I’m not scared anymore.
No. That’s wrong. I am scared, but I barely notice it now. It’s like a noise that bothers you for a while, but then you get used to it and almost don’t hear it anymore.
Elliot’s strapped in the front seat of the LeSabre, babbling away as if we’re going to a birthday party. I realize that sooner or later I’m going to have to tell him what’s up.
I hear the sound of scared again.
We’re heading out of town. We pass the turnoff to Colin’s street.
“Hey!” Elliot goes. “Aren’t we picking Colin up?”
“Ah, no, not right now.” He turns and looks at me with one eye closed. It’s his angry pirate face.
“Why not?”
“Sorry, Elliot. Can’t talk now. Got to figure out where I’m going.”
That much at least is true. Where am I going?
I don’t know. I’ve just got to get out of here.
I’ve got to go someplace where nobody knows us. Somewhere we can ride this thing out.
I’ll get a job. I’ll put Elliot in school. We’ll be okay—better than we are here, that’s for sure. I’ll look after him. I’ll bring him up to be just like Dad—good and smart and funny and kind.
Some day when this mess is cleared up, the two of us will sue all the people who said bad things about our father. Then we’ll be rich again. We’ll have the last laugh.
I press too hard on the gas. I don’t mean to. All of a sudden, I’m excited.
Dad always said, “Crisis is just another word for opportunity.”
I take the ramp onto the highway and break out into a smile.
I can do this.
I wish I knew how to put the top down. I have this urge to just gun it, feel the wind in my hair. It seems like the appropriate thing to do. This should be a celebration, not some sneaky little escape. We have nothing to be ashamed of.
We’ll get our own little apartment, Elliot and I. I’ll decorate it. I’ll learn to cook. I’ll throw him a big birthday party when he turns six and invite all his new friends.
“Ria. We’re going the wrong way to the Great Wall.” Elliot’s neck is stretched out so he can see over the dashboard.
I consider saying, “No, we aren’t,” and stringing him along for a while, but I don’t. I think of all those lies about Dad and how much they hurt, and I realize I’ve got to tell the truth. I promise myself that I’ll always tell Elliot the truth.
“You’re right, sweetie. This isn’t the way to the Great Wall. We’re actually going somewhere else.”
Elliot’s eyes are wide open, and his bottom lip is rolled down. “Where?” he says in a tiny little voice.
“On an adventure!” I sound like I’m hosting a preschool program. “Mommy can’t look after us anymore, so we’re going to get a new home somewhere else…” I want him to throw his hands up in the air and go “Yeah!” like he did before, but he doesn’t. He looks at me as if I’m the worst liar ever. Then he bursts into tears.
“I don’t like adventures! I want Mommy!” He kicks the dashboard and throws his head back and forth as if someone is slapping his face.
I feel like I pulled the wrong stick out of the Jenga tower. All my plans crash to the ground. I’m going “Shh! Shh! Elliot. Calm down!” but I’m having trouble even calming myself down.
Why did I think this was going to be easy?
There’s an exit coming up. I could turn around there and be home by six. I could turn around, take Elliot to the Great Wall and be home by eight.
I put on the blinker—but I drive right past the exit.
I can’t go home to Mom and the lies and the fact that Colin isn’t there anymore.
Elliot is howling and thrashing away. I worry his shoes are going to leave scuff marks on the white leather upholstery.
I do my best to blank him out and lean into the windshield. I tell myself to keep going. I’ll figure something out.
Elliot’s crying eventually winds down into a wheezy sort of whimpering. He stops asking me where we’re going. The sky starts getting dark, and my hands go numb from clenching the steering wheel.
I notice the gas is almost on empty. I pull off at the next exit and look for a service station. The whole time, my head is frantically making new calculations. How far can we get before Mom sounds the alarm? How far can we get on a tank of gas? How far can we get before Elliot melts down?
I pull up to the pump and get out my wallet. It sounds stupid, but this is the first time I realize I actually have to find a way to pay for everything.
Mom cut up my credit card. I’ve got $18 in bills, maybe a couple bucks more in change. I have a debit card, but I doubt there’s more than $35 in my account.
I get a little electric shock of panic, but then I think, No. Something will come up. We’ll be okay. That was always Dad’s attitude.
I start filling the tank. I can’t believe how little time it takes to hit $30. I tell Elliot not to move, and I go into the station to pay. The girl at the counter swipes my card. I key in my pin and hold my breath. It goes through. That’s a good sign.
I get out some change and buy a Coke and a bag of chips for Elliot. I immediately feel guilty. Mom would never let him eat like that.
At least the junk food makes Elliot happy for a while. I turn the radio on to the corniest station I can find. For an hour or so, we cruise along the highway with the music blasting. If I could just forget all the other stuff, it would almost seem like we’re on an adventure.
I’m starting to pass signs for places I’ve only ever heard of on the weather report. I switch off the radio when the eight o’clock news comes on. It dawns on me I won’t always be able to just turn things off. Someday, Elliot will hear the stories. I’ll have to be ready.
The sky is black now—blacker than it ever gets in the city. I imagine our house all lit up by the television lights. Mom is no doubt starting to listen for the sound of Elliot and me coming up the stairs.
How long before she gets worried? How long before she calls? I reach into my purse and turn off my cell. I don’t want Elliot asking why I’m not answering my phone.
“I need to pee, Ria.”
I don’t want to stop yet. I want to get as far away as I can.
“Can you wait?” I say.
He doesn’t have to answer. I can tell by the way he’s fidgeting that I’ve got to find a washroom fast.
What if he doesn’t make it? What if he wets his pants? I should have packed him a change of clothes.
I take the next exit and, thankfully, there’s a service station just a minute down the road. I look at the gas gauge. We’re practically on empty again. This car is going to bankrupt me.
Elliot runs into the washroom, holding his crotch.
A guy in his twenties watches him run in and laughs. “Been there, done that,” he says. He notices the LeSabre. “Nice car.”
I nod. I’m too worried about money to answer. We have to eat, find a place to sleep… “How does it drive?”
“Good,” I say and shrug. I’m trying to brush him off, but then suddenly I get an idea. “Want to give it a spin?”
He looks at me like, Are you kidding? and says, “Yeah!”
“Okay,” I say. “Twenty bucks for twenty minutes.”
I can see the guy’s surprised that I’d actually charge him, but it doesn’t stop him.
“Sure.” He hands me a twenty. “And here, take my birth certificate too. Don’t want you worrying about me taking off on you.”
Elliot comes out of the washroom just in time to see the guy get in our car. He doesn’t ask why. I think he’s scared of answers now.
I hold his hand and watch the car pull out onto the road. There’s a bunch of people standing in front of the gas station, and they all watch too. You sure can’t hide in a 1962 LeSabre.
Elliot and I have been sitting on the curb waiting for about ten minutes when a bus pulls up. The people in front of the station all pile on. It dawns on me that no one pays much attention to a bus.
I hear a little ding in my brain.
“C’mon, Elliot!” I say. “Want to go for a ride?”
The sign on the bus says Cypress-Riverview. The driver is standing outside, having a smoke, while the passengers get settled in their seats.
I’ve got $20 in my hand from the guy. Roughly eighteen more in my wallet. Who knows how much—if anything—in my account. I’ll need to save some for food. That means I could spend about $30 on bus tickets.
“Excuse me,” I say. “How much does it cost to go to”—I check the window for the name again—“Cypress?”
The driver grinds his cigarette out with his foot.
“Cypress? Twenty-eight bucks.”
My shoulders sink. This isn’t going to work.
“That’s for you. If your son is six or under, he travels free.”
Elliot says “I’m not her son” as if the driver just accused him of being an ax murderer.
I said, “I’ll take two.”
I leave the guy’s birth certificate at the convenience store. I don’t know what he’s going to think when he comes back, but I have nothing to be ashamed off. Twenty bucks isn’t bad for a mint-condition LeSabre.