Lies You Never Told Me(68)

There are a few pictures they’ve used for Aiden. It’s surreal how different he looks in each image. Bearded, clean-shaven; glasses or none; hair blond, brown, red. Sometimes he looks like he’s barely out of college. Sometimes he looks fifty. Every time I see a new one, it makes something stir in the pit of my stomach. Which Aiden have I fallen in love with? Is it the real one? And how would I even know?

Now I shake off all these thoughts. Everything would be okay if I could just talk him into trying a bigger town. Somewhere I won’t be stuck in a drab motel all day; somewhere I can stretch my legs, stride out into the world. Become the person I’ve always been meant to be.

“No one ever called the cops in my old neighborhood,” I try. “But that’s because all my neighbors were cooking meth. We just need to find out where the drug dealers live.”

He looks up at me. “That’s an idea.” He flips back to California. “Humboldt County, maybe. Redway, or Garberville. I could work odd jobs on one of the pot farms. It’s not the growing season, but they might still have something.”

My heart sinks. “I meant finding a neighborhood in L.A., or Chicago or something.” I can’t quite keep a whiny note out of my voice. “I’m tired of living out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I never told you this’d be easy,” he snaps.

We’ve been squabbling like this for a week or so. It’s never over anything big—but we’ve been short with each other, easily piqued. I mean, there are still moments that are wonderful. A few nights ago we drove out to Death Valley and looked at the stars, and I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. In Idaho we played in the snow. But those moments are almost always overshadowed when some hotel clerk or waitress or person on the street looks at us a little too closely. It always puts him on edge.

Which means I should tread carefully. But I’ve been cooped up in this motel for days now, and I can’t seem to hold back.

“We’re in this together, Aiden. I should get a say in where we go next.” I cross my arms over my chest, then uncross them, feeling like a petulant child.

“I thought you wanted to live off the land.” There’s a mean-spirited sneer on his lips; his voice goes shrill and mocking. “‘I’ll go anywhere, as long as I’m with you. And as long as it’s a major metropolitan center.’”

“You know what?” I stand up off the bed. “Maybe you need a reminder. You’re not really my father. You’re not actually in charge of me.”

“Then stop acting like a child,” he says. “Do you even understand what I’ve risked for you? If I get caught I will go to prison.” He overenunciates the word, as if I’m stupid. “Sex with a minor is third-degree rape in Oregon. Plus they’ll get me on kidnapping. The FBI could get involved, because we crossed state lines. This isn’t a game.”

A hard laugh escapes from the back of my throat. “Oh, it isn’t? I didn’t realize. Because I’ve been having so much fun.”

He slams the atlas shut. There’s a hard glint in his eyes that I’ve never seen there before.

“Tell me, Elyse, what are you contributing to this situation, really? How are you helping us survive? Because the last I checked, I was doing everything. You talk a good game about how independent you are, but you’d be helpless without me. You’d starve to death in a fucking ditch.”

Without another word I get up and go into the bathroom. I shut the door firmly and quietly and lock it.

In the mirror my face is pale and drawn, my eyes cavernous. I’ve lost weight—not because I’m going hungry, but because I’ve been too stressed to eat. I pull my hair back off my neck and splash water on my face.

A soft knock comes at the door.

“Elyse, I’m sorry. Please, can you open the door so we can talk about this?” He waits for an answer, but I don’t give one. “I’m just scared. This has been hard for both of us.”

“I know.” I lean my head against the door. “Um . . . I just want to be alone for a little while. So I can calm down. Is that okay?”

He’s silent for a moment. I wonder what he’s doing, if he’s still standing there.

“Okay. I’m going to head out and get us some dinner. When I come back we can talk.”

“Something besides pizza,” I say. “Please?”

“Okay.”

When I hear his footsteps fade, I slump onto the bathroom floor, staring across the dingy linoleum. This isn’t the man who took me to the ocean for the first time, who kissed the salt spray from my face. This isn’t the man who put me in a spotlight and told me I belonged there. This sullen, paranoid man is a stranger to me.

And I barely recognize myself, for that matter. Not just my reflection, with its dyed-brown hair and sunken eyes, but the person I’ve become. Bored and bratty and irritable.

I want my mom.

The thought pops into my head out of nowhere. Which is ridiculous. I can’t think of a time that I’ve ever gone running to her for comfort or help. I’ve never had that luxury. Still, right this second, all I want is to hear her voice. Her raspy “hello,” followed by a pause as she lights her cigarette and takes a drag, the way I’ve seen her do a thousand times.

What would it hurt? It’s not like she’s set up to track a call. And Aiden’s made clear we’re leaving town as soon as possible anyway.