Run(66)

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t just leave in the middle of the night. The way my parents worried, they’d think something more sinister had happened. That I’d been kidnapped or murdered or something. I was so angry at them for the way they’d kept me caged. Furious that they treated me like a child. But I couldn’t let them think I was out there dead somewhere.

I left my bag by the door and stumbled back to the kitchen. I flipped on the light over the counter and felt around for the notebook and black marker we always kept by the phone. It took a second, but then I felt the marker beneath my right hand.

With the paper in front of me, I realized I had no idea what to say. How do you tell your parents you’re running away? That your best friend is in trouble, and you know if you don’t go with her, you’ll rot here, miserable and alone? How do you break your parents’ hearts?

I didn’t have time to think about it. Bo would be in the backyard any second. So in large black letters, I wrote the first thing I could think of.

Mama and Daddy—

I took the money and Gracie’s car. Please don’t worry about me, and don’t call the police. I’m safe. But I had to go. I know you don’t understand. I know you’ll be mad. I’m sorry. But I have to do this. I love you.

—Agnes

I left the note on the counter, next to my cell phone, where I knew they’d find it in the morning. I could imagine their reactions already. Mama would yell. Daddy would go quiet. And I’d be long gone. But at least they’d know I was okay. At least I could give them that.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, and my cane unfolded in my hand, I walked out the front door for what I knew might be the last time for a long while.

It took me a few minutes to get to the backyard in the dark. My cane wasn’t a whole lot of help in the high grass. Daddy hadn’t mowed in a couple weeks, too busy with the store. But I finally managed, sliding my hand along the edge of the garage as a guide.

“Bo?” I whispered.

But there was no answer. She wasn’t there yet.

I leaned against the garage, my heart pounding even though I’d been walking pretty slow. She’d be here soon. And then …

We’d run.





“Hello?”

It’s the first time I’ve heard her voice in months.

Five months, three weeks, and a day.

And hearing it now, on the other end of the line, has me damn near crying. I knew I’d missed her, but I had no idea how much until just now. And I realize it’s a miracle the ache ain’t killed me yet.

“Hello?” Agnes says again.

“Hey.” It comes out a croak. I swallow and try again. “Hey … It’s me. It’s Bo.”

She gasps. The way you might if you saw a ghost.

And I’m the ghost.

“Can you talk?” I ask. “If it’s a bad time, I can—”

“Where are you?”

“Oh, um … Paducah. With my foster parents.”

“Foster parents,” she repeats.

“Yeah. Joe and Lucy.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Agnes says. She sounds like she might cry, too. “Me and Colt both have. We’ve been so worried. He’s made calls, but we could never find out where … Are you okay?”

“I’m all right,” I say, even though the guilty feeling in my chest stirs. It’s been there for a long time—since the night in June when me and Agnes took the car—and it’s only gotten bigger, heavier over time. “Joe and Lucy are nice. Kinda strict but … maybe that ain’t a bad thing. It … it ain’t nothing like before. The other place. The first time Mama … Well, it ain’t like that.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. I really like Lucy. She’s—”

“You didn’t say good-bye.” She don’t sound like she might cry anymore. Instead, she sounds mad.

I swallow, already feeling guilty. “I know.”

“After everything we went through, everything I did … I woke up and you were just gone. I made my parents drive hours to go get you, even after you lied to me. You cried in my lap while you were drunk and sick, and I was scared to death. And then you disappear and I don’t hear a goddamn word from you for months. What the hell, Bo?”

“I know. I’m … I’m sorry.”

I don’t give her any kinda answer. I don’t tell her why I ain’t called, because truth is, I don’t know. I’ve dialed her number a hundred times, but I always hung up before anyone answered.

When I first got here, after the CPS worker dropped me off … it was real bad. I was mad and hurt and scared. I cried at night. Yelled at Joe and Lucy during the day, even though they ain’t never done nothing wrong to me. I even threatened to run away again.

I was a mess. And I didn’t want Agnes knowing about it.

Then, come August, I started at a new school. A big school, where no one had heard of Bo Dickinson. I didn’t have to think about Mursey or Mama or the trouble I’d caused. And as much as I missed Agnes—as many times as I’d heard a country song on the radio and got tears in my eyes because it was one we’d heard together, sang together—I knew calling her would open that door. It’d mean looking back at everything that had happened. And I wasn’t ready for that yet.