I’m going to be sick again.
She brushes the hair back from my head again, careful not to press too hard. “With a concussion, you need to be woken up every hour, so I’m going to set an alarm on this phone.” She moves to reach into another bag and presses a disposable cell phone into my hand. I try to give it back to her.
“Why can’t you just wake me?” I clamp my free hand downon her forearm when she doesn’t answer right away. “Mom?”
She flinches. “Because I have to go.” She extricates herself from my grip. “Listen carefully: You are not to leave this room for any reason. Do not open the door. Do not peer out the window. Do not use the room phone. Do not answer the room phone. Do not make outgoing calls on this phone.” She hesitates, then rips the cord out of the wall. If I were inclined to ignore her demands—which I’m not—she just took the choice from me. “It’s only for a few days. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
I stare at her. “You’re not seriously leaving me? Why can’t we go to the police?”
“Because the police can’t help us!”
I recoil at the sudden volume of her voice.
In a softer tone, she says, “I’m sorry, but there’s no time anymore. There are people looking for us right now. Think how fast they found us from that profile. They probably already have Mr. Guillory’s car, which means they are way too close to finding that car.” She points behind her to the silver car parked outside our room. “I have to go, and you aren’t coming with me. You can’t.”
My jaw is quivering. “Youcan’t just leave me like this. You haven’t told me anything. Why are we hiding? Who is chasing us? How do you know about stealing cars?”
She keeps silent, checking the room again, drawing the curtains still further closed, looking everywhere but at me.
“Please take me with you,” I say. But my pleading had no effect; it never does. Not when I’m begging to stay out an hour later or to get a ride with a friend whose car she hasn’t inspected. Her paranoia is making a scary kind of sense now, but it’s also contagious.
“No, you’ll be safe here if you do what I say. Do you understand?”
All I understand is that my mom has been lying to me my entire life. “If you leave, how am I supposed to be safe? I don’t knowanything!”
She stops when I practically scream that last word, turning to look at me for the first time in minutes. Her gaze lingers on the bandage on my head before lowering to the drops of blood on my shirt. Her fingers twitch at her side, and she’s taking a step toward me before she can stop herself. And then she’s holding me, stroking my head.
“If there was any other way, I would take it. I made a mistake. When the time is right, I—not you—will be the one to pay for it.” She pulls back enough to meet my gaze without fully letting me go. “And if I didn’t think you were strong enough or smart enough for me to leave you…” She looks up and blinks her eyes dry before meeting mine again. “You have to be strong right now. We both do. I know you’re scared and confused, but every second counts. Tell me you understand that, Katelyn.” She shakes me a little when she says my name.
The past few hours, I’ve been so busy drowning in my ownfear that I didn’t consider hers, not really. She never seemed scared the way I was. She made each decision without seeming to agonize over it, and she acted quickly, efficiently. But this close to her now, when I can feel each tremble in her body and how cold her hands are on my shoulders, I know her fear is every bit as consuming as mine. It might be even more so, because she’s not just thinking of herself; she’s thinking of me.
Always.
Every move. Every rule. Every over-the-top paranoid act. She’s been protecting me, preparing me.
For this.
My head is throbbing too much to nod, but I say the truth she needs to hear. “I understand.”
She squeezes my shoulders, and her chin quivers once before she forces down her emotion and stands. “The room is paid for, and you have enough food and water for at least a week, but this will all be over before then.” She keeps talking, repeating the rules she already told me, and I realize she doesn’t want to leave me any more than I want her to go.
“Okay,” I say, cutting her off. “I’ll stay here, no interaction of any kind with anyone. I won’t—I won’t mess up this time.” I stare hard at the disposable phone, not trusting myself to look at her. “As soon as you’re gone, I’ll call Regina to cover for me at work, and I’m supposed to meet Carmel tomorrow to study for our history test on Monday, but—”
“No, you can’t call anyone.” Her fingers dig into my shoulders. “Not anyone. They found us from a photo. Aphoto.Don’t think for a minute that they aren’t watching everyone we know.”
“But I’ll lose my job, and I promised Carmel we’d cover the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre. She keeps forgetting who the Huguenots were, and…and…” I’m tripping over my words, trying to get them out fast enough for her to understand. I can’t just disappear. We’ve finally stayed put long enough that people will care if I’m suddenly gone one day. And what about Aiden? He’ll be waiting for me outside the library, where we always meet. If I don’t show up, he’ll think I’m giving him his answer, that I don’t care about him the way he cares about me.
I’ll crush him, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to do any of this.
I feel my chin tremble, and then Mom has her arms around me again.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want this for you, and I’m going to make it right. I promise I will.”
My throat goes tight. I ask the question that no one should ever have to ask her mom: “What if something happens to you?”
She’s silent for so long that I start hearing the pounding of my heartbeat.
She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “I don’t have a choice anymore.” She hugs me then, and the pressure makes me feel sick again, but I hug her back just as tightly.
