Lies You Never Told Me(64)

“You should know we’ve put in a request for a search warrant for your home,” Larson says. “We should have it by tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll put the coffee on at seven,” Mom says. “Good night, officers.”

After another moment, both cops are on their feet. Huntington gives me a hard look.

“See you later, Gabe,” she says.

I don’t answer. I watch them go, watch as my mom moves to the door and shuts it firmly behind them.

She stands motionless for a moment before turning back around to look at me.

“Mom, seriously. I didn’t set that fire. I never threatened Catherine. This is all . . .”

“Gabe . . .” She sits down and rubs her temples. “What the hell is going on?”

I swallow. My lips feel cracked, my tongue swollen and sore. The idea of telling her everything is exhausting. I can feel the last of my energy spiraling down the drain.

“Sasha,” I finally say. “She’s been acting unhinged since we broke up. I think she started that fire.”

She looks skeptical. “That’s a serious accusation.”

“I know.” I look her in the eyes. “But remember the day she took Vivi? I swear, Mom, I didn’t tell her she could. It wasn’t a misunderstanding. She’s . . . she’s trying to hurt the people I care about.”

It must be the pain, or the exhaustion, or the adrenaline wearing off, but I feel tears sting the corners of my eyes. I swipe them away quickly, but she sees. She squeezes my hand.

“I’m going to go find some coffee for me and some water for you. We’ll talk about all this after you’ve had a chance to rest.” She picks up her purse. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. And if anyone comes in here asking questions, you don’t talk to them, you understand? Not until we have a lawyer.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

She gives me one last inscrutable look, then slips through the door.

I close my eyes, my raw hands stinging as I clench them tight. There’s only one way to fix all of this. I’ve known it all along, but I’ve denied it, even to myself. But I know what I have to do.

I just hope it’s not too late.





THIRTY-SIX


    Elyse




We go east. We follow the Columbia, the canyon walls cradling us as we go. At first I’m too excited to sleep. I sit up in the passenger seat, fidgeting with the radio, watching the sliver of road illuminated in his headlights. I go rigid with fear at one point when I see blue and red lights behind us, then relax when the cop car swerves around us and pulls over someone ahead. Then for a while we’re the only ones on the road.

I must fall asleep at some point, because when I wake up the sun is out. The river is gone; I don’t recognize our surroundings at all. The dash clock reads seven A.M.

“Morning,” Aiden says softly. “How you feeling?”

There’s a crick in my neck. “Hungry,” I say, stretching. “Where are we?”

“Just outside Coeur d’Alene,” he says. “In Idaho.”

The landscape has changed. Gentle, rolling mountains mark the horizon line, dark with trees. The sky is low and gray. But even with the gloomy morning weather, excitement fills my chest like a balloon. I sit up straight and look out the window.

“It’s beautiful,” I say. I glance back at him, suddenly realizing I haven’t even asked about the plan. “Where are we going, anyway?”

He smiles. “Anywhere we want.”

The idea makes me shiver. Anywhere we want? It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. I’ve never had the luxury of doing whatever I wanted before.

I see a sign advertising restaurants, and my stomach growls. “Can we stop for breakfast?”

He hesitates for a moment. “I was hoping to get a little more distance between us and Portland. But . . . I’ve been driving all night. I could definitely use a break. Sure, let’s do it. First let’s clean up a little, though.”

We pull over into a copse of woods off the road. The air is cold; it cuts right through to the bone. Aiden pulls one of the bags out of the backseat.

“I don’t know if anyone’s looking for us yet, but if they are they might be looking for that outfit. Better change.”

I grab my backpack from the front seat. Huddled against the cold, I pull on a fresh T-shirt and sweater. I watch as he loses the button-down and puts on a jean jacket, lined with shearling. Then he rummages in the grocery bag and pulls out a brown wig with two braids.

“Here,” he says. “Until we can get some dye.”

I stare at it for a second, then take it. I wouldn’t have thought of wigs, or dye, or any of this. But he’s right. We can’t look like ourselves.

I coil my hair up and pull the wig down over my head, peeking at my reflection in the car window. The style’s not terribly flattering for me—it feels juvenile and makes my face look small and pale under it. I look up to see Aiden pulling a grimy baseball hat down over his eyes. He’s already got a bit of stubble around his jawline, and when he takes his glasses off he’s almost unrecognizable.

“Ready for a bit of acting?” he asks, winking.

I can’t help it; I laugh out loud. A billowing sense of freedom, of adventure, takes hold of me. I pat the ends of my wig. “Born ready,” I say.