by Dean Murray
He stood frozen as he stared at me, his eyes wide and haunted.
My cheeks burned and my feet faltered. Was it the clothes? Did they belong to someone he knew? Of course. This was the Kala’s cabin. They must have belonged to someone he knew. Far too late, I realized I probably should have asked him first.
I was about to say something when he cleared his throat, pulled himself together, and all traces of whatever just happened vanished. If I hadn’t seen the brief look on his face, I would have never known. But I had, and it was going to bother me.
“That’s good,” he said as he handed the backpack to me with perfect indifference. “Now we won’t stand out so much.” He straddled the motorcycle, strapped on a helmet, glanced back at me, and nodded at the backpack. “You’re going to have to carry that on your shoulders.”
I hesitated, torn between asking him what had happened, and pretending that I hadn’t noticed. He handed a second helmet to me. This one was smaller; a girl’s helmet. I decided to let it go, slung the bag over my shoulders, and put the helmet on.
Nathan moved my hands out of the way, and tightened the straps for me like he was on autopilot. That was when I knew. He had a girlfriend—and I was wearing her helmet and her clothes.
“You ever ride before?” Nathan asked.
The helmet weighed down on my neck as I shook my head.
He didn’t look surprised. “Sit close to me, put your arms around my waist, and hold on tight.” He held the motorcycle steady as I climbed on behind him, and instructed me where to put my feet. “The most important thing,” he said over his shoulder, “don’t freak out. I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay.”
“And lean when we go around turns,” he added. “Lean with me, actually. Just plaster yourself to my back and move when I move.”
“Okay. Just don’t go too fast.”
I couldn’t see his face thanks to his helmet, but I imagined a skeptical expression was hidden underneath. I wasn’t optimistic when he kicked the stand and we took off.
CHAPTER 12
It took ten terrifying minutes on bumpy dirt roads to get off the mountain, and another ten to wind our way into the nearest town. I spotted its name on a sign as we approached. Elizabethton, Tennessee. I had been there once, and knew it was about an hour from Boone by car. It was a small town, but larger than Boone, and close enough that I probably needed to be careful about being seen.
It was Wednesday, the fourth day I should have been considered missing. For all we knew, my face was plastered on milk cartons and televisions all over the country.
Our first stop was to fill the gas tank on the motorcycle. Nathan picked up a local newspaper and we scanned it for any mention of me, Gran, or Alec. We found nothing. Nathan took that as a good sign.
I didn’t know how to take it. I wasn’t really missing, but what if I were? No one cared? No one was looking for me? It was like faking your death to see how many people would show up at your funeral, and no one did.
My mood lifted when Nathan suggested we stop by the diner across the street to eat before we went shopping. After he parked, he pulled his baseball cap out of the backpack and placed it on my head.
I held back my protests as he stuffed my ponytail underneath it and tucked a chunk of stray hair behind my ear. When he stepped back to admire his work, I put on a face of indifference and pretended that his touch hadn’t done weird things to my pulse. His eyes, when they lowered to mine, sent it into overdrive.
“There,” he said, sounding satisfied. “If your face is all over the news, hopefully no one will recognize you. Keep your head down. Don’t make eye contact.”
Dee’s Café was a quaint country restaurant that boasted the best buttermilk biscuits in the south. No more than a dozen tables were squeezed into the small room and, at this hour on a weekday, all but two were empty. A bar surrounded the service area and open kitchen, where four retirees sat on stools, enjoying their coffees.
Aside from the bubbly red headed middle-aged waitress, who called Nathan sweetie and me honey and told us to call her Pam in one breath, no one noticed when we entered. We ordered two coffees, two orange juices, and an assortment of pancakes, eggs, bacon, country ham, potatoes, and of course, the famous biscuits.
Nathan’s eyes twinkled when I glanced up after devouring a plate of pancakes. “Want some more?” he asked.
I suspected he was making fun of me, but I didn’t care, and moved on to the bacon. Then the biscuits. They really were the best I had ever eaten. It didn’t take long to clean my plate, and I sat back with a satisfied sigh.
Nathan looked up from his scrambled eggs. “I was wondering when you were going to come up for air.”
I suppressed a laugh and eyed his plate pointedly. “I’ll dig into what’s left of yours too if you’re not careful.”
He made a noise that might have been a laugh, but sounded like a snort, and shoveled one last bite into his mouth. He leaned back and looked at me triumphantly. A smile was close to breaking out on his face, but not quite. He was good at the almost-smiles.
On cue, our waitress appeared out of nowhere. “Can I get you anything else?”
Nathan’s eyes slanted from her to me. He hooked an eyebrow.
“None for me,” I said.
“No, thank you,” Nathan added.
She set the check on the table with a wink and said, “Please come again.” Innocent enough, but I know I didn’t imagine her eyes lingering on Nathan longer than necessary before she walked away. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who found him attractive, which was kind of gross, considering she was probably old enough to be his mother.
He had been preoccupied with digging the money out of his pocket, and didn’t notice. He took another sip of coffee, and slid out of the booth. He took the check and money to the register, where a second younger waitress greeted him. I was slammed by a pang of jealousy as I watched them chat casually while she rang him up.
What in the hell brought that on?
It took only a moment of reflection to realize the answer. He was nice to total strangers, while I got bossed around, talked down to, and teased. Though improved from the first night, he still treated me worse than a stranger—like I was a nuisance to him, like I was the last person he wanted to be stuck helping...and I hadn’t even asked for his help.
I was scowling at him by the time he returned. Again, he didn’t notice.
He told me that the second super-friendly waitress had given him directions to a discount store where we could get everything—clothes, supplies, and food—all at once. It was only three blocks away, and we were there in no time.
Nathan said we could hand wash our clothes in the sink, so we picked up a travel pack of detergent. We both still picked up some additional outfits. I made sure to get a few cold-weather appropriate shirts and added a pack of granny panties to the cart when Nathan wasn’t looking. I was desperate for clean underwear, but drew the line at washing them in the sink in front of him.
We got some quick and easy meals that could be prepared with only a microwave. We weren’t able to get much since we had to fit everything in the backpack. Nathan said that if we had to stay more than a few days, we would come back for more. I was glad he didn’t think we would have to hide out long. He still had to check in with his base to find out what they knew, but he was optimistic when we returned to Dee’s an hour later to use their payphone.
It was in the corner near the restrooms, mostly out of view from the other patrons. Nathan got through and asked for a person named Travis. While he waited, I took the opportunity to use the restroom. When I returned a few minutes later, he was deep in conversation, his voice low.
“No, I haven’t figured that out yet.” He looked up as I sat on a nearby stool. His eyes stayed on me as he nodded along with whatever was being said on the other end. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “I’ll call in a few days.”
He hung up and cast me a sideways glance.
“
Well?” I asked.
He stared at the phone without answering. Finally, he fed it a few coins and hit a string of numbers. I heard the soft ringing through the receiver as he waited…and waited.
The tension that radiated off him took on a life of its own, hung over me like a storm cloud waiting to burst wide open. He hadn’t asked for privacy, but I felt like an intruder, and looked out the window, pretending to be enthralled with the traffic on the road, as a machine voice came on the line and prompted him to leave a message.
A muscle in his cheek twitched as he hung up without a word. He didn’t look at me as he stormed outside, and I had to hurry to catch up to him.
“Nathan, what’s going on?”
“They didn’t know anything.” He put on his helmet and helped me with mine. “They’re going to look into a few things. I’ll check back with them later this week.”
I wanted to ask him who the second call had been to, but I held my tongue. Whatever that call had been about, it had him irate, and if I had learned anything about him the past few days, it was to steer clear of him when his nostrils were flared.
He spent the rest of the afternoon in the shed while I washed our dirty clothes in the sink and tidied up the cabin. I wasn’t proving my domestication so much as I was trying to keep busy, to keep my mind from wandering.
It didn’t work. I obsessed and worried over what was bothering Nathan. I ultimately concluded that it must be girlfriend related. Who else, other than a romantic interest, could tick someone off like this? But, then...
Well, there was a chance his anger was directed at me. The other two times he had rescued me, he left quickly afterwards. This time, he has been with me for several days now. We have had no communication with anyone since he had tossed our phones. His girlfriend would have no knowledge of where he was or what had happened to him. Was he worried about her for some reason, and couldn’t do anything about it because he was stuck here with me?
For that matter, why was he with me if he didn’t want to be? It wasn’t like I had made him stay here, to help me, like some captive. If anything, I was the prisoner. He had practically kidnapped me. If anyone should be angry, it was me.
So now, after hours of stewing, I found myself glaring at him from across the kitchen counter where we both stood, eating bowls of ravioli in silence. Either he didn’t care that I loathed him, or he was truly oblivious, and I highly doubted the latter. His indifference further infuriated me and, when I finished and dropped my bowl in the sink, I snapped.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?”
Nathan had just taken a bite and slanted his eyes to me wordlessly.
“Don’t say nothing either. You’ve been a grouch all afternoon,” I added before he tried to deny it.
“There’s a lot on my shoulders right now,” he said tightly, as if forcing himself to stay calm, though he looked close to snapping himself. It seemed I had managed to piss him off more than he already was. Not that I cared.
“You don’t have to be here,” I hissed. “I didn’t ask you—”
“No, you didn’t.” He pushed away from the counter and shot me a scathing look before he turned away.
“You can go if you want,” I called to his retreating back.
“Oh, really?” He spun around to me. “You think you could manage by yourself?”
“I’ll be okay. I don’t need you.”
Lies. All lies.
From the iciness of his glare, I figured he was considering walking out the door and never coming back. I wanted to take my words back, to tell him I didn’t mean it. I did need him. I knew that.
I also didn’t want him here against his will and taking the unfairness of the whole situation out on me either. I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know why he was here, why he felt like he had to be here, or why he thought he had to help me.
“I know you don’t want to be here,” I added softly, suddenly more sad than angry.
He stared at me and some of the chill in his eyes thawed. “You don’t know anything.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed, “because you won’t tell me anything.”
“You know a lot more than you should.”
“You tell me just enough to shut me up,” I countered.
He raised his eyebrows at my choice of words. “What more do you want to know, Kris?”
“I want to know everything.”
His eyes lowered to the floor, and he shook his head. When his eyes lifted to mine again, they were hard and unwavering.
My anger surged. “Fine. Don’t tell me a damn thing. I’ll figure out how to manage without you. I don’t need your help.” I shouldered past him in a rage-induced march to the door. “I need some air. I’m going for a walk.”
“Kris...”
I stopped in the doorway, but didn’t look back at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t go far.”
I was sure that was what he had been about to say. Not an apology, not an explanation, not anything I wanted to hear. I didn’t give him a chance to prove me wrong before I slammed the door shut behind me. I knew I would only end up disappointed.
Almost twenty-four hours passed before we spoke again.
Last night, being the big, bad, tough girl that I was, I sat on the porch as long as I could stand the cold, which had been, maybe, two hours. Nathan looked up from the couch when I sauntered inside, gathered the shorts and t-shirt I had bought to serve as my pajamas, and made my way to the bathroom to change. Though I felt his eyes on me as I crawled into bed, he hadn’t said anything, and neither had I.
He was gone—playing outside in the shed—when I got up, and didn’t come inside until late in the afternoon. From my seat on the couch, I watched as he retrieved a change of clothes.
“Get ready. We’re going into town,” he called over his shoulder as he retreated to the bathroom.
I was still in my seat when he emerged a moment later, dressed in jeans and a black thermal long sleeve shirt that made it irritatingly impossible not to notice how his biceps strained against the fabric. I forced myself not to stare and, when he saw me disobediently sitting on the couch, my gaze met his crisply.
He sighed. “Please?”
I resisted the urge to laugh, and buried my nose in the five-year-old Sports Illustrated magazine I was reading for the third time today. “How did that taste coming out of your mouth?”
“Like shit,” he muttered. “Now, come on. We have to go.”
I licked my fingers and flipped a page. I had no intention of doing as he requested. I was done following him blindly. I wanted answers and explanations. I was a reasonable person.
He shifted and stuffed his hands into his pockets uneasily. A small smirk lifted the corner of my mouth as I watched out of the corner of my eye.
“Did you know Tiger Woods started golfing when he was only two years old?” I flipped to another page. “I had no idea.”
“Kris...”
“He was three when he played his first nine holes. Now that’s impressive.”
“I tried to call Gran yesterday,” he blurted out.
With that statement, he had my full attention. I felt the color drain from my face as I looked up. The mysterious phone call had been to Gran? I should have known. That should have been my first assumption. Not some secret girlfriend. Not some other commitment. I felt like an idiot.
Worse, she didn’t answer. What did that mean?
“Is there a way for us to find out what happened to her?” I asked.
“That’s why I want to go into town.”
Oh. Great, now I really felt like an idiot—giving him a hard time when all he wanted to do was check on Gran.
Way to go, Kris.
But how was I supposed to know? He never told me anything.
Have faith in the guy. He’s never led me wrong.
Not yet. Not that I was aware of.
Only after I shut the bathroom door behind me did I realize I was having a conversation with myself in my head. I st
ared at the optimistic version of myself in the mirror, and told her to shut up. I didn’t want her opinion, and I most definitely didn’t want to hear her defending him.
Besides, crazy people had conversations with themselves, and I preferred to think I wasn’t crazy. She was going to have to keep her thoughts to herself.
A dingy sports bar on the outskirts of town provided us not only with a phone from which to call Gran—really I have never seen a place with more payphones in this day in age than this town—but also an assortment of big screen TVs on which to watch the news when that call was met by an endless series of rings.
Watching the news had been my idea. If I weren’t so desperate to learn of Gran’s fate, I would have led the way back to the motorcycle. Creatively titled Johnny’s Bar, this wasn’t the type of place I would have ventured into alone. The dark lighting may have been an open invitation for criminal activity but, for Nathan and me, it was a perk.
We sat at the bar, me with my hair tucked up under the stupid hat. Nathan ordered a beer for himself and a soda for me. The bartender barely looked at us. He didn’t seem the type to pay much attention to his customers, let alone missing person’s reports.
Two middle aged men who looked like they had just stepped off the golf course sat on the other side of the bar, engrossed in whatever sport they were watching on the screen in front of them. A couple sat at a table in the corner, heavily making out. No one paid us any attention and, after a few minutes, we both relaxed.
Until the news program started. Every muscle in my body went rigid with anticipation as we watched a string of weather, sports, and local breaking news. Thirty boring minutes dragged by with no mention of either me or Gran.
I couldn’t believe it. Nothing.
Nathan glanced at me with a shrug. “It was worth a shot.”
“I can’t believe there wasn’t anything,” I muttered. What if I really were missing, lying in a ditch somewhere, dead or dying? No one would even know to look for me.
Nathan finished his beer. “They probably covered it up.”
