Park said he’d come back after his dad got home and his parents were both asleep.
‘It might be a while. Don’t turn on the light or anything, okay?’ ‘Duh.’
‘And watch for the Impala.’ ‘Okay.’
He looked more serious than she’d seen him since the day he kicked Steve’s ass. Or since her first day on the bus, when he’d ordered her to sit down. That was still the only time she’d heard him use the F-word.
He leaned into the RV and touched her chin. ‘Please be careful,’ she said.
And then he was gone.
Eleanor sat back down at the table. She could see Park’s driveway from there, through the lace curtains. She felt tired suddenly. She just wanted to lay her head down. It was already after midnight; it could be hours before Park came back …
Maybe she should feel bad about involving him in all this, but she didn’t. He was right, the worst thing that would happen to him (barring some terrible accident) was that he’d be grounded. And being grounded at his house was like winning the Price is Right showcase compared to what would happen if Eleanor got caught.
Should she have left a note?
Would her mom call the police? (Was her mom okay? Were they all okay? Eleanor should have checked to see if the little kids were breathing.)
Her uncle probably wouldn’t even let Eleanor stay once he found out she’d run away …
God, whenever she started to think this plan through, it all fell apart. But it was already too late to turn back. It felt like the most important thing now was to run, the most important place to be was away.
She’d get away, and then she’d figure out what to do next. Or maybe she wouldn’t …
Maybe she’d get away, and then she’d just stop.
Eleanor had never thought about killing herself – ever – but she thought a lot about stopping. Just running until she couldn’t run anymore. Jumping from something so high that she’d never hit the bottom.
Was Richie out looking for her now?
Maisie and Ben would tell him about Park, if they hadn’t already. Not because they liked Richie, though sometimes it still seemed like they did. Because he had them on leashes. Like the first day Eleanor came to the house, when Maisie was sitting on Richie’s lap …
Fuck. Just … fuck.
She should go back for Maisie.
She should go back for all of them – she should find a way to fit them in her pockets – but she should definitely go back for Maisie. Maisie would run away with Eleanor. She wouldn’t think twice …
And then Uncle Geoff would send them both right home.
Her mom would definitely call the police if she woke up and Maisie was gone. Bringing Maisie would ruin everything even worse than it was already ruined.
If Eleanor were the hero of some book, like The Boxcar Children or something, she’d try. If she were Dicey Tillerman, she’d find a way.
She’d be brave and noble, and she’d find a way.
But she wasn’t. Eleanor wasn’t any of those things. She was just trying to get through the night.
Park
Park walked quietly into his house through the back door. Nobody in his family ever locked anything.
The TV was still on in his parents’ bedroom. He went straight to the bathroom and into the shower. He was pretty sure he smelled like every single thing that could get him in trouble.
‘Park?’ his mom called when he walked out of the bathroom. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Just going to bed.’
He buried his dirty clothes at the bottom of the hamper and dug all his leftover birthday and Christmas money out of his sock drawer. Sixty
dollars. That should be enough for gas … probably, he didn’t really know.
If they could just get to St Paul, Eleanor’s uncle would help them figure it out. She wasn’t sure her uncle would let her stay, but she said he was a decent guy, ‘and his wife was in the Peace Corps.’
Park had already written his parents a note:
Mom and Dad,
I had to help Eleanor. I’ll call you tomorrow, and I’ll be back in a day or two. I know I’m in huge trouble, but this was an emergency, and I had to help.
Park
His mom always kept her keys in the same place – on a little key-shaped plaque in the entryway that said ‘keys.’
Park was going to take her keys, then sneak back out the kitchen door, the door farthest from his parents’ room.
His dad got home around 1:30. Park listened to him move around the kitchen, then the bathroom. He heard the door to his parents’ room open, he heard the TV.
Park lay on his bed and closed his eyes. (There was no chance he’d fall asleep.) The picture of Eleanor was still glowing on the inside of his eyelids.
So beautiful. So peaceful … No, that wasn’t quite right, not peaceful, more like … at peace. Like she was more comfortable out of her shirt than in it. Like she was happy inside out.
When he opened his eyes, he saw her the way he’d left her in the RV – tense and resigned, so far gone that light wouldn’t even catch in her eyes.
So far gone, she wasn’t even thinking about him anymore.
Park waited until it was quiet. Then he waited another twenty minutes. Then he grabbed his backpack and went through the motions he’d planned in his head.
He stopped at the kitchen door. His dad had left his new hunting rifle out on the table … He was probably going to clean it tomorrow morning. For a minute, Park thought about taking the gun – but he couldn’t think of when he’d use it. It’s not like they were going to run into Richie on the way out of town. Hopefully.
Park opened the door and was about to step out when his dad’s voice stopped him.
‘Park?’
He could have run for it, but his dad probably would’ve caught him. His dad was always bragging about being in the best shape of his life.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ his dad whispered. ‘I … I have to help Eleanor.’
‘What does Eleanor need help with at two in the morning?’ ‘She’s running away.’
‘And you’re going with her?’
‘No. I was just going to give her a ride to her uncle’s house.’ ‘Where does her uncle live?’
‘Minnesota.’
‘Jesus F. Christ, Park,’ his dad said in his normal voice, ‘are you serious?’
‘Dad.’ Park stepped toward him, pleading. ‘She has to go. It’s her stepdad. He’s …’
‘Did he touch her? Because if he touched her, we’re calling the police.’ ‘He writes her these notes.’
‘What kind of notes?’
Park rubbed his forehead. He didn’t like to think about the notes. ‘Sick ones.’
‘Did she talk to her mom?’
‘Her mom’s … not in very good shape. I think he hurts her.’
‘That little fucker …’ His dad looked down at the gun, then looked back at Park, rubbing his chin. ‘So you’re going to drive Eleanor to her uncle’s house. Will he take her in?’
‘She thinks so.’
‘I gotta tell you, Park, this doesn’t sound like much of a plan.’ ‘I know.’
His dad sighed and scratched the back of his neck. ‘But I can’t think of a better one.’
Park’s head jerked up.
‘Call me when you get there,’ his dad said quietly. ‘It’s a straight shot up from Des Moines – do you have a map?’
‘I thought I’d get one at a gas station.’
‘If you get tired, pull into a rest stop. And don’t talk to anybody unless you have to. Do you have any money?’
‘Sixty dollars.’
‘Here …’ His dad walked over to the cookie jar and pulled out a bunch of twenties. ‘If this doesn’t work, with her uncle, don’t take Eleanor home. Bring her back here, and we’ll figure out what to do next.’
‘Okay … Thanks, Dad.’
‘Don’t thank me yet. I’ve got one condition.’ No more eyeliner, Park thought.
‘You’re taking the truck,’ his dad said.
His dad stood on the front steps with his arms folded. Of course he had to watch. Like he was umpiring a goddamn taekwando bout.
Park closed his eyes. Eleanor was still there. Eleanor.
He started the engine and shifted smoothly into reverse, rolled out of the driveway, shifted into first, then pulled forward without a sputter.
Because he knew how to drive a stick. Jesus.
