Page 107 of Gone Tonight
If my mother’s big plan to keep James away from us fails, I may never be able to go back to the apartment again. I may have to leave everything behind and go into hiding, just like her.
I storm down the hallway, determined to confront her. I’m going to tell her to get into the Bonneville so we can drive somewhere private to have it out. The words I have for her aren’t ones I want anyone to overhear.
I stalk through the lobby of Sunrise and burst through the front door, squinting as the sun hits my eyes.
My mother is exactly where I left her, sitting next to Mr. Damon on the wooden bench. Their backs are to me.
But something has changed. It draws me up short.
Mr. Damon’s arm is around my mother’s shoulders now.
They look exactly like a father and daughter. It’s as if Mr. Damon’s addled mind has spun magic, creating the very relationship he believed he saw.
I begin to walk toward them again, more slowly now.
Another part-time aide, a woman I don’t know terribly well because our schedules rarely overlap, smiles at me, then nods toward Mr. Damon and my mother.
“Isn’t that sweet?” she whispers. “I’ve never seen him so happy.”
Mr. Damon is talking softly as I draw nearer to them, but I can’t make out his words. My sneakers land silently in the thick grass. Neither my mother nor Mr. Damon notices my approach.
I’m about to circle around them to make my presence known when I catch the words composing their conversation.
“Will you come see me tomorrow?” Mr. Damon asks.
“If I can,” my mother replies.
My mother’s head slowly tilts down until it is resting on his broad shoulder.
An aura of love surrounds them. They’re both filling in for the people they must miss with their whole hearts. I can’t move. I don’t want to break the spell.
“You’ve always been such a good daughter,” Mr. Damon tells her. “I’m lucky to have you.”
I told my mother to play along, but I think she’s doing more than that. She’s allowing herself to pretend, for these few moments, that she is with a father who loves her.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her as a daughter.
I never truly thought about what it must have cost my mother to run at the age of sixteen, leaving everyone she loved behind.
Now I can hear the almost unfathomable price of it in her raw, ragged voice.
“I’ve missed you so much, Dad,” she whispers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTRUTH
The sun feels hotter now that it is directly overhead.
It’s almost noon, and Catherine is somewhere inside Sunrise, rustling up a bite for us to eat. Mr. Damon is back in the Memory Wing, where residents are being served lunch.
Everyone who was outside earlier has escaped into the comfort of air-conditioning.
Surely by now James has been arrested. When I called 911 at five minutes to nine from my burner phone, I told the operator I’d just seen escaped convict James Bates walking in the field behind Oak Hill High, carrying something that looked like a black wig. The operator asked if he was armed, and I said I didn’t know. I hung up when she asked for my name.
I would have loved to have seen James being arrested with my own eyes, but it was too dangerous for me to be anywhere near that field.
Now I reach for my iPhone and refresh my Google search on James. There’s no update, but that’s probably because the media hasn’t gotten ahold of the story of his capture yet.
Tension roils my body, so I force myself to lean back against the wooden bench I shared with Mr. Damon and think about something pleasant.
