Saving Meghan(91)

Becky was eyeing the picture they had chosen for her—a nice enough headshot taken from her Help for Meghan Facebook page, but somehow what could have been a flattering image looked to her like a mug shot.

“It doesn’t matter who sent it,” Becky said. “Nobody can find us here. And I have more than enough cash to get us to California. We’re fine.”

Meghan nodded but did not seem convinced. Poor darling had so much to worry about on top of being sick.

Meghan shut off the TV at the commercial break. “I lived it; I don’t need to see it,” she said, slouching low on the futon.

Becky turned the TV back on. “We need to keep updated on the police progress. The news will leak any information they have.”

“What now, Mom?”

“We have to be patient,” Becky said. “We’ll get caught only if we’re impulsive. If we take our time, think things through before we act, there’s no chance we’ll be found.”

Meghan’s eyes brimmed with worry. “But what if they do find us?” she asked. “They’ll take me away from you. They won’t let you be my mom.” Meghan broke into tears as Becky pulled her into an embrace.

“Never,” she whispered in her daughter’s ear. “They will never take you from me. Do you hear? Never.”

Meghan sniffled away her lingering sadness while Becky inventoried the small one-bedroom apartment. She and Meghan could share the queen bed, or Becky could sleep on the futon. There were sheets for both. She’d prepaid two weeks, counting on being here for at least that long, knowing she could extend the stay if necessary.

“We need to rest,” Becky said. “Get our strength back. I don’t want you off your treatment for too long.”

“For mito?” Meghan asked.

“Yes, of course, what else?”

Becky sensed her daughter had something more to say, maybe on the subject of mito, but she was holding back. She decided not to press the matter. Her daughter had been through enough for one day.

They ordered a large cheese pizza and three large salads, with bread and dressing on the side. There was no food in the fridge. No cheese. No milk. Nothing. Becky decided she’d risk a trip to Trader Joe’s in disguise. Crappy, nonnutritious food could exacerbate Meghan’s mito symptoms. She’d pay cash. Nobody would think anything of it.

As they cleaned up after dinner, the news recycled the same report, with the exception of an interview with Detectives Capshaw and Spence, who reminded the public not to approach Becky, as she could be armed and dangerous.

“‘Armed and dangerous’?” Meghan scoffed. “Do they even know you? Have you ever even fired a gun?”

“Never,” Becky said. “What’s dangerous was not treating you for your disease.”

“Exactly,” Meghan said, though she did not sound nearly so adamant.

“Don’t worry,” Becky said, gazing out the window at the quiet street below. “You’ve gone a long time without treatment. You’ll be okay for a bit longer. Dr. Fisher told us mito is a slow-moving disease.”

“It’s not always slow,” Meghan said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It came on fast when you visited me at the hospital,” Meghan said. “Or did you forget?”

“Of course I didn’t forget.”

“Why do you think that is, Mom? Why would I feel sicker every time I see you?”

“I don’t know,” Becky said, trying not to let her hurt show. Did Meghan now doubt her? That could cause all sorts of unforeseen problems, far worse than the possibility of cameras.

“Never mind that,” Becky said. “The good news is that we’re safe and you feel okay now. We’re together—that’s all that matters. We’ll watch movies and bad TV. We’ll make the best of it. But we are going to have to pool our wits to figure out how to make those IDs. I don’t think we can hitchhike across the country without raising suspicion.”

“What about Dad?” she asked.

Becky’s eyes frosted over. “What about him?” she asked.

“How will he find us?”

Becky hoped her silence was answer enough.

“He’s my dad,” Meghan said, her lower lip quivering.

“He doesn’t want to get you better.”

“And you do?”

Becky wished that had come out as a statement of fact, not a question. “Yes, of course,” she said.

Meghan went quiet. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but had to ponder repercussions first. Becky could almost see the crushing weight of whatever burden she was carrying.

“Talk to me, Meghan. What’s going on? Are you scared? I understand if you are. But, trust me, I’ve gotten us this far. We’ll make it the rest of the way. Do you trust me?”

Meghan gave it some thought. Becky hated that her daughter could not answer immediately.

“I do … but … but—”

“But what?”

“Nothing.”

“Talk to me,” Becky said, forcing Meghan to look her in the eyes. “I’m your mother. I will always love you. I will always protect you.”

Meghan seemed to be working up her nerve. Becky thought a newfound resolve had blossomed on her daughter’s face.