Drowning Is Inevitable (7 page)

The sirens sounded closer. Jamie wasn't speaking.

“Jamie and his dad fought. We have to go.”

“Jamie and his dad?” Max asked. “Have you seen you?”

Maggie turned her head in the direction of the sirens.

“We have to get out of here. Now,” I said.

“Is that his dad's blood?” Max asked.

I nodded and opened the passenger door. Jamie slumped all the way down in the backseat. Maggie climbed into the front seat next to me, and we drove off. She glanced back at Jamie, her mouth still open. She tried to get closer to him, to understand with her eyes and hands. I put my hand on her arm and whispered, “Not yet.” I was scared we wouldn't be safe if the truth slipped out before we were outside town limits.

There was only one road in and out of St. Francisville. I imagined roadblocks with megaphoned voices telling us to pull over and exit the vehicle with our hands up. But we drove out of town with no fanfare and no witnesses. The road swept under us, black and smooth.

Max reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and threw it out the window. Cell phones had GPS. Maggie and I instantly did the same.

I turned to Jamie. “Do you have your phone with you?”

No response. He lay there motionless. I reached back and felt his pockets, but there was no phone.

“Where are we going?” Max asked.

“Just drive,” I said.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Later.” The truth could wait.

Twenty miles outside of town, the tears came. I already missed Fidelity Street and my grandmother. I wondered if the sirens had scared her. I was worried about my dad in his one-room apartment. I was afraid for the still boy in the backseat, and of a monster who wasn't coming back.

T
he sun was rising, and I reflexively turned my face away from it, my cheek brushing the seat. I noticed its smell—leather mixed with Max's cologne. Dobie Gray was singing softly from the radio, asking for the beat. For a few seconds I didn't know why my chest was tight. Then I saw my hands. The blood had turned brown in the night and darkened the creases and lines in my fingers. A raw burning throbbed in my throat, like someone had crawled down it in the night and lit a match. My hand kept going to it, trying to soothe the burning from the outside.

Without looking, I knew Maggie was asleep to my right. Max was facing forward, his hands on the wheel. His swollen eye was now black and bruised. I looked back at Jamie. He was crumpled on the backseat, folded at an odd angle, too long to fit comfortably. My throat tried to close, and I had to inhale deeply through my nose. I expected him to have aged during the night. I didn't know how it was possible, but he'd gotten younger, his sleeping face conflicting sharply with his bloodstained body. I turned to face forward.

We were surrounded by an abundance of trees on either side of the road, thick as a forest. “Where are we?” I asked.

“We're on the Natchez Trace.”

That wasn't what I expected to hear.

“I didn't think it was smart to stay on any of the main roads. For a few hours I was just driving around on back roads, but then I remembered the Trace. My dad and I used to go this way when we took hunting trips. This road runs all the way up to Tennessee. Not a lot of people use it. There are no red lights, no through traffic.”

“That's smart,” I said. I was glad to hear somebody had a plan. Looking at the side of his face, I noticed someone did look older in the light of this new day, and wondered about my own face.

“What happened?” I reached up to touch his eye, but he flinched away from me. “Who hit you?”

He didn't answer.

“Do you want me to drive?” I asked. “You have to be tired.”

He looked at me, then down to my hands. “We need to get you and Jamie cleaned up.”

I felt ashamed he didn't want my hands on his steering wheel. I slid them under my legs. I was careful not to look at the backseat again, nor too closely at the worry in Max's face; I pretended this was all normal, just a summer road trip. I did this for a while and felt better. Then my hands pulsed beneath me, reminding me I could only sit on the truth for so long. Just like my grandmother, I latched on to fantasy at the first sign of trouble.

Max glanced over his shoulder at Jamie in the backseat. “That's a lot of blood,” he said.

“It was a bad fight.”

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

I nodded, and Max slowed the truck. He came to a stop on the side of the road and slid the gear shift home to
park.
He sat still, looking forward through the front window, and then bowed his head, waiting. A sudden heat hit me in the stomach. Max and Maggie were accessories to my madness.

“We were in Jamie's kitchen. His dad wasn't supposed to be there, but he came home early from work. He was drunk.”

I watched the back of Max's neck, noticing the slope of his shoulders and ignoring the tears that burned my eyes when he covered his face with his hands.

“He was mad, so mad, because we'd made a mess in the kitchen. And the music was too loud. We'd been dancing.”

When Max lifted his head to look at me, my eyes dropped, and I looked at his throat instead.

“It was bad,” I said.

“How bad,” Max asked.

“Knife in the stomach bad,” Jamie said from the backseat, his voice thick.

We turned to look at him. He'd opened his eyes but not sat up.

“Shit! Is he okay?” Max asked.

Jamie and I shrugged at the same time.

“Are you okay?” Max asked me.

“No,” I said.

Max pulled me closer to him. “You will be. We'll figure it out.”

“His dad was trying to hurt him. Jamie fought back—”

“I don't want to talk about it now,” Jamie said. His look said he meant it.

“Alright, man,” said Max.

Jamie rolled over, and we turned around. Maggie was awake. She looked at me, and I knew she'd heard. She slid her hand into mine, not caring about its brown stains.

“We're going to be okay,” she lied.

Because we didn't know what else to do, we just kept driving on the Trace, kept moving forward. Jamie sat up after a bit and looked out the window, no noise and no fuss. He had trouble staying still though, like he couldn't find a comfortable spot. I kept facing forward, watching the road as it came to us, even though the only place I wanted to look was at him. He started softly tapping the window, and I heard his breaths coming faster.

Whenever he shifted or moved in any way, I felt my body itch to move with him, like we were connected gut to gut with invisible string. His tapping fell into a regular rhythm. I tried staying still, but as he moved, the string between our bodies pulled tight, making my body move with his. My pulse raced and my chest heaved, trying to match Jamie's. I took a deep breath through my nose, and wasn't surprised when Jamie blew it out.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I climbed over the seat. I sat as close to him as possible, my body immediately relaxing, the string between us now slack. He looked in my direction, but he wasn't seeing me. The events of last night were playing on a loop before his eyes, over and over. His breath was still coming fast. Lining up with him, hip to hip, I concentrated on breathing slower, hoping his breath would slow to match mine. It did.

If I'd had my way, Jamie could have gone to sleep somewhere in the corners of his mind, and I'd wear his body like a suit. I'd feel everything he wasn't ready to and answer all the questions coming his way. He wouldn't have to wake up until he was ready. I knew that wasn't possible, though.

I replayed what Jamie had said the night before about me not knowing everything. “I know all I need to know about it,” I whispered to him now.

Jamie didn't say anything, just reached for the ends of my hair and started twirling them. I dropped my head onto his shoulder, ignoring the eyes I knew were on us. I couldn't imagine how we looked from the front seat, wearing the same man's blood.

Max was right, there was hardly any traffic, but even so, every car that passed us was a threat, making my hands sweat. Each one made my throat burn. By noon, I couldn't stand it any longer.

“I need some water,” I said.

Max met my eyes in the rearview mirror.

“We're gonna need gas soon, too. How much money do y'all have?” he asked.

I shrugged. I'd given no thought to money. We all pooled our cash, and came up with maybe enough for one tank of gas and a bottle of water. I thought about food but didn't mention it.

Max pulled over at the next gas station. It was so brazen to pull up to the front of the store like we didn't have anything to hide.

“Do you think it's safe to do this?” I looked at the front of the store but didn't see any cameras. The convenience store was old, but surely there was security.

“How else are we supposed to get gas?” Max asked.

“Aren't they looking for your truck by now?” My breath caught and my throat wouldn't stop burning.

Max kept his voice calm. “We have to have gas.” He motioned to the store. “There's not a lot of places to stop around here. We need to take advantage.” He spoke softly, like he was talking to a baby.

“Let's just do what we need to do and go,” said Maggie. “The more time we spend here, the riskier it is.”

Jamie whispered from beside me, “I want to clean up.”

I did, too.

“It's not safe for you to get out,” Maggie said. “Stay here, I'll get some wet wipes or something.”

Jamie started shaking his head. “I can't wear this anymore.” He pulled at his shirt. It was stuck to him in places, caked with dried blood. Some blood had soaked into the seat in the night, staining the stitches in the leather.

Max reached under the seat and pulled out a wrinkled T-shirt. “Put this on.”

“Thanks,” he whispered.

I looked away as Jamie changed. When I looked back, he was balling his old shirt up tight, twisting and turning it. I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Here,” Max said. “Give it to me.”

Jamie immediately handed it to him, and Max put it under the truck seat. Max turned to me and said, “Try to clean up the best you can. Maggie will get you some water and something to help get the blood off Jamie. Don't take too long. I'm gonna stay out here with Jamie and pump the gas. Maggie, you pay for it.”

“Alright,” she said, taking the money.

There was a wrinkled woman behind the counter watching me as I walked toward the restroom. I kept my hands in my pockets and was glad I was wearing jean shorts. The dried blood looked like mud on the denim, and muddy, scratched-up kids were nothing new to see in places like this. I was likely coming off some woods adventure. Once in the bathroom I changed into some clean shorts from my bag. I mirrored Jamie's earlier actions and rolled the bloody ones up tight before tucking them into a corner of my bag. I didn't want them touching my clean clothes, but I couldn't risk leaving them in the bathroom.

Washing my hands in the sink, I kept my head down, avoiding the mirror. I watched as the last of Tom Benton's blood swirled around and around, then down the drain. I should've felt bad, but the only feeling that came was relief.

Hands on the edge of the sink, I risked a look at the mirror. I was kind of expecting to see Lillian. There was a pounding on the door. My hands were shaking again.

“Olivia, let's go,” said Maggie.

“I'm coming,” I said.

Two deep breaths later I opened the door. Maggie was walking out the front door, and I looked to the woman behind the counter. She hadn't moved.

Outside, Maggie was sitting in the driver's seat. Max was standing in front of the open passenger door. I was almost to him when another truck pulled up. It looked like a work truck, a layer of dust and dirt covering it. The driver hopped out. His eyes were on me, and then he glanced back at Max's truck. He stared at it for a long time, and then looked at me.
This is it. He knows.
I stopped in my tracks as he passed me, and then I turned to watch his back.
He's going to tell the clerk,
I thought, but I couldn't move. Someone took my hand. It was Max.

“Come on.”

“I think he knows,” I whispered.
He knows, and my life won't be my own anymore, and no one will save Jamie.

Max looked in the direction of the store. “He's buying beer. He doesn't know. Let's go.”

Max pulled me to his truck. I risked one more look back at the store. The guy was putting a six-pack on the counter. I wondered if I'd be like that with every person that passed us by.

Jamie was in the front seat. Maggie looked toward the road.

“Are we still in Mississippi?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Max said.

“So, we're gonna just keep going? Don't we need a better plan?” Maggie asked.

I dropped my bag onto the backseat. Beth's letters were in it. Maybe she'd help us. If I explained to her what Jamie's dad was like, she'd understand. Maybe she'd do it as a favor to my mom.

“My mom's best friend lives in New Orleans,” I said. “I think she might help us.”

Jamie turned to look at me.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Max's face brightened at the idea. I didn't tell him I'd never actually met her.

“I don't know exactly where she is though.”

“New Orleans is a pretty big place,” Max said.

Maggie spoke up. “Wait a minute. There's this artist on Oak Street. His name's Steve or Steven or something. My mom used to sleep on his couch every once in a while. I met him once when my dad took me to New Orleans to see my mom. He seemed like a good guy. If he's still there, maybe he'd let us stay with him until we found your mom's friend.”

“Are you sure you don't mind asking?” I asked.

Maggie shrugged.

“That's a good idea,” Max said. “We can dump the truck when we get to New Orleans.”

I must've looked nervous, because he added, “Nowhere near Oak Street.”

“There's a map in the glove box,” Max said to Jamie. “Let me see it.”

Jamie pulled out the map and handed it to Max.

Max unfolded it and studied it. After a time he said, “We could make it to Maurepas by tonight. It's not that far outside of New Orleans. There's a lake. I went camping there once.” He showed us the route with his finger. He handed the map to Maggie.

“Don't take the most direct path,” he told her.

“Got it,” she said.

“I'm beat,” Max said to me and lay down in the backseat. I climbed in next to Jamie.