Page 94 of Gone Tonight
“Where are we going?”
“We need a safe place to stay tonight. That man—James—is going to try to find us and we can’t let him.”
I jump out of the Bonneville and fill the tank to the brim. I’ll drive another couple of hours and we can rest at a chain hotel tonight. It’s not a great plan, but it’s the best one I can come up with right now.
When I climb back in behind the wheel, though, Catherine surprises me again.
She says, “I know where we can hide.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREECATHERINE
I hold my mother’s arm, supporting her as she shuffles toward the front desk. Her affect is completely transformed. She’s wearing the lavender-colored sweatshirt she packed for me, and her body is hunched.
She takes halting steps and hangs her head low, as if she is fully dependent on me to lead the way.
The night guard looks up as we draw closer to the reception desk.
“Paul! Wow, it’s been a minute,” I say, my tone cheerful.
His face breaks into a smile. “Catherine, good to see you again.” His smile slips away. “You’re out late tonight.”
I feel my body begin to perspire, even though the lobby is pleasantly cool. I struggle to keep my tone casual as I say, “Yeah, I’ll just sign Mrs. Jacobson in and bring her back to the fifth floor. She’s pretty tired.”
Paul watches as I begin to type on the keyboard of the computer next to his desk, signing myself in. I have the password, after all. We’re at Sunrise.
“Big event tonight?” Paul asks.
He has seen me bring residents back to Sunrise in the evening many times since I used to drive the van for resident outings, but I don’t think I’ve ever brought someone back this late. Plus, it has been a couple years since I’ve driven the van.
Paul has no reason to suspect anything is amiss, though. Since he works the overnight shift, he can’t know I never signed out a resident earlier today. My mother is two decades younger than Mrs. Jacobson, but they both have short, dark hair. Paul probably has no idea what Mrs. Jacobson or any of the other Memory Wing residents look like since they are typically in bed by the time his shift begins.
Paul is prepared to spring into action if someone from the Memory Wing breaks out. He isn’t expecting a healthy person to try to sneak in.
“There was a big birthday party for her son,” I tell Paul. “The family really wanted her there, and she did very well. She even had a little cake.”
My mother stands next to me, not saying a word, just as I instructed her. But she knows what to do in case Paul grows suspicious or tries to verify what I’m typing.
“All set,” I say as I pull my hands away from the keyboard. All I’ve done is sign myself in, but Paul won’t know that unless he checks the computer log.
This is it—our make-or-break moment. I can sense my mother’s uneasy energy matching my own. I hold my breath, hoping Paul doesn’t think it’s strange that I’m carrying both a purse and my backpack, which contains my mother’s purse along with my laptop and our toiletries.
Paul looks at me, then at my mother.
“I’m glad you had a good time, Mrs. Jacobson,” he says softly. “Good evening, ladies.”
I release my breath and bid him a good night.
My mother must also feel relieved that she doesn’t need to moan and fidget, ratcheting up a display of agitation to deflect any attempt by Paul to verify the information I pretended to input into the system.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so nervous, though. There’s no reason for Paul to be distrustful of me or my mother. In his world, unlike mine, people are probably who they claim to be.
I guide my mother into the elevator and press the button for floorfive. We remain in character, mindful of the camera recording all arrivals and departures on the Memory Wing.
Once we reach the fifth floor, I input my code and push the door open, then lead my mother through it.
It’s imperative we avoid being spotted by anyone else. But the odds are on our side. All of the residents should be asleep, many with the help of medication. And while the lone nurse and aide who work the graveyard shift on this floor make rounds every hour, they tend to otherwise stay at the nursing station.
I put a finger to my lips, then gesture for my mother to follow. We tiptoe down the long hallway and pause, listening hard. I can hear the distant sound of conversation, but the voices are too far away for me to make out any words.
