The Overnight Guest(73)

The girl did as she was told and her mother held the small space heater just in front of the snow. “Pull another chair over and grab a spoon,” her mother said. The girl found a spoon and dragged the other folding chair next to where her mother stood and climbed up. “Now hold the heater, and I’ll dig,” she said.

They made fast work of it, and within ten minutes, her mother’s arms were wet from the melted snow. A bitter wind blew through the window and took the girl’s breath away.

“Okay,” her mother said. “It’s going to be cold and we have to hurry. Hand me the plastic bag and get your blanket.” The girl hopped off the chair, the glass crunching beneath her feet, ran to the table and retrieved the items, then returned to her mother’s side.

“I’m going to help you through first, and then I’ll climb out,” her mother said. “Don’t cut yourself.” She hoisted the girl up, and she easily slid through the window. Next came her blanket and the plastic bag. The girl stood back and waited for her mother. It was sleeting. Icy rain slid down her neck and the sharp wind cut through her sweatshirt and jeans.

It took several attempts before her mother was able to pull herself up far enough to get her shoulders over the threshold of the broken window. The little girl grabbed onto her outstretched arms and pulled. With a groan, her mother heaved her body the rest of the way through and collapsed atop the snow.

She quickly got to her feet and looked around, trying to get her bearings. “This way,” she said, squinting as icy pellets struck their faces. Holding hands, mother and daughter picked their way across the slippery yard until they came to the front of the house and stood on the front porch to get out of the rain.

“What now?” the girl asked. She shivered and pressed herself close to her mother. The night was dark and wet and cold and looked bigger than she imagined it would.

Her mother opened the plastic bag and pulled out the set of keys she had placed there days before. “I know one of these keys is to a truck,” she said. “I hope one of them opens the front door, or we’ll have to walk.”

She tried the first key in the front door. It didn’t fit. Then the second and third. Finally, the fourth key slid in easily, and the door swung open. Once inside, they crossed the darkened room into the kitchen. Her mother paused at the basement door. “That’s why it didn’t open,” she said softly and pulled the slide lock at the top of the door to the left. “He used both locks.” She slid the lock back into place.

“Come on,” her mother said and guided her to another door. This one opened to a dark, windowless space. She felt along the wall and light flooded the room. It was a garage. One stall was empty. In the other sat another vehicle covered with a tarp.

The woman pulled the tarp away to reveal an old black truck that was rusty and scratched. This was the truck that he said he didn’t drive often, but he had no intention of ever getting rid of it. He liked to sit in it sometimes, he told her, and remember.

Her mother ran her hand across the cold metal. Bits of black paint stuck to her fingers. “Get in,” her mother said, opening the door for her, “and buckle up.”

The girl didn’t know what that meant.

Her mother climbed up behind her, shut the door, and fumbled with the keys until she found the one that fit the ignition. She then reached over and pulled a strap that fit over the girl’s lap and chest and clicked it into place.

“How do we get out?” the girl asked, staring at the lowered garage door.

“Like this,” her mother said and then reached above her head and pushed a black button. With a loud rumble, the garage door began to slowly rise. Her mother put her hands on the steering wheel and studied what was in front of her. She turned the key and the truck’s engine came to life. “Here we go,” her mother said, giving her a frightened smile.

The truck lurched forward and onto the glazed driveway. The tail end shimmied left, then right, and then straightened out. Her mother pressed lightly on the gas, then the brake, and slowly inched forward.

“Where are we going?” the girl asked as they moved slowly up the long driveway.

“Shhh, I need to focus,” her mother said. The rain was coming down in icy slashes and a murky fog covered the windshield. She found the headlights and the windshield wipers and that helped a bit. At the top of the drive, she had to make a decision. Turn right or turn left. She had no idea where she was or where to go. She took a deep breath and turned the truck to the right.

The truck kept jerking and sliding and stopping so that the girl’s stomach began to churn. She held tightly to her blanket and hoped she wouldn’t throw up.

Finally, her mother seemed to get the hang of it, and they drove slowly down the road. “Whatever happens,” her mother began, “I want you to keep going. If he shows up, keep running. If we get separated, keep running. Do you understand?” Her mother took another right. The wheels seemed to catch the road easier here, and her mother pressed down on the accelerator. The truck sped up. She glanced over at the girl. “Find somewhere safe. Don’t tell anyone anything. Not your name, my name, not anything until you know you are in a safe place.”

“How will I know if it’s safe?” the girl asked.

“You’ll know,” her mother said. “You’ll know.”

The girl wasn’t so sure. She looked at the road in front of them. They could go anywhere, be anyone they wanted to. Through the headlights, the girl saw a tree. A tree growing right up through the middle of the road. “Mama,” she cried out.