t so bad,” Mason said, his voice streaked with amusement. I looked up at Wanda and Payton to see if they caught his sarcasm.
“It’s a shit hole,” Payton said, breaking her silence for the first time today.
Mason leaned back in the booth, a big smirk on his face.
July 4th
“Come on, we only have an hour,” Mason said, pacing the hotel room. I gave him enough respect to remove the covers from my head. It had been two days since I got out of bed. I had no reason to. Life wasn’t worth living at the moment. I was sure that was a big cliché so many people said, but it was the truth.
I always knew sooner or later I would feel this way. I knew it would settle in my bones. I felt helpless and out of any solutions. My chest felt empty and heartless, all that remained what an aching red ember.
I was waiting, that was all I doing. Waiting for that big shoe to come dropping down for all of our dastardly deeds, and then we would all be hauled off to jail, that was my issue in a nut shell.
And with the anxiety and paranoia came this unknown feeling that unglued the rational part of me. I was a sad country girl about to get the death penalty, I was sure of it.
Mason clapped his hand, ripping the covers off of me. He was not willing to deal with my depression. It happened every time I felt the walls closing in. Mason chose to ignore it. I swore when we were caught he would be the guy pulling out the guns and shooting back at the cops. To him it would be dying for a just cause.
“Mason, I am in no mood to see fireworks. Kind of ironic to celebrate independence when yours is close to over,” I said, blowing my hair from my eyes.
He crawled into bed, curling up next to me. “Stop it, Kendall. There will be a ton of people. We will just another speck on the radar. And look,” he said, jumping up, producing sunglasses and hats. All cute ways to be incognito.
“I don’t even like fireworks. You know this. I just want to sleep. Just stop it already,” I said, groaning, I dropped my head back into the pillow.
“Fine, lay in here miserable. Become one of them,” he yelled at me. He balled his fist ready to strike the wall, but stopped short.
I watched, totally blown away by his outburst.
“What exactly is one of them?”
Mason spun on his heels, throwing his hands up. He was ticked off. His eyebrows nearly connected in the middle he was so angry. “Those two women over there think they got it all figured out, and their running our lives. But after all is said and done, how much enjoyment do they really get?” He took a seat on the bed.
“Well its Payton and Wanda. They don’t enjoy anything,” I said, I sat up pulling the covers off of me.
“They’re going nowhere. They have no idea what they wa
nt. It’s an endless chase. Wanda says it’s California. My mom wants to go overseas. It’s never happened and it ain’t going to,” he said, slapping me in the leg.
“Don’t you see that, Kendall? They don’t care because they have nothing to lose. If I have something to live for I’ll make it,” he said.
I sighed, even if I was depressed and felt like everything was hopeless, it was hard to argue with Mason. He knew how to always spin crap into gold rays of sunshine. I laughed at him as he kept on, telling me how much fun we were going to have. And how much we needed this.
“I have to shower. So give me ten minutes,” I told him as he carried on.
“Let’s say fifteen,” he said, grabbing my wrist. He backed me into the bathroom, kissing me.
“Mason,” I said, he pulled away studying my face. Waiting for my protest.
I sighed, pulling his shirt over his head. His curly mop disheveled. “You really need a haircut.”
“Well, you see, I haven’t had time to do that with all the robbery and lying I got going on.” He smiled, coming in for another kiss.
I ran my hands through his hair, pulling it away from his eyes, his amazing eyes. I imagined what he would look like with short hair.
“I guess I couldn’t see you any other way,” I said softly.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I accept your wild Mexican fro,” I said, laughing.
“My father was Puerto Rican. And I get most of my looks from my mother.” He pushed me playfully.
I wriggled out of my clothes. Reality hitting me in the face again, the joyous moment faded away fast. Mason sensed it, he opened the shower door.
“I’ll always be here for you,” he said, touching my shoulder.
“I know.”
“You’re the one good thing about this,” he said, running his fingers through my hair, the water crashing down on my head. He shut the shower door, enclosing us in the steam.
“You keep telling me that,” I said, closing my eyes.
