Fugitive Mom. Lynn Erickson

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СКАЧАТЬ to school my daughter myself. We had no friends, no family we dared to contact.”

      “But now…?”

      “Well, my very wealthy husband finally messed up with the wrong people. He beat up a girlfriend. Badly, I’m afraid. Anyway, her father was a lawyer and made damn good and sure Larry was put behind bars for a very long time. My daughter will be grown and out of college before he sees the light of day again.”

      “So you were able to resume your life. Your real life.”

      “Yes. That was years ago now, and I’ve done okay on my own. If nothing else, living on the run gave me a strength and courage I never knew I possessed. Before that, I was just another abused woman. Frightened, afraid to leave him and afraid to stay.”

      “Why did you finally leave?”

      The woman met Grace’s eyes fiercely. “It was one thing when that bastard struck me. It was another when he turned on our child. He broke her arm.”

      “Oh, God.”

      “It was horrible, yes, and we’ll carry the scars all our lives, but we have a good life now.” She nodded toward the living room, where her daughter was still talking a mile a minute on the phone, the TV still on in the background. “Her biggest problem now is what to wear to school. I’m very lucky. We’re very lucky.”

      Grace sat back and stared into the middle distance. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that her own story, that Charley’s future, could never be as bright. In four days—closer to three now—the court expected her to carry out the order to surrender Charley to his biological mother. And when Grace failed to turn him over, when the authorities learned she had fled with the child, she would forever be a fugitive. There would be no turning back.

      Shortly before midnight, she slipped quietly into bed next to Charley. She could hear the little sounds he made as he slept, and she carefully snuggled up next to him and drew in his scent. She could do this. As awful as it sounded, as frightened as she was, she had to do it. Her hostess on this first night of a long journey had told her to be strong. She could, she would, do it.

      She shut her eyes and tried to empty her head of all thought. She needed to sleep. Her body was craving precious rest. Sleep.

      She listened to the night sounds outside the open window and she tried to breathe deeply. All in vain. Rather than slow, her heart drummed against her rib cage and tiny nerves beat sporadically against her skin, causing her to twitch. Once, her heart seemed to do a somersault in her chest and her breath halted in her lungs.

      A lifetime of running from the law. Fugitives. Both of them. And how would she support them? What would happen when her classes started in the fall? Where would they end up? What would happen to Charley’s psyche?

      The digital clock on the dresser blinked 3:00 a.m. and all of Grace’s resolve fled. She couldn’t handle it. Tomorrow she would return to Boulder, to their lives, and she would turn Charley over to Kerry Pope. Not for long, though. She’d think of some other way to convince the judge he had made a terrible mistake. She’d hire a fleet of lawyers. No matter the cost. Surely a dream team of lawyers could somehow right this ghastly wrong. It might take time, though, and meanwhile, Charley would be in Kerry Pope’s care and…

      Oh, dear God, what was she going to do?

      THE MILES THROUGH the Rocky Mountains crept by. She’d gotten a late start. First, after listening to her hostess and hearing how long she might have to be on the move, she had decided to all but wipe out her checking account, and she’d had to wait for the branch bank in Denver to open. Then the lines had been long and Charley had had to go “Pee-pee, Mommy,” and then there’d been heavy traffic along the Interstate 70 corridor crossing the Continental Divide, and then Charley had needed lunch. And they hadn’t even reached Vail. Her only good news was that with each passing mile, no matter how slow her progress, she was putting distance between herself and Boulder, herself and the court and Kerry Pope. She was doing the right thing, the only thing possible for the safety of her child, and she clung to that thought as she drove through Glenwood Springs on the Western Slope, toward the high desert of Utah.

      Charley was really very good in the car as the afternoon proceeded. She stopped at rest areas and gassed up in Green River, Utah, where she bought Charley an ice cream. Too much ice cream, she thought. His teeth would rot out of his head. But it was an easy way to make him happy in this awful fix they were in. A kind of bribe. Though not the best way to handle a child, her psychologist’s mind admonished silently.

      While Charley busied himself with his treat, she called the number of the next safe house on the underground railroad. She’d been told she could just show up in Salt Lake City, and she’d be given shelter—no questions asked. But what if this person was not home? She supposed she could pay cash for a room that night, but she had no idea how long her fifteen hundred dollars would hold out. Certainly not for years. But, she thought ruefully, like Scarlett O’Hara, she wouldn’t think about that until tomorrow.

      “Hello,” Grace began when a woman answered, “my name is…well, sorry, I was given this number, and I’m on the road with my son in Green River and I was hoping—”

      But Grace was cut off. “Get off the interstate. I assume you’ll be on Interstate 15?”

      “Yes, in a few hours. Going north.”

      “Okay, then get off at exit 198, take a right…”

      Grace memorized the directions, then said, “We’ll be awfully late getting in.”

      “Your room is over the garage. Use the side steps on the left. I may or may not see you in the morning. I’ve got to work at eight. Will you be here for more than the night?”

      “I…probably not.”

      “Well, then, if I don’t see you, best of luck. I’ll turn on the light for you and leave another number for you to call. You said you’re heading north?”

      “No, I’m going to the coast, the San Francisco Bay Area.”

      “Okay, then, I’ll figure around a ten-hour drive from here and leave the number. Is that going to work okay?”

      “Yes,” Grace said, feeling Charley tug at her shorts with sticky fingers, “and thank you so much.”

      “It’s the least any of us can do.”

      THE WESTERN UNITED STATES, and particularly the high desert of Utah and Nevada, was suffering an intensely hot dry summer, and as Grace drove away from Salt Lake City the following morning, she knew the day would be a rough one both for her and her son. Last night, just before she’d taken the exit on Interstate 15 to the safe house, her air-conditioning had gone on the fritz.

      “Mommy,” Charley said from the back seat, where he was playing with his Lego toys, “I’m firsty. It’s hot, Mommy.”

      “Yes,” she said, feeling her short-sleeved cotton top glued to the leather seat. “It sure is. We’ll stop at the first rest area and cool off, okay?”

      “Put on the air conditioner, Mommy,” he whined.

      “I wish I could,” she said, but she’d already calculated the cost of stopping and having the car fixed: the time and expense made that impossible. They’d have to suffer.

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