Don't Fail Me Now(39)

“Yeah, white privilege is a bitch.”

“Hey,” Tim says, putting a protective hand on Leah’s shoulder. “She’s just scared. We’re risking a lot, too.”

“You’re not risking anything,” I shout. “That’s what you don’t get. There are no consequences for you. None.”

“That’s not true!” Leah cries.

“What, you might lose Instagram privileges for a day? I could lose—” my entire family. The words are right there, acid letters burning my throat, but I swallow them. I don’t think I could stand their pity. “A lot more than that,” I choke out. I feel Denny’s weight press into the backs of my legs, a squirmy sandbag anchoring my resolve. “If we keep going,” I say, “you have to do what I tell you. No hotels, no frills, no paper trail . . . and no phones.”

Leah turns to Tim. “I don’t want to be here,” she says.

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” I mutter.

She spins around, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you so mean?”

“Why are you so spoiled? I know you don’t get it from your daddy.” We’re almost chest-to-chest now, and even though she’s got a few inches on me, I know I can take her.

“Guys, stop,” Tim says, shoving his arms between us. “Remember, you’re sisters.”

“Unfortunately,” I say under my breath at the same time Leah snaps, “I hardly know her.”

Like boxers ending a bout, we retreat to separate ends of the car, her with Tim and me with Cass and Denny.

“Okay,” I say, rubbing my eyes with my palms, “I don’t know what they’re doing, but do you guys want to keep going? Or do you want to go back?”

“Can we see Mom if we go back?” Denny asks, and I shake my head. “Then keep going, I guess,” he says sadly.

“Yeah,” Cass says with a shrug. “This sucks, but it’s better than school.”

Monday afternoon comes rushing back like a sucker punch—You better run, dyke! Cass’s been even more withdrawn than usual, and I’ve been so busy worrying about logistics and money and so distracted dealing with Tim and Leah that I’ve been kind of relieved that my sister likes to stay so self-contained. But it’s the quiet storms you have to keep an eye on.

“Hey,” says Tim, walking up to us with a teary-eyed Leah under his arm. “If it’s okay with you, we’d like to stay.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Both of you?”

“Yeah,” Leah whispers, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. “I want to see him.”

Him. Buck. Sometimes I forget he’s the pot of gold at the end of this crappy-ass rainbow. I’ve gotten so used to pretending he doesn’t exist that he’s a fiction at this point; we might as well say we’re going to see Mickey Mouse, or the Easter Bunny. I don’t know if I’ll want to see him when we get there, but I decide to keep that particular doubt to myself for the moment. “What will you tell your dad?” I ask. If Tim’s dad is even halfway serious about involving the police, I know I should just leave them here. I was so shortsighted not to see how this would play out. I guess Leah’s not the only one who can’t imagine a different world outside her bubble.

“I’ll figure something out,” Tim says. But I see the look on his face. It’s the same look I see every time I pass a mirror. He has no idea what he’s going to do next.





TEN


Thursday Afternoon/Thursday Night

Indiana-Illinois Border Bristow, OK




Goldie’s noise is getting worse and worse. She starts okay but sounds like a vacuum cleaner sucking up quarters once she gets going. Tim frowns at the dashboard approximately every sixty seconds, trying to diagnose the problem. I took him up on his offer to drive, and I’m trying really hard to focus on watching the trees whoosh by as we pass into Illinois. But ironically, the silence in the car is making it hard to relax.

Remember, you’re sisters, Tim said. Like I could ever forget. I’ve been holding on to Leah since I was seven years old—the idea of her, anyway. I always fantasized I would know her if I saw her someplace random, like she’d shine in a way only I could see. Then we’d walk slowly toward each other and hug, instantly bonding over the shared pain brought on by our lowest common denominator. In my head it was always us versus Buck, us versus the world. It never even occurred to me it might be me versus her.

“Hey, Tim?” Denny pipes up from the backseat. “You said your sister . . . was my sister’s . . . sister.” He speaks in a slow, probing way that makes me realize he’s been trying to figure it out since we left the hotel. Leave it to this kid to be a lightning rod for the tension on everybody’s mind.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

“We’re half sisters,” Leah says pointedly with her face turned to the window.

“What does that mean?” Denny asks.

“We have half of the same parents,” Cass says. “The same dad but not the same mom.”

“You and Michelle and Leah?”

“Yup,” she sighs.

“But if you guys are sisters, then is she my sister, too? Can she go on my tree?”

“What’s he talking about?” Leah asks.