Run(33)

So she does think we’re on a road trip.

“Agnes, we don’t got much money—”

“I know,” she says. “And we don’t have to spend it, either. I’m not talking about tourist-type stuff, I just … If we see anything that seems fun, let’s try and actually stop, okay? Just to check it out. We might not get to your daddy’s until tomorrow, but that’s all right. What do you think?”

I oughta say no. I oughta keep driving and get out east, into the mountains, as fast as I can. The police are looking for us, and a couple bad haircuts and a cheap-bought car ain’t gonna disguise us for long.

But when I look at her again, out of the corner of my eye, she’s just smiling at me. Her hair’s blowing around in the wind, and she looks beautiful and hopeful. And I realize, even though she doesn’t, that we probably won’t get this chance again. If we don’t take the time to have some fun now, there’s a good chance we never will.

And I want her to have at least one good memory of me when all this is said and done.

“All right,” I say. “You spot anything that seems fun, we’ll make a stop.”

“Yes!” she shouts, and she sounds so much like a little girl that even I gotta laugh through the ache in my stomach and the tightness in my throat. “But you’ll have to do the spotting, Bo. It’s not really my strong suit.”

I smile. “All right. I’ll keep an eye out.”

And it don’t gotta be out long before I see something.

We’re driving through a little town, no bigger than Mursey, when I spot a sign taped in the window of some restaurant as we pass.

Summer Street Fair!!

Every Night This Week

Maple Avenue, 7–11 p.m.

Live Music! Good Barbecue!

I slow the car down as we pass, reading the large block letters.

This town’s tiny enough that it ain’t likely any cops would be looking for us here. And if the street fair gets crowded—and since it’s only one street, it might—it’d be easy to take off and disappear if anybody did recognize us. It’s a little risky, but maybe not too bad.

And it could be fun, I reckon.

A couple years back, the week Colt turned sixteen and bought that old pickup truck he’d been saving lawn-mowing and tobacco-field money for since he was ten, he’d taken me to a town half an hour down the road and we’d found ourselves at one of these summer street fairs. We’d wandered around for hours, listening to the band and smiling at strangers who didn’t know us as town trash.

We’d danced and laughed and a cute boy had even given me his phone number. Not because he thought I’d blow him in someone’s hayloft, either. Just because he thought I was pretty.

I’d never called, but it still felt real good.

And every now and then Colt and I talked about going back to that street fair. We never made it out there, though. Something else always came up. But I still think about it. About how nice it felt to have fun with strangers who didn’t know my name, didn’t know my story.

Didn’t know what a horrible, lying bitch I was.

I am.

“Bo?” Agnes asks. “Why’d you slow down? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say, swallowing hard. I turn to look at her and try to smile, even though it hurts. “You up for some barbecue tonight?”





“Where the hell have you been?”

It was the first thing I heard when I walked through my front door. Bo had just dropped me off after spending a couple hours down by the river. And in the couple hours, apparently, Mama had gotten up and Daddy had come home.

And they were furious.

“I … was with Bo,” I said. “I left a note. Didn’t you see it?”

“We were worried sick,” Mama said. She was standing in front of the couch. Like she was just too angry to entertain the idea of sitting down. “I woke up and you were gone, and you hadn’t taken your phone with you. I was on the verge of calling the cops.”

“I was just down the road,” I told her. “At the river. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal? The big deal?”

“Honey,” Daddy said from his seat in the recliner. His voice was a lot calmer than Mama’s. It almost always was. “Your mother and I are a little worried about you. We heard about your outburst in church the other day. Christy’s parents told us. Christy was real upset about something you said to her. And that just … It doesn’t seem like you.”

“And now you’re taking off without warning.” Mama sounded like she was teetering on the edge between fury and heartache. I couldn’t tell if the cracks in her words were tears or barely held-back rage. Or both. “And going to parties? Is this because of Bo Dickinson?”

“What? No.”

Although, I guess, it sort of was.

“I don’t understand,” I said, twisting my cane in my hands. “I’m sorry I forgot my phone, but I left a note. I told you I’d be back soon.”

“You think a note is enough?” Mama demanded. “You didn’t say where you were going. We didn’t have a way to check on you if we needed to. You could’ve gotten hurt or lost or—”

“I was with Bo,” I said. “I told you—”