James pulls the pen out of his pocket, and her stress dissipates. He writes in the journal:Nelle goes to the bed of James’s truck.
Her bones release.
In the back, he makes a bed. One quilt to lie on, the other to cover up with. She crawls between the heavy fabric, folds her arms behind her head, and stares at the stars. A ceiling of diamond teardrops, prettier than the popcorn paint of her bedroom.
“I’m so lucky,” she says with a sigh. She notices him staring at her. “What are you looking at?”
“You,” he says. “I’m thinking.”
She laughs. “About what?”
He touches her nose with the tip of his finger. His hand snakes to the side of her face, across her cheek, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her mouth dries out. She feels the urge to vanish into his long body. She fights it.
James’s thumb brushes the curve of her cheekbone. “That I’m so lucky, too.”
All breath abandons Nelle’s lungs.
“I was trapped,” he says. “School and summer both leading toward a future Idon’t want.” He points to a star brighter than all the rest. “I didn’t know it was killing me. You called me brave the night we met, but I’m not. Never have been. Until now. I finally feel like I’m doing what I want. I feel ... weightless.”
“Like you could float away?”
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth creases. “Just like that.”
“Can you wish on any star, or only shooting ones?” She stares where he pointed.
He smirks. “I think any star is worthy.”
“What about the moon?”
“Oh, of course, the moon.” His voice is wood. Scratchy shell, soft heart. “What’s your wish?”
She inhales and thinks,I wish to feel this way forever.
Instead she says, “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
Nelle wakes up confused, sweaty, shaking, her body damp with a layer of early-morning dew. The trees along the road shiver with life. In a nearby field, a cow moans.
Father’s voice rings out from her nightmare. He was following them, revolver in hand, murder etched in the hard line of his mouth.
She nudges James awake. He blinks at the cloud-streaked sky, his hair a tousled mess.
“Good morning.” He smiles sleepily, then, seeing her, his expression drops. “What’s wrong?”
Nelle’s fingers curl around the cold quilt. “I think Father’s following us.”
“W-what?” James sputters. “Impossible. Even if he’s alive, he can’t know where we—”
“In my dream, he was trailing us. He will kill you if he finds you, James.”
The thought of James dead kick-starts her tears, but she steels herself.
He starts folding one of the quilts. “You really think this was a ... premonition? Not just a dream?”
Nelle helps him with the second quilt. She trusts her subconscious, especially when it comes to Father. Living alone with him for twenty-one years, never getting a break from his presence, formed a uniquebond. And in a very literal sense, she is a part of him. She came from him alone.
Still, Father would have to be psychicandable to teleport to reach them, and no one followed them off the interstate last night.
“I think you’re right,” she says when they are back inside the truck. She watches the rearview mirror. “It was just a dream.”
