How to Save a Life(56)

My tongue tied in a thousand possible replies. A thousand more emotions and memories converged on me, threatening to swamp me. I had to shove them back to think clearly.

“On the bright side,” Evan said into the silence, “Garrett is okay.”

“Really? You saw him?”

He nodded. “I went back to Planerville last week. I didn’t talk to him or anything. Just did a little commando mission. Peeked through the windows. Garrett looked good.” He smiled faintly. “He looked real good.”

“I’m so glad. Did you see your other brothers?”

“I saw Shane and Merle. They look like you’d expect them to look. Not good. Dying in their own ways. I didn’t talk to them. I was just there to take my truck back.”

I frowned. “What do you mean you took it?”

He shrugged. “I needed it. It’s my truck.”

“That won’t matter to them, will it? They’ll say you stole it. It won’t matter that it’s yours because you busted out of prison.” I raised my eyes to his. “I still can’t believe you did that. Why? For me?”

“Of course,” Evan said. “Do you remember what I told you? That last night at Funtown?”

The rain poured down like tears on our faces. He raised a hand to touch my cheek, his eyes full. “I’ll always come back to you.”

“I remember,” I said softly.

Evan leaned over the table, his eyes boring into mine. “No one is going to touch you, Jo. Not the cops, not anyone. I’m going to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what? Lee is dead and you’re the one in danger.”

If we went back and Evan confessed, he’d be locked up for life. And not some minimum security place like North Correctional, either. He’d go away with the murderers and rapists, and it would destroy him. Destroy me, too. I’d wither away knowing he did it to save me from Lee, because I was too cowardly to get away myself.

“I could confess,” I said.

Evan shook his head.

“No, listen. From you, it looks like murder. From me, it’s self-defense.”

He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. “Are there records of his abuse to you? Police reports?”

I looked away. “No. The local cops always covered for him.”

“Hospital records?”

“He put me in the hospital once. A few months ago.” I let my hair fall to cover my face, shame burning my cheeks. “I told everyone I fell down the stairs.”

Evan’s voice grew more gentle. “Any witnesses who could vouch for you?”

I thought of Del. But what was the word of a drag queen against Patty’s? Against Warren and Ron’s? Against all of Lee’s buddies and their wives, some of whom looked just as beat down and scared as I did.

“No,” I said.

“Then it’s not an option.” He leaned back, held up his hands as if the matter were settled. “I won’t let you go to jail for it, Jo. I won’t.”

“And I can’t let you get locked up for life either. So what do we do? Run? Become fugitives?” I rubbed my face, wincing as I accidentally touched the lump on my brow. The pain helped me focus. “Where do we go now? Mexico?”

“No, we have to go north.”

“North where? Canada?”

“Maybe.”

I frowned. “You’re not sure?”

“We have to go north, to the center.”

I started to ask him what the hell he meant by that, but his eyes were looking past me, distant and searching, and I knew he didn’t know himself.

“Wait.” I pushed my mug away, sat back in my chair. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you…?” I firmed my voice. “How did you find me, Evan? Tell me the truth.”

Evan turned his coffee mug around and around. “I think you know how I found you, Jo.”

“The internet, right? One of those people-search sites?”

He shook his head, his eyes now intent on mine.

I went cold all over. “A dream?”

He nodded.

“You had a dream? Like the time you knew about my scar? Or the shooting? It was like that?”

“Exactly like that.”

“And going north? To the center?”

“Same.”

I stared. I could see Evan set his jaw, bracing himself for the disbelief and skepticism that had plagued him his whole life. I’d never wanted to be one of those people. I’d told him I believed him, but those nights in the pool at Funtown seemed so far away.

“God, Evan, I know you believe it’s real. I know you do, but…”

I hated the condescending, patronizing words the moment they came out.

I sound exactly like one of those people.

“I do believe it’s real,” he said tersely. “As real as the moment in algebra class when I saw Becky Ulridge’s dad get shot in the head.”

I flinched and he sagged back against the bench, shaking his head miserably.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s just… So much is at stake,” I said carefully. “We can’t run away and build a life based on a dream or a hunch.”

“It’s the only way you’ll be safe and I’ll be free.”