I nodded, resting my head against him. He knew what we were leaving, what it all meant. And I was sure he knew how I felt. He was the only one who understood me.

JULY 2

ND

THERE WE WERE, back on the road. Back to the deviant lifestyle we were so accustomed to. I couldn’t help but think we got a glimpse of normal at Roger’s and I seemed to be the only one who cared about it.

I wanted normal.

I looked at Mason, he was asleep. Not a care in the world it seemed. His head pressed against the window, his long legs draped across my lap pinning me in place.

Aunt Wanda puffed on another cigarette, tuning out the world as the car sped down the highway making everything on the outside a blur. She didn’t care that Roger could’ve helped us. She was headed for her next insane adventure and the chaos she’d surely leave behind.

I knew if Payton had it her way she would’ve taken Mason and left. I knew she was angry for having to put up with us any longer.

“Virginia is for lovers,” Mason read as we passed a sign. Aunt Wanda huffed in revulsion at his statement. Mason tapped my leg, ready to get out of the car. It had been another long, unpleasant drive. I’d slept a lot in the days it took to make it to the next place.

I stretched my arms, trying to relieve my aches and pains from being crammed in the backseat for so long. I reclaimed the arm that Mason was using as his own personal pillow.

Virginia wasn’t appealing to me. The air was humid just like our last stop. I groaned, not wanting to deal with more heat and humidity. My mood was bordering on plain old pissed off.

“Look at the mountains,” Mason said, pointing out my window. I shrugged, not caring about mountains at this point. “I hear you can ski here.”

Payton twisted around in her seat to look at the two of us. “Mason, shut up. No one is excited about being in Virginia—get a clue.”

I raised an eyebrow at Mason, waiting for his response. Payton was known for her snide comments, but this time it seemed different.

Aunt Wanda pulled the car into the parking lot of a small diner. Old and white. You could tell it had been around for quite some time. A couple cars sat in the parking lot, giving the impression that it may be a decent enough place to eat.

We headed inside for some food. My feet thanked me as I stood.

Mason was bouncing with energy. Payton looked ready to slap him a good one.

Aunt Wanda snagged a newspaper from the machine by the chairs. I knew what she was looking for. The same thing I would be looking for if I had the paper in my hand.

“How many?” the young waitress asked. Her hair was short. She was styled and manicured and all kinds of lovely. Her hair bright red, her makeup was beautiful, and she wore a tiny diamond stud in her nose.

She clutched her pad of paper, casually looking us over.

“Four and we will take a booth,” Aunt Wanda ordered, her nose pressed in the paper already. The girl watched Wanda closer now, probably annoyed with her rude behavior.

“Right this way, ma’am,” she said softly. “My name is Renee and I will be your server. Can I get you something to drink for starters?”

Mason slid into the booth first. He smiled, surveying the menu, his free hand drumming the tabletop.

“Iced tea for me and give her a Coke,” he said.

I looked at him, wondering why all the giddiness.

“Two coffees, black,” Payton said, snatching the menu from the table with a huff.

Aunt Wanda said nothing. She just kept scanning through the newspaper. Payton and I both watched her closely, waiting for her to say something.

“She’s not going to find anything in that paper. It’s a Virginia paper,” Mason said. He chuckled, throwing his arm around the back of the booth, his fingers grazing the back of my neck.

Payton stared at Mason. It was obvious she was doing her best to not scream and smack him upside the head. You could see her body tense with each breath she took. The more she stared at Mason and his cheerful demeanor, the angrier she became.

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” Payton said, looking around as she spoke. “Keep your mouth shut. These things go nationwide, dimwit.”

Aunt Wanda slammed the newspaper down on the table, the force sending the napkins fluttering to my lap. The paper was folded in half. She brought her long finger down and pointed out a spot with her red nail. We all closed in, silently trying to read all at once.

“God damn it,” Aunt Wanda grumbled, tossing the newspaper at the wall.

The waitress returned with our drinks. She smiled, oblivious to our problems.

“Enjoy. I’ll give you a few more minutes to look over the menu,” she said, taking off.

“Looks like your theory has been proved wrong,” Aunt Wanda said to Mason.

I grabbed the paper. I just wanted to know what was happening. Were we shit out of luck?

Scanning down the newspaper columns, I came to stop on a small article about unidentified suspects involved in the murder of a drug dealer and his criminal sons. The police were baffled by the murder of the neighbor and his girlfriend. At the end of the article it stated, plain as day, they believed the suspects were female and possibly involved in yet another crime the next state over. I knew what crime that was. I was frightened to see the link to the motel we had stayed in. Or how they believed the suspects were working with others now.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, knowing that anyone who read this hated us and the evil, meaningless crimes we’d committed. They’d probably want us to face the worst possible punishment…maybe even the death penalty. I feared there’d be people hoping to run into us and serve up their own kind of vigilante justice.

Mason scooted my drink to me. I pushed it away, nearly knocking it over, and slid out of the booth. I headed for the bathroom, sick to my stomach and shaking uncontrollably, ready to collapse in distress.

I knew this lifestyle brought with it the anxiety of always being on the run, of constantly looking over your shoulder, but I’d never read about it in the paper. And nobody around us ever figured it out. We were always one step ahead. I wondered what Aunt Wanda would do—she wasn’t one to give up without a fight.

I turned on the faucet and held my hands under the cold water—the cold numbing my fingertips. How I wished it’d numb the rest of my body. My lips and chin were trembling, fear was forcing the tears out. In an instant, my body stiffened and my fear turned into sobbing…my cries so loud they echoed off the bathroom walls.

I dropped to my knees. Roger’s image flashed through my mind; he could have helped me. He could have taken me away from all this, but I didn’t want to ruin his life with his family.

So instead of doing what I normally would, I respected Roger’s wife and Mason. I wanted to be good for Mason and hoped there could be something between us. Who was I kidding? What sort of sense did that make?

Mason was confused—he didn’t care about me. It was the idea of me and fixing me that he cared about.

The bathroom door opened. I jumped, standing up, trying to conceal my crying. The red-haired waitress looked concerned. She set her purse down on the sink and came to me.

“Why are you crying?” she asked, lifting my chin. She wiped my face with her hand, grabbing some paper towels from the dispenser.

“It’s nothing…please,” I said. I looked in the mirror…my face was covered with red blotches from crying and my hair was a mess. I blotted my nose with a paper towel.