Dreamland(28)
In the end, she told herself, she’d had no choice but to do what she had. Law enforcement was out; going back home was out. Anything associated with her previous life was out. She had to disappear, and leaving Tommie behind was inconceivable. If she wasn’t around, on whom would Gary vent his anger?
She knew. In her soul, she knew exactly what would happen to Tommie, so when she made her plan to run, it was always for both of them, even if it meant that Tommie had to leave his friends and toys and pretty much everything else behind, so they could begin an entirely new life.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Beverly wasn’t tired. She was bubbling with steady, nervous energy—probably because she’d been thinking about Gary—so she left the rocker and returned to the kitchen. Spying the cans of yellow paint and primer, she felt her spirits lift in spite of her memories. The kitchen would be so cheerful when she was finished. She turned on the radio, keeping the volume low so Tommie wouldn’t wake up, but the music began to work its magic, drowning out her previous thoughts.
Now, with the world black beyond the windows, she remembered Tommie’s smile while catching tadpoles and let herself believe that everything was going to be okay. Yes, there were challenges, but everyone had those, and people needed to learn to not sweat the small stuff, right? For the present she had food and shelter and safety and anonymity, Tommie was in school, and she’d figure out what to do about the money. She was smart and capable, and there was always someone who needed cleaning or cooking or babysitting or someone to read to them because their eyesight had declined with age. And Tommie would adapt. Even if he hadn’t mentioned any new friends yet, he’d meet a boy or a girl in his class soon enough and they’d play at recess, because that’s what little kids did. Little kids weren’t caught up in who was who or what someone did or even if they wore the same clothes day after day. Kids just wanted to play. And Peg?
She laughed aloud at how silly she’d been as she exited the store, laughed that the idea had taken root at all. Not that she’d let her guard down, of course. Gary would have gotten the word out through government channels by now, distributing a suspect report or most-wanted listing, but it wasn’t as though he could personally speak to every police officer or sheriff in the country. For the time being, she was just a name and an unfamiliar photo on a poster hanging on the wall of the post office or in some email inbox, along with images of terrorists or white supremacists or bank robbers. In a world where crime was rampant and people did awful things every single day, it simply wasn’t possible for anyone in law enforcement to keep up with individual names and faces and descriptions from everywhere in the country. It was hard enough trying to keep up with the bad things that happened locally.
What had she been thinking?
“I’m just making sure we’re safe,” she whispered.
She wished again that she’d brought more clothes for her and Tommie. In her closet…No, she corrected herself. It wasn’t her closet, not anymore. In her old closet, she had a beautiful pair of Christian Louboutin pumps, with gorgeous red soles, the kind that celebrities wore at fancy galas or movie premieres. Gary had bought them for her birthday, and it was one of the few gifts she’d received without violence precipitating it. She’d never owned another pair like them. She probably could have squeezed them into her backpack, and maybe she should have. It might have been nice to slip them on every now and then, just to stare at them, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz with those ruby slippers, but then again, not really. It wasn’t exactly the same, now that she thought about it, because the last thing she wanted was to return to the life she’d lived before. This was her new home, and she was standing in her new kitchen.
“And tomorrow the walls will be yellow,” she whispered.
They needed another cleaning, though, so grabbing the same rag she’d used earlier, she began scrubbing again, taking her time, making sure the primer would stick. Cleaning and scrubbing, while the music sometimes made her feel like dancing. She could already imagine how pretty the kitchen would look when morning sunlight filtered through the windows.
It was late by the time she finished. Really late. For some people, it might even be considered morning, and because Beverly wanted to make sure she heard Tommie when he woke up, she lay down on the couch in the living room. Somehow she dozed off, like her brain simply decided to shut down, but she was awake even before she heard Tommie coming down the steps.
Gone was the relief from the night before. She didn’t feel like she had after waking from the dream about the pirate or even when her mind had begun tumbling after Peg mentioned that she looked familiar. Rather, there was a low-level sense of dread, like an unpleasant hum, one that hinted she’d missed something important in her escape.
Gary would have found her identification and phone in the house, signaling her intent to stay off the grid. Without ID, she wouldn’t be able to fly anywhere, so Gary’s first stops would be the train and bus stations. She’d already known that, though, which were the reasons for her precautions. She’d also known there were a dozen buses headed in different directions that morning, and Gary would learn that, too, but since he had no idea when she’d left, she would be more difficult to trace. What would Gary do next?
He’d speak with the ticket sellers, but what would he learn? No one would remember a mother and son. No one would remember a long-haired blonde. After that, he’d probably start interviewing the bus drivers, but with so many possibilities that weekend, it would take time. He might, however, eventually stumble across her driver, but what would he learn? Again, no mother and son traveling together. He would also learn that the driver had been replaced with another and that no mother and son had either arrived at a destination or departed together. Even if either driver had seen her and Tommie sitting together by glancing in the rearview mirror—doubtful, since Tommie was so small—would the second driver remember exactly where and when they’d gotten off? Who could possibly remember such a thing, especially after the passage of time, with so many stops, with so many people getting on and off every step of the way? It would be akin to remembering a random face in a passing crowd.