The phone vibrated against my thighs where it sat nestled between them, and I grabbed for it, flipping it open on a breathless hello.
“Write this down,” Finn snapped, not returning my greeting.
“Can’t you just text it to me?”
“I’m on a motel phone, Bonnie,” he roared.
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” I scrambled for the purse I’d purchased at Walmart, but the only thing I could find was the red lipstick I’d kept from Gran’s bag—no pen or paper.
“Bonnie?”
“Uh, okay. Go!”
Finn clipped out the address, and I wrote it on the window with the lipstick as he did. Not bad. I could read it, and I wouldn’t lose it.
“Call Bear.” Click. Finn was not happy.
I called Bear, and I managed to make it to Indianapolis. Finn was right. It only took about three hours. But by the time I got there I was so tired I found a Wendy’s, used their restroom, and bought a salad and a couple of bottles of water. I ate in the car, afraid someone would recognize me, even in my pink coat and beanie. It had happened before. When I finished, I locked the doors and crawled in the back seat, falling asleep parked in the far corner of the Wendy’s parking lot.
I awoke to chilly darkness tempered by street lights and the comforting sounds of nightlife. The blankets around my shoulders smelled a little like Finn, and I wondered how far he was behind me, and what he would say to me when I saw him again. I thought about that kiss, and felt slightly devastated that there wouldn’t be another one. Not now. No more Finn kisses. No more Finn smiles. No more Finn.
I crawled into the front seat and started the Blazer, cranking up the heat and drinking the second bottle of water.
It took me several seconds to realize that Finn’s phone was buzzing again, and I snatched it up gratefully, feeling incredibly alone now that darkness had fallen and I was, well, alone.
“Finn?”
“I have been calling you for three hours. Where are you?” Finn still wasn’t happy.
“I’m in Indianapolis. I had to rest my eyes for a minute. That minute lasted a few hours.” I still sounded tired, even to my own ears, and I muffled a yawn. “Are you still at the bugs-r-us motel?”
“No. I’m on the road. Finally. I rented a car, and I got one of those little throw-away phones, the reloadable kind, from Walmart. My mother’s probably calling my phone. Don’t answer it. I’ll leave a message on her home phone and tell her I’m okay, and that I didn’t kidnap anyone,” Finn snapped.
“I called Bear. He doesn’t like me very much right now either. It must be something in the water. I told him you had only given me a ride, that I was just fine, and that I just needed some time off. He’s sending my things, and he said he’d talk to Gran.”
“And the police?”
“And the police.”
Silence.
“St. Louis, Bonnie.”
And then he was gone. Again.
The phone rang again almost immediately, but the number wasn’t the same as the one Finn had just called me from, so I didn’t answer it, aware that it would be for him, well aware that I didn’t want to explain his absence. It was probably his mama, just like he’d warned, and I had a feeling that just like Bear and Finn, she wouldn’t be too happy with me.
I held the phone for a long time, wondering if Finn would call back or if I dared call him, wondering if he would listen if I tried to explain why I was so crazy, if I tried to explain what life had been like for me for the past six years. We weren’t so different, Finn and I. Cages come in lots of different colors and shapes. Some are gilded, while others have a slamming door. But golden handcuffs are still handcuffs.
I studied the maps, waiting for him to call, but when he didn’t, I gassed up the Chevy and headed for St. Louis, a straight shot westbound on I-70 from point A to point B. I wouldn’t have to look at the map again for this leg of the trip. So I drove and let the miles take me far away.
Chapter Eleven
I DIDN’T THINK I could find the address in the dark, but Finn’s instructions were detailed and precise, even smudged in red lipstick on my window. St. Louis looked peaceful and picturesque in the quiet moonlight. There was snow on the ground, but just a dusting, a bit of glitter in the shadows. The streets were lined with trees, and as I neared my destination, I realized I wasn’t far from the university. I thought about Clyde senior—Clyde said his name was Jason—and whether or not he knew a runaway celebrity was about to crash his pad. It was midnight, and morning was a long ways away. Dread filled my stomach, and I decided to drive around for a while, or find a place to park and sleep until morning came, a place that wouldn’t invite curiosity or cops.
A pretty park edged in trees not far from the campus seemed like a logical place, and I hugged the curb and turned the key with sudden relief. I needed to breathe. I grabbed the keys, shrugged into my coat and was out of the Blazer and stretching my legs within seconds. The park looked old—like it had been built when ladies strolled while holding a man’s arm. Curving benches with wrought iron edging, stately fountains, and winding cobbled pathways meandered through the park. I followed them for several minutes until I came upon a little fence, complete with fleur-de-lis edging and a swinging iron gate that enclosed a towering swing set, a see-saw, and a metal slide easily as old as the park, and just as well preserved. I laughed and thought of Minnie. When we were little she loved to fly on the swings, and I was happy just to push. For all my bluster, I didn’t do well with swings. Heights didn’t bother me, but swinging made my stomach flip and tumble in unpleasant ways.