Run(24)

“And we bought the car we got now.”

Colt ignores us. “So now what? What’s your plan? Where’re y’all going? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of staying here. I love you, Bo. More than anything. But I just got my shit together, and if the cops come looking for you here and I get in trouble—”

“Relax,” I say. “We ain’t asking to stay. Except maybe for tonight. We ain’t even asking for money.”

Colt sinks down into the battered old armchair across the room. Utah hops right into his lap, like she’s some sorta prissy toy poodle, not a full-grown German shepherd. He strokes her ears while he talks. “Then why’re you here?”

“I’m looking for Dad.”

“Your dad?”

I nod.

“Bo, I ain’t got a clue where he’s at.”

“But Uncle Jeff might.”

Colt groans. “Bo …”

“Come on. Please?”

“I ain’t talked to him in over a year.”

“But you got his number, right?”

“Wait,” Agnes says, looking between us. The living room is bright enough that I figure she can probably see okay. “Who’s Uncle Jeff?”

“My dad,” Colt says.

“Oh.” She looks horrified. “You still have his number? I thought he was awful to you and your mama before he took off.”

“Yeah. He was.”

“But he’s the only one my dad would keep in touch with,” I tell her. “They were real close growing up. After Daddy left, he’d still call Uncle Jeff. Tell him to say hi to me. Sometimes he’d even send him money to give me for Christmas. Just, like, twenty dollars or something. He’d never send it to Mama because she’d just spend it on … Anyway, I know Uncle Jeff’ll be able to get ahold of him.”

“So you need me to call my dad.” Colt sits back in the chair, and Utah whines when he stops petting her. “Why’re you looking for Uncle Wayne anyway? What’s he got to do with y’all running away?”

I stare down at my lap. At my dirty, bare knees. Because I can’t look at his face. Or Agnes’s. “He’s got money,” I say. “And that’s what we need right now.”

“And you think he’ll give it to you?”

I nod.

“This is a dumb plan, Bo.”

I grit my teeth and look up. “Colt—”

“The whole thing is stupid. Running away, looking for Uncle Wayne—it ain’t gonna end well.”

“And you think me turning around and going home will end much better?” I ask. “You know what would’ve happened if I stayed. I ain’t going through that again, Colt.”

“Bo—”

“And it’s only gonna be worse now that I done took off,” I tell him. “You might think it’s a dumb plan, but I can’t go back.”

Colt nudges Utah off his lap and stands up, walking toward the kitchen. “Agnes?” he asks. “You wanna beer?”

“Uh …” She glances at me, then back toward the kitchen. “Sure. Thank you.”

“Does that mean you’ll call Uncle Jeff?” I ask.

“I guess.”

“And we can stay here tonight?”

He walks back into the living room, two cans of beer in his hands. He gives one to Agnes, then pops the top on his own. “Fine,” he says to me. “Y’all can stay tonight. But that’s it. I’ll get in a lot of trouble if the cops come looking for you here.”

“They won’t,” I say.

And I sure hope I’m right.



They think I’m asleep.

I’m curled up on Colt’s ugly couch, a blanket pulled over me. The TV is on, turned down low, while The Tonight Show plays. But Agnes isn’t on her pallet on the floor. She got up a while ago and went to Colt’s bedroom.

They think I’m asleep, but I can’t sleep. And these walls are real thin.

“I’m sorry,” Agnes says. “About your dad. I didn’t know that was Bo’s plan.”

“My dad’s not what I’m worried about,” he says. “Agnes, I know y’all are close, but—”

“But nothing. I couldn’t let her go alone. I know you think I’m stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” Colt says. “I’m glad you love Bo. For a long time, I’ve been the only one looking out for her.”

He’s selling himself short. Colt didn’t just look out for me growing up, he practically raised me. Especially after Daddy left. Colt was the one I ran to when the rumors about me got too mean. Colt was the one who remembered to tell me happy birthday when Mama didn’t. Colt was the one who brought bread and cheese to the trailer so I’d have something to eat.

For a long time it was just me and Colt against the world. Or at least against the town of Mursey.

“I can’t take care of her anymore,” he says. “Now that I’m here … she needs you.”

“And I need her.”

“But, Agnes … what about school? What about graduation? You’re smart. You could—”

“I’m probably not going to college anyway,” Agnes says. “I’d graduate and then, what? Be stuck in Mursey? Live with my parents until I marry some redneck I went to school with? What’s the point? What’s the point if Bo’s not there?”