Infinity + One (19 page)

“That’s not much of a choice, Clyde.” I meant to sound flip, but the words stuck in my throat. I lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling. The texture looked like oatmeal laid on thick and painted in white sparkle. I had the urge to jump up and down on the bed so I could reach it, so I could grab giant handfuls of the texture and fling it around the room. I wondered if our $50 deposit would cover it.

“I can’t talk to her, Finn,” I whispered. “I can’t do it yet.”

Clyde sighed and swore, but I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes on the crusty ceiling, willing him to let me be, just for now.

“Here’s what I’m going to do, Bonnie Rae. I’m going to take a shower. And when I get out, I’m calling the police. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll let you decide what you want to do.” He shoved up from the table, grabbed his duffle, and went into the closet-sized bathroom and shut the door. The shower started up a few minutes later.

Funny. Clyde said he would let me decide what I wanted to do.

So I decided.

But it wasn’t at all what I wanted.

I shot up from the bed and grabbed the keys to the Blazer. Clyde had left them next to the TV—dropped them like everybody does when they walk into a motel room. His wallet was beside the keys, along with his phone, like he’d emptied out his pockets when he’d set down his bags.

I took his phone too. Then I counted out $2000 and laid it out next to his wallet, so he couldn’t miss it. I’d given him half of the money I had left. The motel had provided three sheets of stationary and a pen with the motel chain on it, as if people still sat and wrote long letters to their loved ones back home. Still, I was glad it was there, because I had a letter to write, and very little time to do it.

Meet me in St. Louis, Louis, Meet me at the fair.
The words to the old song tripped through my brain. My high school had done the musical,
Meet Me in St. Louis
, the fall of my sophomore year. I’d tried out for the part played by Judy Garland and had every song memorized a week after auditions. I’d gotten the part but never ended up being in the play. Jackie Jacobson had ended up taking my place. The
Nashville Forever
audition had been the same day as opening night, so I’d had to back out. I put down my pen and left the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang. I was back on the interstate, reading road signs as I listened to Blake Shelton do his thing, hoping that Indianapolis was easy to find. I flipped down the radio and greeted my friend, Clyde.

“Bonnie Rae, turn around and get your ass back here with my Blazer.”

“I’m driving to St. Louis, Finn. I left you some money. You can rent a car and meet me there. Or . . . you can call the cops if you want to, but I think it might be a little hard to explain everything when I’m not there to back you up. They might think you have me tied up somewhere.”

The anger coming through the phone was palpable, and I winced and rushed ahead when he didn’t speak.

“I’m calling Bear. I’ll tell him to straighten things out with the police. Okay? I’m going to have him overnight me the things I need, just like I told you. But he needs an address to send them to, Clyde. Can you tell me where your dad lives? I’ll meet you there, with the Blazer. I’ll hand it over, get my things and be on my way. Deal?” My voice squeaked at the end, undermining my tough girl play.

Finn hung up on me.

I kept on driving, both hands on the wheel, holding on to the Blazer like it was my only friend in the world—a stolen best friend. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon but I felt like I’d been up for days, the pressures of the last 36 hours creating a time warp where time felt stretched and surreal, like I’d lived it all before and would live it again, over and over until I got it right. Whatever “right” was. “Right” felt like a very relative word at this point. Since the moment I’d walked off the stage in Boston, I couldn’t think of one single thing I could have done differently. Finn Clyde was certainly wishing he’d let me fall into the Mystic River at this point. But me? I didn’t feel like I’d had much choice in the matter.

I didn’t die on the bridge. Finn Clyde saved me, and then he kissed me. And I had to keep moving, because the minute I stopped, the momentum that kiss had given me, and the life that kiss had breathed into me, would be snuffed out like everything else. What Finn couldn’t understand was if I called Gran and turned my life back over to her, I might as well just find another bridge.

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.

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.

The playground called to me. It echoed with silent laughter and ghostly twins chasing each other through the trees and down the slide. It made me ache for moments lost and the little girls Minnie and I had been together. Those little girls were both gone. And I missed them so much that I held my breath, gripping the wrought iron bars of the decorative fence, waiting for the wave of painful longing to abate. When the sorrow ebbed enough for me to breathe again, I moved to the gate, hoping it wasn’t locked, hoping I wouldn’t have to risk impalement trying to scale the spiky fence. I smiled when the latch lifted easily. Feeling a bit like Goldilocks entering unknown territory, I pushed through the gate and let myself in.