Page 76 of Hitch
We drive, and I don’t bother with the radio. Again, it’s just like that first night, except this time, the sun is still technically out, andI’min the driver’s seat. It’s strange to be on the other side, like I’m stepping into Duane’s shoes. My mind races with nerves and questions. Why the hell was Duane willing to give up his life, when he seemed so convinced that I was his blackmailer? Is it because he knew it was over? Because he thought I was going to turn him in?
But then a thought comes to me.
He killed the Mortician. Michael too. Even Braden.For me.
Was Duane willing to die for me too?
I ponder over that question, not coming to any conclusions, and soon, we’re outside of my mom’s apartment. The teenager shifts sheepishly beside me. I clear my throat.
“You hungry?” I ask. I motion for her to follow me. “I’ll call you a rideshare for wherever you’re going.”
We walk up the stairs to my mom’s apartment, then knock. Mom opens the door, and as soon as she sees me, her eyes flash with sadness, like she already knows that I’m helping a woman who would rather run away. Someone like me.
But it feels different now. When I ran away from Michael, he saw me as a woman he took care of in exchange for a service. Duane sees me as his equal.
I see that potential in myself too, now.
“Got any more cake?” I ask.
Mom shakes her head, a bittersweet smile on her face. “But I’ll heat you up some dinner. Come on in.”
We sit around the table while Mom reheats leftover takeout. The scent of refried beans, rice, and carnitas fills the air, and though it smells good, my appetite is shot. I can’t eat a thing.
It takes some encouragement and ordering a rideshare, but the hitchhiking teenager eventually eats two full plates, scarfing them down in a hurry. I can’t tell if she’s eating quickly because she’s starving, or if she just wants to get out of my mom’s apartment as soon as she can. But whatever the reason is, I’m glad for it. She’s being smarter than I ever was.
As the teenager goes to the door, I hand her the cash Duane threw at me. Her eyes blink rapidly.
“Take it,” I say. It’s better to give it to her, when I know she needs it.
“Thank you,” she says. They’re the only words she lets out.
She gets into the car and watches us through the window. The rideshare driver was a woman, someone with good reviews, so I’m okay with sending her off. A sense of longing fills me, knowing that the teenager is on her way.
And yet, I still can’t get my mind off of Duane. Heshould’vekilled me. He made it clear from the beginning that his business comes first.
So why didn’t he kill me?
My mom grades papers while I mull over the last few months, trying to figure out why everything happened the way it did. But everything is fuzzy, like the dust won’t settle into place.
My phone vibrates on the kitchen table, startling me. My mom glances up. I quickly answer it, hardly reading the screen.
“Hello?” I ask, hoping to hear that southern drawl.
“Where are you?” Todd asks.
My shoulders sink, and I take the phone into the next room so I don’t interrupt my mom’s work.
“Why?” I whisper into the phone. “What’s going on?”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re somewhere safe. Duane, he’s—” Todd lets out a breath, and I bite my lip. “Are you at your mom’s?”
“What’s going on with Duane?” I ask.
“He’s irrational. Too violent. You need to stay quiet. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
I shake my head. “Duane wouldn’t hurt me. He’s—”
“You saw what he did,” Todd says, his tone irritated. “Do you need any more proof?”
