Wisdom Spring (6 page)

In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. I accomplished it in a little more than an hour. I had her sizes written down and grabbed what seemed appropriate. I figured we could fine-tune her wardrobe later. I headed over to the sports department and bought two boxes of .40-caliber ammunition. I really couldn’t imagine needing another 200 rounds of ammo, but I also had no idea what I was getting myself into. And being in a state where buying bullets was as easy as buying potato chips, I figured better safe than sorry.

I arrived back at the hotel a few minutes before eleven. I knocked on the door to warn her that I was back, then used my key card to enter. I was greeted by a dark brunette.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Over the last twenty-four hours, I had become quite attracted to Jess, so blonde or brunette, it didn’t matter to me. As far as I was concerned, she was spectacular. I didn’t put it quite that way, though.

“Looks great,” was my safe response. “So what’s your natural color?”

“Beats me. I can’t remember that far back,” she answered with a laugh. “No, actually, believe it or not, it’s blonde. Those stereotypes of ‘dumb blondes’ are real. Not the dumb part, but the label. People do look at you as if you’re stupid. When I turned twenty, I started coloring my hair to escape everything about being a blonde. I wasn’t very confident back then. I know who I am now, so I stay my natural color most of the time, unless I get a whim to change it. I haven’t been this color in a few years, so nobody really knows me like this. I thought about cutting my hair, but it’s actually longer now than normal—I missed my last appointment—so I figure I’m better off letting it grow.”

“Well, hopefully I didn’t do too badly shopping for you.” I put the bags down on the bed.

All in all, I think I did okay. She gave a couple of the tops a funny look, but was way too polite to make any critical comments. The sneakers actually fit—I had been worried about that—as did the sandals. I could tell the shorts weren’t exactly her style, but they would do. She was happy with the jeans though.

After thanking me for the tenth time, she retreated to the bathroom with her treasures, especially excited to use the toothbrush. When she came out, she was a new woman.

“I can’t tell you how good it feels to be out of the clothes I’ve been wearing for days now.”

I had also picked up a suitcase for her, and she proceeded to carefully pack it.

“I still don’t think we should go to a sit-down place for breakfast.” I looked at my watch. “Or rather, lunch. I think we should pick up something for the road, then talk about the route we want to take to Alaska.”

“Sounds good to me. I can live on take-out for as long as is necessary.”

There was an optimistic tone to her voice. It was almost as if she had forgotten there was a massive search on for her. Almost. Or maybe she just wanted to feel normal for a little while and had pushed it all away. It would all come back far too quickly, so I tried not to do or say anything to trigger that reality. Not yet.

We left by way of the side entrance, the fugitive and her accomplice.

*****

I stopped at a Subway and we picked up sandwiches and chips. I think I had now made a total eating transition from my old stodgy life.

She dug into her sandwich with a vengeance. I realized that she had been so upset the night before, she hadn’t eaten much of the Chinese food, and was famished.

She stopped chewing and seemed to be trying to remember something. I was quiet while she went through her exercise.

“I had a dream about Las Vegas last night. I just remembered it.” She looked at me. “Think that means anything?”

“Ever been to Vegas?” I asked.

“Nope,” she said, taking another bite.

“Then, yeah, I do. Why would you dream about someplace you’ve never been?”

“I could picture the strip and the hotels. But then, maybe I’ve just seen too many episodes of
CSI
.”

“It kind of makes sense. I was thinking that we should head north before we hit California. Go up through Utah and Idaho. Less congested.”

“And you think Vegas is less congested?” she asked.

I chuckled. “No, but it’s a great place to get lost in. We can blend into the background. Hey, I’m willing to listen to The Voice, even if it wasn’t technically The Voice.”

“There is no such thing as ‘technically The Voice’,” she said. “A dream seems to be as real as an actual voice, and for that matter, a lot more common than an actual voice. I had a feeling it was a message, but I wanted to get your feedback on it.”

“Vegas it is. I haven’t been there in a couple of years.”

“Don’t they have cameras all over the place? Could that be dangerous for me?”

“They do, but we’ll figure out a way to keep you disguised.”

With that decision made, we got on the road.

After she had finished her food, Jess said, “Okay, so you go first.”

“For what?”

“Your life story.”

“Why, you need something to put you to sleep?”

“No, I want something to keep my mind off the fact that if they find me, I’m dead. Every minute of every waking hour, that’s on my mind, and I can’t tell you how scared I am. Diversions are very welcome.” Her voice was tinged with a fear-based anger—anger at whoever had ruined her life.

She had been able to fake a light persona to some extent up until now, which made me forget just how frightening this was for her. I felt a little embarrassed. I think she sensed this and her mood changed.

“Besides,” she added with a slight smile, “I want to know who you are.”

A minute went by. She just looked at me expectantly.

“Okay.” And I started.

Chapter 6

Talking about your life is supposed to evoke remembrances of a happy childhood—or of a difficult childhood. We have memories of family trips, barbecues, holidays, playing catch, or being read to by our parents. Or, we have memories of abuse—emotional or physical—turmoil, yelling, sadness, and anger. Either way, the memories involve emotion in some way.

Not me. I never realized it at the time, but my home was completely devoid of emotion. You don’t necessarily notice these things as a kid. You don’t really know what’s supposed to be normal. You don’t compare your family to your friends’ families, at least maybe not until you’re a teenager.

So as I described my childhood to Jess, I could see an expression of sympathy forming. Or maybe it was a look of pity. At minimum, it was incomprehension. Could someone really grow up like that?

My father was an Army drill sergeant. My early years were spent going from base to base. Nothing ever felt permanent in those days. Friends never lasted long. Either we’d move or they would. Our house was never “homey”, it always had a transient feel to it. When he became a drill sergeant, things seemed to settle down. He was stationed at Fort Jackson, in South Carolina. We were there for what seemed like a long time.

“It’s funny,” I said to Jess. “On my way here, I passed Fort Jackson when I was on Interstate 20. Okay, maybe my thoughts were elsewhere, but you’d think I would get some sort of feeling of nostalgia. But no. Nothing. Not a thing.”

“So what made it emotionless?” she asked. “Whether you know it or not, you are not being emotionless as you describe your childhood. I’m sensing a tremendous amount of sadness.”

“Now. Not then. Yes, now I feel sad. For years after my parents died I felt nothing but anger toward them. I guess that’s finally dissipated. You’re right. Now it’s just a profound sadness.”

I explained to Jess that the life of a drill sergeant isn’t easy. Long hours and a tremendous amount of stress. I didn’t see much of my father, but when I did, he really didn’t have time for my brother and me. When he was home, he would spend hours washing and waxing his car—a vintage Pontiac Trans Am—usually with a buddy or two.

“He was one of those people who kept everything bottled up. He never talked much. Maybe it’s because he talked and yelled so much in his job. When he did talk, it was to reminisce about his teenage years—he seemed to be happiest then—before he had to enter life for real. When he wasn’t home, or at work, he’d be at the bar with those same buddies, his fellow drill sergeants. I can’t say I really knew my father. Looking back, I think he was really unhappy—unhappy with his career choice, with my mother, with just about everything. Even his Trans Am. He spent a lot of time with it, but it wasn’t his ‘pride and joy’ like you see in the movies. It was just something else to occupy his time.”

“Listening to you, I feel like putting a gun to my head,” said Jess. “That’s really depressing. I get the feeling your mother wasn’t much different.”

“If there were two people made for each other, it was them. I think they both had a secret death wish. My mother had no personality whatsoever. Again, you really don’t notice it as a kid, but looking back I can see it. She went through the motions. She got together with the other Army wives, but I think it was more because she felt she had to. I don’t have a lot of memories of the other wives as time went on. I think they slowly distanced themselves from her. She wasn’t a horrible mother from the standpoint of keeping us fed and clean, helping us with our homework, things like that, but there wasn’t anything behind it. I don’t think she ever formed that mother-child bond with us.”

“Anyway,” I continued, though not enjoying the conversation at all, “my father retired when he hit the twenty-year mark and earned his pension. I think he just wanted out. I was in my teens at that point. We moved up to Massachusetts, where they had both grown up, and my father got a job at a Home Depot. He seemed happier there than in the Army, but he also seemed lost. Maybe he needed the Army structure. I don’t know, but by that time I doubt he was able to change—either one of them. I went off to college when I graduated high school, happy to get out of there. They spent their evenings drinking. I think my mother had been a secret drinker for years. A year after I left home, I got word that my mother had liver cancer. She died soon after that. A year later, my father followed. He had pancreatic cancer. Again, it was quick. Age-wise, they were very young—mid-forties—but in reality, they were old. Old and tired.”

Jess seemed stunned by my story—obviously very different from her own. “You seem to have come out of it okay,” she finally said.

“It’s taken a long time. I promised myself I’d never be that kind of parent to Karen, and I wasn’t. I loved her with my whole being. But I didn’t totally escape my parents’ clutches. I’ve been tightly wound my whole adult life. In my mind, I blamed my wife for the distance between us, but I now know it was me. I’ve gotta tell you that I feel more free right now than I ever have in my life. I’m finally loosening up.”

“I’m glad the whole federal government on my trail could help,” replied Jess, trying to inject some much-needed levity into the situation. But I barely heard it.

“I kind of feel guilty saying that. It sounds like I’m saying that I’m free now that my daughter is dead. But I don’t mean it like that. I’d like to think that if she was with us right now I’d be feeling the same freedom.”

“I didn’t take it that way. It’s obvious that you loved your daughter very much.”

And then out of the blue the tears came, and gushed down my face like a flash flood. Luckily I had just seen a sign for an approaching rest area. I could barely see as I exited off the highway. I pulled into a spot far from any other cars and just sobbed. Jess undid our seatbelts and pulled me over to her, holding me tightly.

Long after the tears had ended, she still held me. Finally, I lifted my head in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re the one with the world after you. I should be holding you. I don’t know what brought that on.”

“I do,” she answered. “It was partly the death of your daughter, but mostly I think it was the death of your old life—your daughter, your parents, your childhood that really wasn’t a childhood at all. It’s all gone. And that’s why you feel so free now. There’s nothing left of who you used to be. You can now be anyone or anything you want to be. But it’s also scary for you. There’s a lot of loss. It’s like your old life ceased to exist.”

I put my hand behind her head and guided it down to where our lips met, and I kissed her. I could feel her body relax as she gave in, her tongue touching my lips, then exploring my mouth. The kiss lingered until finally, we came up for air. Nothing was said. We held each other gently, but firmly. We had each found an island of safety in our messed up lives, and we didn’t want to let it go. Finally we released each other. But Jess wasn’t finished. She leaned over and kissed me again, running her hands across my face, through my hair, and down my back. The second kiss lasted longer than the first. Finally, our lips parted and I looked at Jess, really noticing for the first time the deep blue of her eyes.

“Let’s get some air,” she said.

We got out of the car and walked, hand in hand, just soaking in the moment. Eventually, we sat under a tree and held each other. We were in no hurry to move. Here, we didn’t have to think about who might be after Jess—and me by association—or how to get her out of it. We were sitting under a tree in the middle of nowhere. No one was going to find us here.

Finally, after a couple of hours basking in the sun and in each other’s presence, barely saying a dozen words the whole time, we got up and brushed ourselves off.

“We’re not going to make Vegas tonight,” I said. “We’re not too far from Phoenix and Scottsdale, so we can find a place there for the night.”

Neither of us voiced it, but there was another reason we didn’t want to drive that far.

We found a Sheraton and I repeated the check-in process from the night before. I used the keycard to let us into the room and had barely set down the luggage when Jess was in my arms kissing me. She pulled me over to the bed as we frantically tore at each other’s clothes. In seconds, we were in bed naked, still clawing, as if there were more clothes to come off. We rolled the length of the bed, frantically kissing and feeling every inch of skin we could find. We were breathing heavily, and the sweat from my body merged with hers, creating a fine sheen between us. Finally, we reined in the pace a bit and took our time exploring. Slowly and tenderly, I ran my hands the length of her body, starting with her toes and moving my way up her legs, thighs, and hips. She was working from the other direction, starting with my head, down to my chest and stomach, until our hands met in the middle. The touching instantly increased to a frantic pace, until finally I entered her and we exploded together.