Page 97 of Between Now & Heartbreak

I hear the unease in her voice.

“Well, not now. Not that I know.”

“I have to figure out what to do about my father.”

“You mean, besides calling the police? He fucking kidnapped you.”

“What police? He owns every law enforcement official in a five hundred mile radius. He can’t know that his isn’t real until I’m gone.”

“How will that be possible?”

“Nothing. I I’ll just make him think we are getting married while I save to leave. And then, when I’m ready, I’ll just go.”

“Come with me, I can’t leave you here with them.” It’s not even a question.

“I’ll be fine. As long as my father thinks I’m towing the line, there’s no danger of anything. I don’t even want him to know you exist. He’s dangerous and powerful.”

“I’m not going to hide behind you,” the idea makes me sick and that she’d eventhinkI’d be okay with it, is upsetting.

She looks up at me, her eyes beseeching me to understand.

“It’s not hiding. And it’s the best way. I’m going to need to have a way to live and take care of myself. If I’m not careful, my father he’ll make that impossible for me. I’m praying that Wishbone was far enough away that he won’t get wind of what happened there. But we can’t risk that again. While you’re here, and until I can join you, we can’t be anything outside these walls. “

I search for what to say. But I can’t think straight, my mind is dark with anger. I don’t understand how they can treat her like she’s an object, to be bartered, traded, coerced.

“Let’s go in. Okay?” I take her hand and she wraps her fingers around mine and squeezes convulsively. Like she’s trying to make sure I’m real.

“Carter…. Sing to me?” Her voice is tight. Like she’s holding on to her control and it’s as fragile as an egg in a vice. Any moment now, it’s going to shatter.

“Yes, baby,” I change the grip of our hands, so mine is holding hers. And she lets me lead her inside.

I close the door behind me and kick off my shoes before I step into the room.

It’s dark, but for two small lamps. The one that illuminates the piano and the one near the chair she always sits in to draw.

She drops down into it and closes her eyes. I watch her for a minute. She’s not resting. Her face is tight, even in the low light, I can see the small furrow between her brows.

I sit at the piano and start picking out the melody to my song. I don’t sing, though. I’m not in the mood.

“I’m exhausted.” She says about ten minutes after I start to play. Her voice is clear and strong.

I look over at her. Her eyes are open, watching me. My fingers stop their dance on the keys and I turn to face her.

“You should go to sleep.” I say to her.

She shakes her head, wearily.

“Not like that. I mean, I’m tired of being just thisonething. I’m sick of my life story having thisonestory. I want so much more.”

She lifts out of her chair in one smooth lithe motion. She reaches up and tugs the elastic that’s been holding her hair in the tiny ponytail at the nape of her neck.

She rolls her neck and then looks straight at me.

“Thanks for coming to get me from outside.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She nods. A small smile, or the distant cousin of one, plays on the corners of her lips.

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