Life Before (9 page)

In my bedroom, Jill touches my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yup, fine.”

Jill disappears back down the hall while I survey my room. It really is kind of a sty. I find my black duffel and empty the dirty clothes—oops—before filling it with non-distinct ones: cargo shorts and plain T-shirts. Nothing with a Laurel Woods Lions logo. Nothing about Ohio. Nothing that remotely stands out.

Jill darts in and out of my bedroom, dropping off things from her list: extra contact solution, toiletries, clean underwear from the dryer.

The dryer. Where Mom put them shortly before she died. I hold them gingerly, as though they’re art instead of Fruit of the Loom. These are some of the last things Mom ever touched. I wish I could reach into my underwear and back through time.

I close my eyes and wish it again.

“You okay?”

I lie to Jill and keep packing. My copy of
On the Road
goes into the backpack with other stuff to keep my brain busy. Again, nothing that screams Xander. If Gary starts asking around about me—at the bus station, for instance—I don’t want anyone to remember me.

Jill returns with diet granola bars, which I reject.

“Are those the shoes you’re taking?”

My brown Teva knockoffs seem fine to me. It’s summer.

“For traveling, and for walking around New York, you need real shoes.” Jill pulls my grungy Chucks from the closet. “Closed toe. More support. Trust me.”

I add them—and some clean tube socks—to my duffel. I’m almost done.

Looking to supplement the sixty bucks from Mom, I raid her favorite cubby holes: inside the toilet paper cylinder, the gap behind the tall bathroom towel case, and between twin copies of her favorite novel,
Midwives
.

With nearly three hundred dollars cash in hand, I bid a silent thanks to my mother’s distrust of banks.

It’s not stealing, right? Even when I was hard up for cash, I never touched my mom’s stash. Never. But if she’s dead, all her money is mine, right? Mom would want me to be safe and far from Gary. Pooling our cash is crucial. That’s what people do in emergencies.

Mom’s whole freaking life was an emergency. If she hadn’t wound up pregnant at nineteen, she wouldn’t have married Gary. And she wouldn’t be dead now. Of course, that means I wouldn’t be alive now, but let’s put that aside. Any way you slice it, her life was over the second she became pregnant with me. That’s a lot of guilt to put on a guy.

I launch my duffel from the top of the stairs to the landing at the front door. Jill is back in the basement, so I’m up here alone. Steeling myself, I close my eyes and turn toward the kitchen.

Deep breaths.

I open just one eye.

And the kitchen is normal. Quiet. No scent of cilantro. No ghosts. No chalk outline or little evidence tents. Laurel Woods cops aren’t
CSI
, after all. When I muster the courage to step onto the linoleum, nothing happens.

I am in my kitchen alone. Mom is gone.

F
OURTEEN

Dale and Janice have left us alone in the house with a cop on the front porch. Six hours before departure, Jill and I sneak into the garage. Dale thought Neapolitan was too conspicuous, and taking a squad car seemed ridiculous, so tonight we’re driving Dale’s civilian vehicle to Pittsburgh for a concert. He’s sending a deputy to babysit us.

I dump my duffel and backpack in Dale’s trunk. I’m ready. “Saturday, 7:30. Pizza Works. You’ll be there, right?”

Jill rolls her eyes. The Pizza Works pay phone was part of our old plan, the one so practiced that it forms the fabric of our childhood. YEP.

“This is serious, Jill. I need you to promise me you’ll be at the phone.”

“I promise.” She combs her fingers through her hair. A wad of bubblegum would make her the quintessential teenaged girl. “What?”

“You’re not taking this seriously. Write it on your hand or set an email reminder or something. Say something. Wish me luck. Tell me I’ll be safe. Tell me everything is gonna be okay.”

Another eye roll, and I totally get why Mom was so irritated by that response.

Jill whispers, “You’re safer here.”

“In Dale Jail, right? Jill, I might not be safe anywhere! He wants five minutes to finish me off! That day, if I’d been in the house—if I’d gone in for a snack, or if I’d been too hot, or if I had finished my playlist early—I would have been inside, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Your parents had a long and sordid history. He has no reason to come kill you.”

Now I’m screaming. “Since when did Gary need a reason?”

We stare at each other for a minute and I try not to cry. Jill doesn’t even try. She wipes her nose on her T-shirt.

“I’m sorry, Jill. I’m trying to save my own life here!”

She glares. “Dad says Gary can’t get to you here.”

“Yeah, well, I know just how much your dad’s protection helped my mother. I can’t put my life in his hands anymore.”

She stares for a moment before thrusting a heavy paper bag toward me. “Okay, if you’re really doing this, I have a couple things for you. Here’s a bunch of food and some apples.”

“Is it mostly Oreos?”

“No. I kept those to console myself.” She piles on a few more prizes. “A present:
Masterful Sudoku
, which ought to last you an hour. On loan: my copy of the US Atlas, since you’ll be off the grid. And, until you get back, I’ll swap your mp3 player. Mine’s all loaded up.”

Hers is a 128G touch-screen loaded with ten thousand songs and dozens of games. Mine is a vintage knock-off Mom found on eBay.

Jill cries harder.

“Wow, you’re really upset about that iPod.”

She hugs me. “Keep it in airplane mode. Wireless and Bluetooth off, just in case.”

“Why just in case?”

“It’s registered in my name. Gary knows me, he knows us. He could trace it.”

“Do you really believe that? Even if he doesn’t know you own it?”

“I don’t know, but just in case, okay?” Jill puts my Columbus Crew hat on her own head and yanks another one—god, Seattle Mariners—from her bag. “This will help you be incognito once you get to New York. And there’s this.”

I unfurl a strip of leather to find four beads: W, W, J & D.

WWJD? More like WTF?

I chortle. “Did you just get religion?”

“The ‘J’ is for Jill. I’m hoping you don’t do anything stupid or daring. Just ask yourself what I would do.”

I love how she claims the moral high ground. “You’re always doing stupid and daring shit.”

“Right, but just ask yourself, okay? You have to come back in one piece. Alive.”

I tuck the bracelet next to Gretchen’s Labello lip balm in my backpack’s tiniest pocket.

Jill fills the cooler with ice and the two-liters Tucker brought over this morning. I love that he’s not asking questions.
Hey Tucker, could you bring us half a dozen two-liters? Hey, Tucker, could you buy me some super laxatives? Hey, Tucker, could you exchange these two-liters for Mountain Dew?

Tucker always says yes when Jill’s doing the asking.

Thank god she abandoned the laxative idea already. Drugging a cop, even with over-the-counter stuff, is an actual crime. I’m trying to stay above the law here.

Jill’s phone rings. “It’s Tucker. Can you finish bagging up this stuff?”

She races back into the house, leaving me alone in the garage.

Quickly, I prop up the tallest ladder and climb toward the gray box on the highest shelf in the garage. I couldn’t figure out a way to get a gun, especially in this house, but Dale’s tackle box has lots of knives. I definitely need one that folds and isn’t rusted. That leaves two options. The one with the longer blade is smooth and engraved, definitely something he would miss if I took it.

Strictly speaking, I need it more than he does, though. I slip it into my shorts pocket, close the box, and replace the ladder.

Now I’m armed. It’s just a knife, but still.

F
IFTEEN

The fake plan is on. Jill and I have dragged Tucker and our police escort to Pittsburgh under guise of attending a concert. We have tickets, and they’re not selling more at the door, which is the only reason Dale let us come. In the parking lot, Jill catches my eye over the sedan’s roof. Half the Mountain Dew is gone. It’s nearly dusk. We’re right on schedule.

This has to work.

Jill leaves the car unlocked and the four of us file into the building with hundreds of other people. Once we’ve found our section, Nolton says, “I need to use the can,” and a big, goofy grin spreads across Jill’s face.

Seconds later, Nolton disappears and it’s Go Time.

Handing over my cheap red flip phone officially takes me off the grid. No phone, no email, no social networking, no digital trail. Jill’s face contorts into a cry and I hug her.

I hug Tucker, too. “I have to get out of here.”

Tuck is pissed. “You’re leaving? Why did we drive to Steeler Nation to hear a band with a stupid name and shit music?”

“I’m taking a bow, Tucker. I’m leaving you two here.”

“He’s running away from home,” Jill says.

“I am excusing myself from the media circus and Gary’s ever-cooling trail.”

Tuck is not amused. “You’re an idiot.”

“What’s your plan then, Tucker? Gary is now an experienced murderer and I’m a sitting duck! Should I just hole up in Jill’s house all summer? Will you bring all your dates to her couch, too, so it can be doubly awkward? Or are you going to track down Gary Fife yourself?”

He doesn’t move.

“Then shut up.”

Jill hugs me for the ten millionth time. “You have to take care of yourself. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I can’t just be stuck here with Tucker for the rest of my life.”

“Nice,” Tuck says.

I hand over my house keys. “I promise. Take copious notes, okay? I want to hear about everything that happens in my absence.”

Tucker is incredulous. “You’re just leaving?”

“If I stay, I’m dead. You know it, and I know it. I’m just going into hiding. I’m not a truant or a deviant or a criminal. As soon as Gary’s in custody, I will come back to Laurel. I’ll be back in, like, five days. Tops.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Tucker crosses his arms.

Jill glares at him. “I realize that mortal peril is a foreign concept to a guy whose biggest concern is finding a summer girlfriend, but your friend here is coping with some seriously heavy shit.”

I will not miss the push-pull tension-laced drama between these two.

“Okay, you two can bicker on the way home. Ready? Here is the last thing I’m saying to you. Forget everything else here and just remember this.”

Tucker pulls out his wallet. “Wait, do you need money?”

I’m looking around for Nolton, who must be about done in the john by now. “Thanks, no. Now, quickly. Ready?”

They nod.

“If I stay in Laurel, I’m as good as dead. I’m just going to blend into the background somewhere else until Gary turns up. Don’t try to follow me. It will be easier to disappear if I’m alone.”

We stare at one another for a few seconds—almost too long. Thank god Nolton is a sitter.

After two more quick hugs, I slip out of the building into open air.

Without police protection and absolutely alone, I feel okay. And I have a weapon, or I will in a minute. Dale’s blade is tucked into my backpack. I couldn’t risk losing it if the arena had metal detectors. And I don’t need it yet anyway.

No one followed us here—Nolton checked—and there is a window, I think, before Gary catches on to the plan. There also is a very small window between when Nolton realizes I am gone and when he checks the parking lot.

I grab my stuff from Dale’s sedan and lock it. “So long,” I whisper before heading toward the Greyhound station.

_______

Five hours in, my plan doesn’t look so hot. Gary wasn’t at the station, and he’s not on my bus. Since Pittsburgh, there’s been no sign of him. I’ve studied every car on the road. No Mustangs at all. I suppose a smart person traveling incognito would ditch his own car, but is Gary smart, really?

Tucked into the last seat on the bus, studying my Graham Bel(l) ID, I wonder what the hell I’m doing.

I’m traveling, which is the one thing I have always wanted to do, but it turns out traveling with someone on your tail isn’t actually fun. If he hasn’t followed me this far, Gary isn’t going to miraculously show up at this instant. In fact, I can probably take out my contacts. Wearing them for twenty hours has dried them out, and surely I have earned a break from surveillance.

Eyes out and earbuds in, I move Jill’s mp3 player near and far from my face to find the perfect reading distance. Jill has dozens of playlists, including the one I was making for Gretchen. It’s like a farewell as I drift further and further from Xander Fife. Farewell, Jill. Farewell, Laurel Woods. Farewell, Gretchen.

People say
we’ll always have Paris,
and, for sure, Gretchen and I will always have our mini-forest. That moment is mine, forever.

Actually, lots of things are mine forever, like Mom swishing in her dress. Sashaying. And that day she got the good job. And her laugh. Mom’s laughter was rare, but so pure.

I can’t believe she’s gone. The warehouse is looking for a new manager already. Mom’s lawyer says he’ll handle the sale of the house. Another family will move in, and it will be like we never existed. Like she never existed, I guess, since I’m still alive.

Living without Mom doesn’t seem right. I’ve never been without her. How does life just go on without her?

How do I go on without her?

That’s a problem for Future Xander. I can’t think about it right now. Right now, I need to figure out how, exactly, Graham Bel will survive in Burlington.

S
IXTEEN

Ten minutes before we disembark in New York, I still don’t have a plan. And now I can’t find my glasses. My eyes aren’t terrible, but they’re not great either. And I don’t want my first New York trip to be a mass of blurs.

But a blur it will be because my glasses are gone.

The Burlington bus leaves in three hours, and I can’t resist stepping out of the Port Authority to taste New York City’s air. It’s a tiny reward for making it this far.