Part 33 (1/2)

The compound is dark, everyone asleep.

We sprint across a cus.h.i.+on of sand to Jerome's Malibu, slip inside. It is old, but tuned, and starts easily. Still, the engine sounds very loud from where I sit, looking for lights to blink on. Not a one. Nothing but a billow of dust, lifting into the night sky. Night! It's been weeks since I've seen the stars. A voice drifts from not-so-distant memory: Pretty tonight. Looks like you could reach out and touch the stars. I close my eyes, transported to a sleeping bag in the bed of a Tundra. Andrew is warm beside me. I want what I've no right to take....

Tears fall freely as Jerome turns south on Highway 93 toward Wells. He doesn't notice, so I let them fall. By the time we reach I-80, the stars are nothing but blurry streaks.

Old Malibus Aren't exactly fuel efficient. As we roll into Wells, Jerome slows down, checks the gauge. Better gas up. There's a truck stop ahead. Hungry? It's a long way to SLC.

”A little,” I fudge. I've barely eaten a bite in two days. ”Thirsty, too. Any chance of a c.o.ke?”

What'll you give me for it? He snickers at the old joke. Only he isn't joking.

He pulls up at the pumps, opens the glove box, reaches for his wallet. And there, on a folded road map, is his cell phone. A buzz like a high power line vibrates in my ears.

Jerome doesn't seem to notice. He gets out of the car, puts his keys in their usual resting place on the front floorboard.

Do you have to use the bathroom?

I shake my head. ”Not until after the c.o.ke.”

When he goes inside, I grab the phone.

One eye on the door, I dial Andrew's cell.

This AT&T customer is not accepting incoming calls. No! Quick. Dial his home. The number you are calling is no longer in service.

Andrew! Where are you? No time to worry about it now. Not if I want to get away this side of Salt Lake City. I need to buy some time. The keys ... I reach down, locate them, toss them under the backseat, just as he comes out the door, goodies in hand. I have maybe five minutes.

As Jerome starts toward the island, I jump out of the car. ”Decided I should pee after all,” I say, pa.s.sing him on the sidewalk.

Nerves ping-pong in my stomach. I feel like I'm going to vomit. But I don't, and he doesn't seem fazed at all. Over my shoulder, I watch him go to the car, open the door. As he leans inside, I duck around the corner of the building.

It's quiet this time of day, and in the steel blue of just-before-dawning, a row of semis waits silently for their drivers to wake. I dash across the short span of asphalt to the far side of the trucks. Maybe there's somewhere to hide behind them. No! Nothing but desert, stretching all the way to the freeway. What now? He'll come looking any second!

I run down the row, hoping for ...? Can I hide in one of them? Don't think so. If I try to open one of the back doors, it's sure to make a racket. About three-quarters of the way down the line, I pa.s.s a travel trailer, attached to a big crew cab. Something about it calls to me.

If the owners are asleep in the trailer, maybe I could slip inside the truck? Could the doors be unlocked? As quietly as I can, I pull up on the rear pa.s.senger handle. Holy mother!

It opens. I climb up, shut the door, skooch down on the floor, close my eyes.

He must be looking for me by now.

When he finds me, what will he do?

But It Isn't Jerome Who finds me. It's the owner of the fifth wheel. It is light when he opens the door to let his border collie inside. What the- What the h.e.l.l are you doing in my truck?

I'm afraid to get up off the floor.

”I'm sorry ... I didn't mean ....”

Come on! Think! Something sort of close to the truth pops out of my mouth.

”It's just that my boyfriend and I got into an awful fight. I was afraid he'd hurt me, so I hid in here...” I must have fooled the dog, anyway. She licks my face.

The man, who's maybe sixty, looks dubious at first. But something about my expression makes him go on the alert.

Think he's still here? What's he look like?

Thank you, G.o.d. ”Short. Thin. He drives a blue Malibu. I'm really scared.”

You stay right here with Trinket. I'll take a look around. He shuts the door.

Relief firecrackers through me in tiny bursts. I'm stiff. Tired. But maybe okay.

It isn't long before the guy returns.

No sign of a blue Malibu. Where you headed, young lady? He gives me a once- over, but if my industrial outfit makes him wonder, he doesn't say a word.

Think fast, Eden. ”We were going to Salt Lake City. But I want to go home.

And my boyfriend has all our money.”

He takes every word in perfect stride.

Okay. And just where is home?

South on 93? Keep going, and end up in ”Vegas.” I hold my breath, hoping.

Can't take you all the way there.

But I can get you as far as Ely.

I finally feel safe enough to scoot up onto the seat. ”That would be great.

I can call Andr-uh, my brother to come get me.” And pray he answers this time.

At Fifty MPH The trip from Wells to Ely takes close to three hours. I stay scrunched down in my seat for a long while. Wes notices without comment. Finally he says, I think you're okay now. Been checking the mirror. Haven't seen anything blue.

I straighten a bit. Trinket squirms and yips, as if happy to see me relax. ”Good girl.”

Wes smiles. You like dogs, I see.

Have any at home, waiting for you?

I almost say no, that my parents are much more into G.o.d than dogs, or any of his creatures that don't t.i.the heavily.

But then I think of Andrew. The ranch.

And, ”Sheila. She's a bluetick hound, just a pup.” We talk dogs for some time, then ranching. Wes has a big ranch, with Angus and Quarter Horses.

”Andrew ... uh .... my brother works ....