by Ellie Danes
Nathan tugged at the end of my ponytail. "Does this mean you're cutting your hair?" he asked.
I caressed his sad expression. "You keep asking me to wear it loose. Now I'll have to."
Luckily my thick hair hung straight so when I chopped off a few inches it didn't look like a complete hack job. The new look was a bouncy, short bob, and I smiled at myself in the mirror. Until I realized I was at a rest stop, still on the run.
I dug into the bottom of my purse to find the little makeup kit I had bought a few days back at a gas station. I never wore much makeup, so it was my best chance of changing my look. Eyeliner was hard to draw on with a shaking hand but the effect gave me confidence.
"Mrs. Cramer likes a little glamor," I said to my reflection. She didn't smile back.
Nathan was waiting when I came out of the rest stop bathroom. He leaned against our used car and tipped his hat back. "What do you think, Mrs. Cramer?"
"I think you're very handsome, Mr. Cramer, but you still look like you," I said.
"You look great," Nathan said.
We got into the car and kept driving west. I saw Nathan glancing at me and asked, "Is it the hair? I didn't have any styling products."
He shook his head. "It's your eyes. You look like a movie star. Is Mrs. Cramer a movie star?"
I laughed. "She's a wannabe."
Nathan tightened his hands on the steering wheel. "We better start talking about names."
"I thought the Cramers were working out," I said.
"Sure, yeah, that's great, but people are going to think it's weird that I never call you by your first name," Nathan pointed out.
I checked my hair and makeup in the visor mirror. "How about we just stick with nicknames? You know, Cuddle Bunny and Honey Bear, or something."
"Ugh," Nathan groaned. "Couples who do that drive me crazy."
"Exactly. It'll drive people away before they have a chance to wonder about us too much."
"I'm not calling you Cuddle Bunny," Nathan said.
I laughed. "You already call me 'honey,' why not just stick with that? And I'll call you 'darling.'"
Nathan gave my knee a squeeze. "Well, you are sweet like honey."
I held his hand but stuck to business. "I was serious about you, though. You still look like yourself. We're going to need to get new clothes."
"I've got those great shirts from the vintage store," Nathan said.
I shook my head. "Not anymore. I threw them out. They were too noticeable and what if someone from that town recognized them?"
"I love those shirts! Mr. Cramer's look is vintage cool. It goes with my hat," Nathan said.
"Don't make me regret letting you get that thing," I said. "And, I'm sorry, but the Cramers have to blend in. Honey might want to be a movie star but she's going to have to do it wearing Walmart clothes."
"You're killing me," Nathan said.
I shot him a look. "You're already dead, remember?"
Nathan leaned his head back against his headrest as he kept driving. "You know, I thought faking our deaths would give us a lot more freedom."
"We have to be safe," I said.
He sped up to pass another car, something he only did when he was annoyed. "I should have stuck with the beard. All the photographs they are going to pull of me are clean-shaven."
I thought about how far Nathan had fallen. He had been a SEAL. Now he was forced to live on the run. And he couldn't even buy fun clothes.
"I'm sorry that your new life has to be so boring and normal," I said.
"No. I'm the one who should be sorry. I got you into this whole mess." Nathan sighed. "There'll probably be some kind of big box store in the next town. We' ll stop there."
"I bet Mr. Cramer likes khakis," I teased.
Nathan was not in the mood. He drove on without another word. I knew his mind was working and it still bothered me that he didn't share any of his thoughts or concerns. He felt like it was all his fault, but that was ridiculous. Neither of us knew what had happened to him. The important thing was to keep going. And not get caught.
I tried again to tease him out of his serious mood when we got into the bright store. "Darling, I know you like NASCAR but try to get a few different kinds of shirts."
His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "Watch out, honey, or I'll find a new hobby. Like fishing."
I had to drag him away from the camouflage shirts featuring large bass leaping out of the water. "I'd settle for plain and simple."
"Right. All black, just like Johnny Cash," Nathan said.
I sent him off with a kiss on the cheek and turned to the task of dressing Mrs. Cramer. I figured bright colors matched my dramatic makeup, but I didn't want anyone taking a second look at me. So, I added layers and more layers so that Mrs. Cramer ended up looking lumpier than usually warranted a second glance.
I lucked out in the pharmacy area and found a pair of reading glasses with such a weak prescription that I could see just fine. Then I grabbed mousse and maximum hold hairspray to make sure no one could think of my bouncy bob as something fashionable or fresh.
Nathan returned wearing a pair of jeans one size too big for him. They were bulky and held up by a leather belt with a silver buckle.
"Doesn't quite match the driving cap," I pointed out.
"Mr. Cramer is not afraid to mix fashions," Nathan said.
I laughed and let him get away with it. As we checked out, his words kept repeating in my head. I wondered if the Cramers would ever find a time and place where they weren't afraid. I already felt bad for our imaginary new roles. It was exhausting to always be looking over your shoulder.
I knew because I was scared all the time.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nathan
"If you're going to doze off then I'm going to check the score of the game," I told Bree.
She snapped awake and held on to the TV remote. "What game? Since when do you care?"
There were shadows under her eyes, and I knew she hadn't been sleeping. Little naps here and there in the car did not count.
I reached for the remote. "Why don't you just turn it off? We can relax a little bit, take a hot shower, then go to bed."
She shook her head and changed channels. "I just want to see the headlines.”
It had become a nightly ritual for Bree to search all the news stations. It only made her more stressed as she searched for any mention of us. Things had been quiet, and I didn't know whether that was good or bad for Bree. If we heard a story about our supposed crash, then she fretted about all the small details. If we didn't hear anything, then she had to start accepting the fact that our old lives truly were gone.
I leaned on the bed and tickled her neck with my lips. "A nice hot shower together is much more relaxing."
Bree leaned away from me and changed the channel again. I went to the bathroom myself but I was too antsy to get in the shower. We had been holed up in the car or in a motel room for way too long, and it was starting to drive me crazy.
When I came back out, Bree had dozed off again. I turned the volume down low but kept the TV flickering in the hopes she wouldn't wake up. Then I slipped out our motel room door and headed down to the parking lot.
Like always, I took the long route and kept my eyes sharp. We hadn't seen any signs of the gunmen, but now it was easy to imagine other people in the shadows. There was a national bulletin about the couple from the car crash, and anyone could be looking to make some money from the tip line.
Everything was quiet but I decided to leave the car anyway. It was a nice night, and I really needed the fresh air to help me think. Around the corner and about a mile down from the motel was a little dive bar. I turned in that direction and set off slowly so I had time to breathe and relax.
I felt guilty leaving Bree behind in the motel room but she was so exhausted. Every day she sat upright and tense in the car, no matter how many miles we covered. When she slept, it was in little doses that she burst out of with a frightened look.
I hoped the droning of the TV would let her sleep for a few hours all together.
And, to be honest, I needed some space.
Bree was trying to be helpful but her worry and her constant nagging about our new clothes and looks and names was getting to me.
Life on the run was wearing us both down.
With that in mind, I stepped into the dive bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. "Thanks," I said when the bartender poured it right away.
There were only a few scattered people in the place, mostly people passing through. The regulars sat at the bar. I hesitated to join them but then remembered my new look.
"Busy night?" I asked the bartender as I sat down.
He snorted. "Non-stop around here."
I ordered another whiskey and a beer chaser. "Don't worry, I'm not driving."
The bartender nodded. "Good. We get too many people around here that think they can handle the corners of these mountain passes."
"Like that couple in the mountains." The words popped out before I could stop them.
The bartender took a shot of whiskey himself. "They still haven't found the bodies. Bet the wild animals around there took care of what was left."
I shuddered over that gruesome alibi, then took a sip of my beer. "You heard anything else about it?"
"Just that they are winding down efforts. Guess if there's no big outcry from the family, these things just kind of fade away." The bartender headed over to pour someone a draft beer.
"Don't worry, sweetie. I bet you're a good driver." The older woman's lipstick was fresh but her breath smelled of gin and stale cigarettes.
"Thanks."
She was clearly a local, a heavy drinker, and looking for a lot more than I was willing to give, but it felt good to have an easy conversation for once. Everything with Bree lately had been laced with worry and regret.
"What's your name, handsome?" the barfly asked.
I chuckled. "You can call me darling."
The older woman smiled. "Where you from, darling? Where you heading?"
The questions were simple, asked as a lightweight small talk, but they made my stomach sink like a stone. "Sorry, I came here more for the drinking than the conversation."
"Well, excuse me," she said and moved on to the next man at the bar.
I watched her go and wondered if I would ever be charming and relaxed around strangers again.
"Don't feel bad." The bartender poured me another shot. "She hits on everyone and then forgets that no one was interested. She'll be back around if you're not careful."
"Thank you, sir." I raised the shot and then slammed it back. "Do I hear a little Texas in your talk?"
The bartender grinned. "Not many people catch it anymore. We get all kinds here in Utah and everyone just starts to sound the same."
I nodded, glad for a casual conversation. "Where in Texas?"
"Little town, no one knows the name of it. Just outside of El Paso," he said.
The mention of El Paso had me grabbing for my beer. I took a long, slow drink to calm myself down. "Bet that's a nice place to be from."
"Now that I'm here, yeah," the bartender said. "It's not so nice down where I'm from anymore."
"Yeah, yeah, isn't that another headline I keep seeing? Something about a drug cartel." I concentrated on my beer, acting as casual as I could.
He moved off to pour a tray full of drinks for his bored cocktail waitress. Then he came back. "Sorry. What were we talking about?"
I shrugged. "Just something I heard on the news. The New Mexico City Cartel."
The bartender grimaced. "Yeah, I know them. They have a tendency for making tourists disappear."
"So, you're saying I should skip El Paso," I said.
"Nah. You'll be fine. It's just the cartel is famous for grabbing people off the street and making them do their dirty work," the bartender said.
I took another sip of beer. "Dirty work?"
"Mostly, they just turn people into drug mules, make them smuggle stuff across the border." The bartender poured another gin and tonic for the barfly.
I should have just sat quietly but the whiskey was working through my system. My tongue was on fire to talk about the drug cartel. All I wanted to do was see if I could stick together some of the odd pieces Bree and I had picked up.
"I met a guy who might have been in that cartel once," I said.
The bartender raised an eyebrow at me. "They don't usually talk about their work."
I shrugged and found it easy to play drunk. "He was a tall guy, really well-dressed, and he always carried a gun. I think his name was Aidan? Adrian? I don't remember, but he was definitely connected to the New Mexico City Cartel."
"Then you got lucky." The bartender shifted away from me, down the bar.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because you're still alive." With that ominous comment, the bartender moved to the far end of his bar and turned the TV on to sports highlights.
I took the hint and finished my beer in silence.
The barfly came back around but I stood up when she reached me. "Sorry, gotta go check on the Mrs."
"She like it when you come back smelling like booze?" the older woman asked. She waved a hand and answered her own question. "Guess it doesn't matter as long as you come back."
I walked back to the motel, feeling guilty for leaving Bree there without a note. The last time I had disappeared for a while was when I found out about the New Mexico City Cartel; the information that I still hadn't shared with Bree.
The worst was that Bree knew I was hiding something from her. Ever since that day I skipped out to the library, Bree had been watching me like a hawk. She always talked about how we were in it together.
I rubbed my chest but the guilt there was like a knife. I marched back up to the motel, determined to tell Bree everything. I didn't know what she would say when she found out how much I had been keeping from her, but I had to do it. If we were going to start our new lives together, it had to all be out on the table.
Bree was still asleep when I slipped back into our motel room. I let out a big sigh of relief before realizing I had been holding it in. I couldn't add to her worries. Instead, I tucked her farther under the motel bedspread and finally shut off the TV.
Then I climbed into bed and gathered Bree into my arms. It was hard not to think about puzzle pieces when we fit so well together.
"Don't worry," I whispered in Bree's ear. "I'll put all the pieces together and figure this out soon."
I fell asleep hoping that was possible.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bree
When I turned over the TV remote dropped to the floor. I woke up and wondered when Nathan had turned it off. Who knows how long I had been watching; all the news stories had started to blend together.
Poor Nathan.
I sat up in our motel bed and looked at him. He was rumpled and irresistible in his sleep. I brushed his stubbled cheek, and that's when I saw the book of matches.
It wasn't a surprise, Nathan always seemed to have matches though he didn't smoke. Except these were new. I didn't recognize the logo and not a single match had been struck.
"Dino's Bar," I read underneath the logo.
Even without leaning down, I could smell the whiskey on his breath.
It wasn't fair for me to be angry with Nathan. There was no reason for him to sit around with me in the motel room if all I did was fall asleep in front of the TV.
Then I remembered the last time he had gone and left me waiting for hours.
I shook my head and slipped out of bed without waking him up. We were in so deep, together, that I couldn't believe Nathan would lie to me anymore. I was the only one who knew his real name now.
So what if he went to the little dive bar we saw down the road and had a night cap? It was probably safer for him to go out on his own. Just because I hadn't been feeling brave enough to do the same by myself, didn't mean I should be mad at Nathan.
I pulled on my
jeans, the last pair that hadn't been picked for Mrs. Cramer, and tugged a t-shirt over my head. I could have woken Nathan up and let his hangover be his punishment, but I had been too hard on him lately. Ever since we had pushed that old sedan over the cliff, I’d felt adrift. Nathan was the only person I had to cling to, and I was almost drowning him.
So, instead of waking him up, I decided to go out and get us bagels and coffee. Delicious, strong coffee. Nathan would feel great after a cup of any coffee not made in a motel room.
I put one hand on the door then clenched the other in a fist. I couldn't leave. I hadn't done my hair or makeup or put on the three chunky layers that were now Mrs. Cramer. Just the thought of it suffocated me. It took a long time for me to drag my hand off the door and head back to the bathroom.
I scrubbed my face clean then wanted to cry as I slathered on foundation that was one shade too dark for my complexion. Then I swiped thick eyeliner on with a now-practiced flick of my fingers. The mascara took longer because I had to apply multiple layers in order to get Mrs. Cramer's desperate look.
Next came her hair. I brushed it out and then covered it with mousse. I flipped my head over, ratting underneath until my scalp hurt. Then I whipped it back up, smoothed it down with little spritzes of hairspray. By the time I was done, I could hardly breathe in the bathroom.
I peeled off my nice lacy tank top and prepared to put on my new identity's multiple layers. I still couldn't breathe, and I had to grip both sides of the sink while I tried to suck in more air.
"Mrs. Cramer, you are one hot piece," Nathan said from the doorway.
"You're not funny," I said, still struggling for a deep breath.
Then I looked up and saw what Nathan saw: me posed over the bathroom sink in nothing but a lacy bra and my nice-fitting jeans. My hair was soft and shiny, though a bit overblown. And my eyes were huge with graceful, long lashes.
"See?" Nathan came into the bathroom and snaked his arms around my waist. "Sure, you look a little different, that's the whole point, but I still see my gorgeous Bree."
It felt so good to hear him say my real name. "I'm glad I'm still alive sometimes."
