You Are Here(34)

But Emma had already sprung into action. “It’s a funny story,” she was saying, half laughing at the sheer comedy of it all, and Peter struggled to imitate her, attempting to arrange his mouth in a way that might suggest he was also carefree and endlessly amused.

Officer Hurt chewed on the end of his pen and waited for Emma to continue.

“Well, we’ve been driving a convertible, right?” she said, motioning to the blue car, where the dog was now pacing the small confines of the backseat. “And it’s been hot, so we usually keep the top down. I mean, you know how it is in the summer.” Peter looked on, mortified, as she patted the now dumbfounded policeman on the arm. “So we got to a stoplight yesterday morning, and he decided to jump right out of the car—the dog, not Peter,” she clarified. “Anyway, we took him to the vet, just to be sure he was fine, because he had an accident as a puppy, which is why he only has three legs in the first place.” Here she lowered her voice conspiratorially, leaning in toward Officer Hurt. “If you’ve got a three-legged dog, you need to be very careful about other injuries in case anything happens to another leg, you know?”

The cop just barely managed a nod.

“We had to take his collar off at the vet so that he could examine him properly,” Emma continued, unfazed. “And it wasn’t until we left again that we realized it, and by then we were a hundred miles away.” She rocked back on her heels with a satisfied smile. “We’re on our way to visit my grandparents in DC, and we don’t want to be late for dinner. So we’ll have to get him a new collar once we get there.”

“Uh, yeah,” Officer Hurt said, once Emma had finally fallen silent. “Yeah, just … be sure that you do. And tags, too.”

“Of course, Officer,” Emma said with an overly bright smile. “We really appreciate the reminder.”

Peter thought this last part was a bit over the top, but Officer Hurt flushed at the show of gratitude and began backpedaling toward his car.

“Well, then,” he said, bobbing his head. “Drive safely, okay?”

“Uh, my license?” Peter asked, and felt a rush of relief once the little piece of plastic was back in his own hands. They stood and watched as Officer Hurt sank back down into the driver’s seat of the police car, lifted his hand in a wave, and peeled back out onto the highway.

Emma turned to Peter with a triumphant grin. “Not bad, huh?”

“I can’t believe he bought that,” Peter said, shaking his head as they walked back over to the convertible.

She shrugged, sinking back down into her seat. “He wouldn’t have cared about the dog, anyway. I mean, who gets busted for something like that?” she said, pushing the dog’s nose away as he attempted to lick her ear. “But you were acting so fidgety and nervous about the car thing, it would’ve been a shame to let something as stupid as giving a ride to a stray dog be the thing to get us in trouble.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Peter couldn’t help asking as he pulled the car back onto the road, his hands firmly on the wheel as he navigated cautiously down the exact center of the slow lane. “Giving him a ride?”

“I don’t know what we’re doing with any of this, really.”

Peter gave a humorless little laugh. “That’s always good to hear.”

“Yeah, well, things like this always work out in the end.”

“Do they?” he asked doubtfully, still shaken, but Emma only grinned at him.

“Well, if not, then at least we’re not stuck being bored at home. At least we’re having some fun, right?”

“ This is your idea of fun?” he asked. “Lying to the cops?”

“It wasn’t lying,” she said. “It was just pretending.”

“There’s a pretty important difference.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “I’m sure the police have better things to deal with than stray dogs.”

“What about stray kids?”

“You don’t really mind,” Emma told him with such certainty that Peter glanced over at her. “This is just about your dad.”

“What?” he said, his voice coming out in a telltale squeak. He tried to laugh it off, but this too sounded strange and forced. “No, it’s not.”

But he knew, of course, that it was true. They were almost to Washington now, with nearly three hundred miles of highway behind them, conspicuous as the sun in the blue car and toting a lame dog who drew attention wherever they went. But nobody had stopped them, and even once someone had, there had been no sign of recognition, no dramatic arrest or abrupt ending to the trip.

And it was only now dawning on Peter that this was no coincidence. They hadn’t been lucky to scrape by, and he hadn’t been fooling anybody. The fact was that no one was looking for him. And he understood now that this was a choice his father had made—this decision to await his return rather than chase after him—one that Peter knew was no small sacrifice for him to make.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Emma asked, twisting to face him. “That’s why you’re acting all jittery? Because of your dad?”

He hesitated, about to brush away the question as he always did, hedging his bets that despite what she said, Emma wouldn’t really be interested, or at least not for very long. But when he looked over, he saw that she was now watching him with her head tilted, an expression on her face that fell midway between affection and concern, and Peter wondered if maybe—just maybe—he’d misjudged her.