Out (21 page)

Carmen glances
up as we drive away. “Always. Not sure why. Maybe because I’ve disappeared a
couple of times in the middle of the night.” She grins at me.

“Yeah, yeah,”
Jana says. “Where are we going?”

“Let’s just
drive around,” Carmen suggests. “It’ll be harder for anyone to overhear us. You
think the car’s okay, right?”

“Better be,”
Jana says. “I think we’d be in a hole somewhere by now if it wasn’t clean.”

“Can I come
back and sit with you?” Carmen asks over her shoulder. I look at Jana, who nods
as if she doesn’t approve but expected it anyway. Carmen glides over the seat
gracefully, and lands in my lap.

“I’m taking
Greeley Chapel Road, so nobody will see us.” Jana flips on the radio and
punches a button so it’s playing some music instead of the dull talk shows it
usually spits out.
 
As we roll through
town, I turn to Carmen, grinning ear to ear; she eases me down onto the leather
seat and kisses me while my sister sings along with Aretha Franklin.

I could say
time stood still, or one of those clichés that people say when they’re with
someone they love, but it’s really true: we must have driven for at least an
hour and it didn’t seem like we went anywhere to me. Jana finally says, “We
have to stop to refuel,” and we disentangle ourselves, sit up straight, try to
look respectable.

“No funny
stuff,” Jana warns as she jumps out to pump the gas.

“So.” Carmen
traces a pattern on the back of my hand. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

We breathe,
together. Not on purpose. “What time do you leave?”

“Three. We’ll
get there by six. You have your information?”

She nods. “Someone
contacted me yesterday. In a bathroom.” She shakes her head. “They pushed a
packet under the stall. It gave directions and a time. That was it.”

“Well, I guess
that’s pretty safe. If someone got hold of it, they wouldn’t really know what
it was for, right?”

“Yeah.” She
leans in, not too close in case people can see us. “It just lists a time and
GPS coordinates. I’m supposed to meet—Magnus?— there at midnight. Jana’s going
to drive me and drop me off a half mile away, then I’ll walk in to the meeting
site. And then, I guess…we’ll go.” She smiles, but it isn’t cheerful. “What if
something goes wrong?”

“It won’t.” I
don’t feel as sure as I sound.

“Are you
scared?” she asks in a small voice.

“Terrified.
You?”

“Beyond
terrified.” She gazes into my eyes and I glimpse the full-on panic that hides
behind her smile. “We can just forget about it. It’s not too late.”

I tilt her chin
toward me. “It is too late. I’m in love with you.” I kiss her lightly. “They’ll
get us out. It’ll be over before it starts.”

She smiles at
me, grateful, I think, for my false confidence. “Let’s talk about after. What
we’re going to do. What it will be like.”

“Hmm. After.
Well, once all the secret stuff is over, we’ll be in Canada. I don’t know
where, do you?”

“No.” she pats
my knee. “I don’t care where.”

 
“We’ll have a little apartment. Second floor.
Lots of trees around, maybe an old brick building.”

“Flowers?
Violets. Those are my favorite.”

“Sure. Not in
winter, though. It’s going to be colder up there, remember.”

She says, “We’ll
be spending Christmas together.” I don’t think either of us had realized it
before. Holidays. Family time. A lump in my throat keeps me from talking for a
moment, and when I look at her, her eyes glisten with tears. The clunk of the
gas nozzle shakes us out of it. But the feeling lingers, a cold dread
resignation that we’ll be giving up many things in exchange for what we get.

“We’ll get a
tree,” she says, almost whispering. “We can make the decorations.”

“You won’t be
able to see your family again, will you?” I hadn’t thought about it. She’s here
in Ohio, her family in California. If she leaves now, she’ll never be able to
go back, not until things change. If they change.

“No.” Head
bowed, she traces a pattern of creases on the leather seat. “I’ll write to
them. Maybe we can video chat. It will almost be like seeing them.”
 

“Were you…are
you close to them?” She’s a stranger, a person I barely know and I’m risking
everything I’ve ever had for her. Put that thought aside. That thought is not
going to help.

“I don’t know,”
she answers. “Both my moms are sort of…militant…and since I’ve known about
being…you know…for awhile, I haven’t felt like I could really be myself around
them.” She grins brightly. “I guess I sort of mentally ran away a while back.”

Jana gets in,
starts the car, and pulls away. “Well, where to, lovebirds?”

Carmen reaches
across the front seat and pats Jana’s shoulder. “Thanks for helping us.”

“I’m helping
myself, make no mistake. I am going to be up there too before you know it. I am
not sticking it out in this swamp of mental retardation any longer than I have
to.” She guides the SUV onto the road and heads back toward Carmen’s house. “But
for the time being, we’re supposedly helping my non-existent friend Danny move
his stuff, so I guess I’d better find someplace to drop you two off. Any ideas?”

“Would the
woods be safe?” I’m starting to become quite the nature lover.

“Might be, but
in the daytime it’s a little more risky.” She bites her lower lip and taps the
steering wheel. “We could see a movie. There’s a big blanket in the back, and I
could sit next to Carmen with my arm around her shoulders, and you guys could
hold hands under the blanket so no one could see!” I think she enjoys thinking
of ways to almost, but not quite, get into trouble.

“Will
Lainie
care if you’re gone for a couple of hours?” I ask.

Carmen shrugs. “Maybe.
But I’m leaving tomorrow, so what do I care? I say, let’s go to the show!”

“Do you have
any money?” I ask Jana.

She pats her
pocket. “I took two twenties out of David’s wallet before we left.” She glances
at me in the rear view mirror. “And don’t give me that ‘you’re a criminal’
look. He owes me for all the pain and suffering. It’s a down payment on the
eventual lawsuit.”

I haven’t been
to the movies since…I don’t know, since I was young enough to ask to go to a
Disney show. And here on the eve of my terrorist plot, I’m walking into a
theater, my girlfriend beside me, just like a normal person on a normal date.

Except not.

“What should we
see?” Jana squints at the red digital lights displaying movies and times. “Comedy,
drama,
sci
fi
, or action?”

“I’d love to
laugh.” Carmen glances at me, and I read the worry on her face. I’m worried
too. We both know what could happen if something goes wrong. We decide on a
movie that’s supposed to be hilarious. A few minutes later we’re snug in three
red
sorta
-velvet recliners with a big bucket of
buttery popcorn, two sodas, a box of Junior Mints, and an old Navajo blanket
from the back of Warren’s SUV. We’re in the very last row; I’m on the end,
Carmen’s in the middle, and Jana’s on her other side. We look like a couple and
their tagalong single friend.

Previews start,
and they’re loud. Carmen leans toward me with Jana’s arm around her. I lean
toward her. We’re almost touching, but not enough to be indecent. Under the
scratchy blanket, my fingers explore the rough fibers, walk blindly from my
knee to hers; I make contact with her body and electric sparks charge through
me.
 

Images,
splashes of color, distorted waves of sound and voices wash over us, but I
don’t really see or hear anything clearly.

Heartbeat.

Heartbeat.
 

Faster, faster,
her hand on mine, slightly damp.
 
I slide fingers down the slopes of the
back of her hand, soft fawn skin, memorize the contours, body Braille. I must
remember this.

The movie runs
its course, and I haven’t seen any of it. At some point, Jana’s arm dropped out
of the masquerade, and Carmen snuggled closer so our shoulders touch. I’d kiss
her, but the credits roll and that means the lights will go up, so reluctantly
we let go, separate.

It’s dark in
the parking lot. We drive silently back, Carmen under the circle of my arm,
fused to my side. We trade delicious kisses, luxurious, sloppy and sweet and
excessively greedy, to the point that Jana rolls her eyes and makes disgusted
sounds as she drives. Thank God for tinted windows.

Too soon, we’re
parked in front of the
Goldmans
, and I know this is
goodbye, at least for now.

She turns to
me, holds my head in her hands, kisses my mouth as if she’s saying a prayer. “Tomorrow.”
I nod. We hug. She leans over the seat and hugs Jana awkwardly, then jumps out
of the car, runs up the walk, disappears into the house.

She clings to
me in memory and scent, and I don’t want to move, don’t want to disturb even a
fraction of the magic.

“Let’s hope
your boyfriend has gone home already,” Jana says as she pulls onto the street. “And
you’re welcome.”

“Thanks.”
 
I close my eyes. I’m not in that car. I’m in
Canada, in a little brick townhouse. With violets.

No one has left
the porch light on, so it takes a minute to get in. The quiet is a relief; no
one is home.

Every muscle,
every fiber in me feels tired, like I could fall asleep and hibernate until
summer. All I want to do it crash in my bed. “Night,” I call to Jana, who is
foraging in the fridge.

“You’re going
to bed?” She chugs from a glass container of milk. “We should get drunk.”

“I need to go
to sleep.”

“Okay. I can get
drunk on my own. Good night.” She waves at me and downs another swig of two
percent. I don’t think she’s really going to get drunk, but with Jana, you
never know.

 
My room looks different. I think it’s because
I know it’s the last night I’ll spend in it. What can I bring with me? I think
I could get away with the telescope; we’re supposed to be checking out the
night sky. Some clothes. Books? Too heavy. Little League trophy? Everybody got
one. I sucked at baseball.

I grab a
blanket and the Carmen shirt that still sits in a heap on my bed, and I head
for the balcony, for one last look at the field I’ve seen every day. The deck
boards are cold, but I want to feel them against my feet; I inhale the distant
scent of burning leaves, focus on the dark silhouettes in the field. Objects
are black on black, but if you look closely enough, they resolve to distinct
outlines. Things look different when you know you won’t see them again.

I unscrew the
telescope lens. Her note and the bracelet fall out, clatter onto the wood. Such
a little thing, that symbol etched in silver. So small, but also so immense
that it drives everything. Why? Why does anyone else care who loves me, or whom
I love?

I want to wear
this bracelet. Maybe I can turn the silver
disc over
so the symbol doesn’t show. Might flip, though. Then what? Clutching the
blanket, I go inside, root through my desk looking for…yeah. Red yarn. I wrap
it around the silver symbol, wrap it tightly, tie it off, and
voilá
: an innocent, non-political piece of jewelry. I go
out, take one last look at the night sky.

The stars look
the same. Nothing has changed up there.

“So, you like
sports?” McFarland asks as he steers the rented Highlander over rain-soaked
back roads, squinting as if it will help him see through the steady
downpour.
 
We’ve been on the road nearly
two hours, and it feels like we’ve been going through God’s eternal carwash. “Baseball?
Soccer?”

“Not really.” I
pick at the bracelet;
gotta
be careful not to peel
off the red yarn.
 
“I run, that’s about
it.”

“Running.” He
nods as if he understands. “I never did that. I was into baseball myself. I was
a shortstop.”

I nod, make
some noise to indicate interest, and pretend to intensely read the map unfolded
on my knees. I nudge my backpack with my foot; inside is the red wallet, with
the money and the map I hope I won’t need.

He clears his
throat, sniffs, and then says, “Are you afraid of me?”

Whoa. An honest
question. How do I respond? “Uh…no.”

“You hesitated.”
His eyes are locked on the road.

I don’t want to
mess this up before we even get there. What would be a good,
Anglicant
response? “I guess…it’s just that I don’t have
much experience…with guys. Any experience, if you want to know the truth.”
 
That’s absolutely true. No experience with guys.
A flash of Carmen, me in the forest with her, memories of her body…but that
doesn’t count.

“Ah.” His
shoulders relax slightly. “I see. Well, you don’t have to worry. This is just a
get-acquainted trip, Chris. No rush. I really just want to get to know you.” He
glances at me, shoots me a generous, paternal smile, and then focuses on the
road again.

I feel a stab
of guilt. Really, is he such a bad guy? Does he deserve whatever it is they’re
going to do to him? Does anyone deserve it? I stare at his profile, illuminated
partially by the lights from the oncoming cars. He’s no demon.

Are you still
responsible for sins if you didn’t commit them, but saw them happening and let
them happen? I must sigh heavily, because he notices.

“Everything
okay?” He glances at the dashboard. “Almost there, I think. Where are we on the
map?”

Map. It gives
me something to do. I point a small flashlight at the paper, find our location,
and find the spot where the cabins are. “We’re just about another hour away, I
think.”