“You wrote for me,” she says. “I gave you the necklace hoping that one day I could ask you to use it to free me. But I didn’t have to ask.”
He squeezes the empty vial, glass stained with her blood.
“What now?” he asks. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Nelle’s hand sits on the folder. Pale, small, curling into itself. “What about leaving with me?”
James examines her in the dark. She’s dead serious.
“You want me to leavewithyou?” That all too familiar anxiety creeps into his gut. “I can’t. I have classes and my family and a job, and what would Nancy say if I just—”
“You’re overthinking.”
He looks at his house through the blue night, then back to Nelle, her one hand gripping her seat belt and the other on the manila folder.Can they simply flit off without a plan? He thinks about the money he has saved, close to $6,000. Could that be enough for gas and food and hotel rooms? For how long? What about college? His parents?
“James.” Nelle’s voice fog lights through his thoughts.
Instead of counting costs, debating logistics, and stressing over reactions, he imagines the open road. The glorious unknown. A city of skyscrapers at the end of a rainbow.
“Wait right here!” He laughs as he leaps out of the car.
Nelle stares at the social security card,Eleanor Quillin black letters glowing under moonlight.This is really happening, she tells herself.You’re free.James’s house towers above her.Free-ish.
He will have to write for her. Quill is gone, and yet Nelle’s life is right back in another man’s hands. A better man, but still.
She slides the documents back in the manila folder. She has no right to suggest that James uproot his life for her. But he does want to get out of Lincoln, to experience exotic places, meet memorable people, andlive. How many times did he complain over the past few weeks about college? How many dreamy-eyed tales of his cousin’s life in New York? Leaving Lincoln is a mutually beneficial decision, but guilt still nibbles at Nelle’s conscience.
On some level, she orchestrated it all.Shetold James her address,shespilled the secret about her creation,shegave him that vial of ink. And althoughhewas the one to find her under the fireworks on the Fourth of July, she took in his statue-cut jawline, his veiny typist’s hands, and saw not only a beautiful boy, but a getaway car.
James runs inside the house, down the hall lined with his and Midi’s childhood scribbles, and upstairs to his bedroom. He shovels shirts andpants and a couple of jackets inside a bag. A new pack of toothbrushes and his favorite books. He crosses the hall to Midi’s room—she’s staying at Mandy’s tonight, thankfully—and steals some clothes from her closet. Sweaters and shirts and pants. In the kitchen downstairs, he writes a note for his parents.Hey, Mom and Dad, I’m going to see Jessie in New York until the semester starts. I have money saved up. Love y’all! I’ll call you when I get there.
He shoots Nancy a text, feeling a hit of guilt over her last unanswered message.
As he races down the porch steps, he can’t wipe the smile off his face. He is being spontaneous, far outside his realm of comfort, and he loves the way it tastes. For the next few weeks, he doesn’t have to worry about college or medical-school applications or the friends he doesn’t have. The sad cloud that haunts his every waking moment has been broken by sunlight. His parents would say he is having a manic episode, but James thinks that maybe, justmaybe, he is finally doing something right.
Chapter 10
How strange it is to be watched all night by the moon. From her bedroom window, Nelle could only see it for a handful of hours. Now it follows her like a spotlight, glistening on the waxy leaves that dangle over the curvy road, white-tailed deer frolicking in and out of the headlights, the bowl of stars.
James taps the steering wheel, shattering her trance. “So ... you’ve been quiet a while.”
The analog clock on the dashboard reads 3:02 am. Her butt is numb. She tries to stretch her stiff legs, but they can’t unfold fully. Most of what she sees through the window are reflections. James one-handing the steering wheel, veins running from his shirtsleeve like rivers on a map. In her periphery, the moon now resembles Father’s pale face.
“I think I’m hungry.”
“I can stop. A gas station’s coming up soon; hopefully they’re open.”
White lights glow over a hill. “They’ll have food?”
He frowns. “Food-adjacent.”
James parks beside a pump, and Nelle, still buckled in the car, squints through the glass at shelves full of food, candy, and drinks. She sleeve-wipes her breath off the car window.
“Want anything specific?” James opens the driver’s door and grabs his wallet.
Panic squeezes Nelle’s chest. “You’re leaving me?”
“Yeah. Is that okay?”
