Never Let You Go(40)

“Sophie, wake up.”

She rolled over. I could just make out the whites of her eyes, her long lashes blinking slowly, then she sat up. Her hand touched the side of my face and she softly said, “Mommy?”

“You have to be very quiet,” I whispered. “We’re going on a trip, just you and me. Daddy is sleeping on the couch and we can’t wake him up.”

“Daddy said I couldn’t go on adventures with you. He’ll be mad.”

Yes, yes, he will.

“I don’t want to go.” Her whisper was getting louder.

I leaned closer, said into her ear, “Sophie. Listen to me. We’re going to a special place just for kids where you can color and pick out new crayons and markers, and paint all over the wall, but you have to be quiet like a mouse or we won’t be able to go. It’s all the way over in Vancouver—we’re going to stay in a hotel, then take the ferry in the morning. You remember the ferryboat?”

“Can we sit at the front? Can we see the whales?”

“We can even go outside on the upper deck, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered, pushing back her covers.

“We’re going to wear pajamas. Won’t that be fun? Just like a slumber party.” I’d gone to bed in fleece pants, dressed her in a warm pair of pajamas. I tugged her hand. She followed along.

We were at the back door. If he woke now, there’d be no excuses. He’d know. I held my finger to Sophie’s lips, lifted our coats off the hook, and eased the door open, almost gasping at the rush of clean, snow-scented air, the cold biting at my skin. The bottom of the door made a soft scrape against the wood floor. I turned to look down the hall, then urged Sophie outside with my fingertips against her small shoulders and bundled her into her coat. Our boots were tucked under the wooden bench on the porch, the fabric stiff and cold as we slid our feet inside. I grabbed our bags, slung three across my back, and hooked Sophie’s over her shoulders.

We stepped off the porch, lifted our legs high with every step through the snow that was already a foot deep. I had to help Sophie a couple of times, my own balance awkward with the heavy bags pulling my weight to the side. Adrenaline and exertion warmed me like a furnace from the inside out. Sophie kept glancing back at the house, her face worried.

“Daddy won’t be upset at you,” I whisper. “I promise.”

I was staring straight ahead, searching the break in the trees for the flashlight beam. Then, finally, three quick flashes. We’d made it.



The truck was warm, the heater blasting a hot wave at us. Sophie was sitting in the middle. She cupped her hands over the vents while I rubbed her back. “You okay, baby?”

She nodded, but I could hear her teeth chattering.

“I brought hot chocolate in the thermos under the seat,” my brother said, his face grim as he turned the truck around on the narrow road. I held my breath when the tires slid toward the ditch, the back end kicking out, but then the truck surged forward.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Had problems getting out of the driveway. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I turned and looked out the rear window. The house was still dark. Sophie’s gaze followed mine. “Have some hot chocolate,” I said, tugging the thermos out.

“I’m not thirsty.”

I looped my arms over her shoulders, pulled her closer. “Try to get some rest. I’ll wake you up when we get to the hotel.” It was the only choice. If Andrew did go searching for me, he’d check my parents’ and Chris’s house first. I didn’t have friends anymore, and there weren’t women’s shelters in our area. Even if there were, Andrew would find some way to get to me. Sophie settled her face into my shoulder, her nose cold, and I remembered when she was a toddler how she used to insist I lie beside her every night as she fell asleep, demanded that I rest my head on her tiny chest while she stroked my hair and sang “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” After a few minutes, I heard her breathing deepen, felt her body lean heavier against mine. I nodded at Chris, letting him know it was okay to talk now.

“I checked you in earlier,” he says. “Made sure you had one of the back rooms.”

“Will he be able to make it through the snow?” Chris had arranged a ride for us a month ago with his friend Jackson. I’d wanted to leave Andrew as soon as we got back from Mexico, but Chris needed time to get a couple more paychecks and sell his motorbike—I’d only managed to save three hundred dollars; not nearly enough. Then this winter storm had blown through the coast. We’d come close to canceling the plan, maybe trying after Christmas, but then Andrew started drinking heavy again, switching back from beer to whiskey. He came home every night complaining about work, and I knew he was going to explode into another rage soon.

“No problem. You’ll be on the first ferry over.” He handed me an envelope. “It’s four thousand. I can get you more next payday.”

I wished we could get off the island that night, but the best I could do was a hotel near the ferry terminal, so we could catch the six-twenty boat in the morning while Andrew was still hopefully sleeping. I took the envelope and slid it into one of our bags. “I’ll pay you back soon. I can clean houses or babysit. I’ll figure something out.”

“Don’t worry about it.”