Don't Fail Me Now(51)

“What’s gonna happen?” Denny asks shrilly. I turn back to look at him, and as soon as I lock in on those big, scared brown eyes, I know I can’t give up yet. I didn’t make it this far to throw it all away now. If the cops want to take me in, they’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming. Like mother, like daughter.

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, meatball. We’re all going to keep our phones turned off—no exceptions.” I say, glaring at Leah. “We’re going to get off the highway and take side roads. And we’re not going anywhere outside the car as a group. Everyone got it?” I look around at them one by one. Only Tim avoids my eyes. “You two especially need to stay out of sight,” I say.

“Like Max?” Denny asks.

“Yup,” I say. “You’re invisible from now on. No more malls. No public places. If you have to go anywhere, you can’t be seen together.”

“This is so humiliating,” Leah moans.

“Well, the silver lining is, at least your parents give a shit,” I say.

“Hey,” Tim says, perking up slightly, “can’t your mom call the cops? If they know who you are and that you’re related to Leah—”

“She can’t do that,” I say, avoiding his eyes this time. Tim’s not the only one who’s withheld important information. My face burns with shame.

“Why not?”

“She’s in jail.”

There’s a beat of not-quite-silence—click, click, click—as Tim and Leah ingest this revelation.

“So she doesn’t know,” he says, his voice low and even.

I shake my head.

“Are you guys running away?” Leah asks.

“No,” I say firmly, mostly for Denny’s benefit. “We just . . . didn’t have anywhere to go. And when you came and told me about Buck . . .”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says.

“Too late now,” I say softly.

“So what happens to you if they catch up with us?” he asks.

My head pounds. If the cops find us, then I violate the most important rule I grew up with, even worse than begging. The rule to end all Devereaux rules, and the one Mom has the most trouble following: Don’t get caught. “I don’t know,” I say shakily. “Nothing good.”

Tim looks straight at me, his eyes flashing with something that’s not anger, exactly, but just as frightening.

“Then we have to make sure they don’t,” he says.





TWELVE


Friday Night/Saturday Morning

Amarillo, TX Tucumcari, NM




We drive west on back roads until we’re out of Texas, and then I spend an hour on the New Mexico byways looking for a place to camp that’s not populous enough to blow our cover but not remote enough to remind me too much of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Finally I find a spot near Tucumcari Lake that shows signs of human life in the form of bonfire ruins but has no other campers. Leah doesn’t fight me when I tell her I’m sleeping in the tent. No one really speaks, actually; we just shut down, one by one. And I can’t sleep, but I could see that coming. In a way it’s more comforting to be awake, lying between my siblings, hearing them breathe.

“Are you asleep?” I whisper into Cass’s back once I’m sure Denny is out cold.

She doesn’t answer, but I can feel her muscles tense through her shirt, the sharp triangles of her shoulder blades drawing together.

“I’m sorry about all this,” I say. “I should have listened to you.” I don’t mean that, exactly. As much as it would make our lives slightly easier from a legal standpoint, I can’t pretend that having Tim, and to a lesser extent, Leah, with us hasn’t helped. Up to now, at least. But it doesn’t matter; Cass doesn’t take the bait.

“I probably overreacted in the car,” I say—another lie. “I’m sure the cops have better things to do than look for a couple of kids on a road trip. As long as we don’t tip any cows, we should be okay.”

“Will you stop?” she finally hisses. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Hey,” I say, resisting a sudden urge to grab on to her and hold tight, making spoons like we did when we were little, feeling the shift of her thin bones under my bigger ones as I curled around her like a human safety net. “I just need you to know that I’m here. And that I won’t let anything happen to us.”

“You can’t promise that,” she says, still with her back to me. And she’s right; I can’t.

“Okay then. I’m still here. I won’t leave.” I reach out to lay a hand on her arm, but she shakes it off.

“Getting taken away is the same thing as leaving.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I try hard to keep the pattern of my breath from giving away the fact that I’m fighting back tears. After I compose myself, I try a different approach.

“When we get home, I’ll help you transfer schools,” I whisper. “Maybe we can get you into one of those fancy ones with financial aid. You could even go to Hogwarts.” Cass lies stiff as a corpse. If she hadn’t just spoken, I’d check her breathing. “In a weird way, this could all be a blessing. I think things will start to get better,” I say.