Chasing the Skip

by Patterson, Janci

  I jerked open the trailer doors, stepping in. Dad sat at the table, peeling an orange. He looked up at me.

  “Did you get your homework from the truck?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. My voice came out harsh and hysterical, and I wished I could snap the word back.

  “Why not?”

  “What do you care?” I crossed my arms over my chest. I knew I was being unreasonable, but I couldn’t help it.

  “I’m your father. That’s why I care.”

  “Mom never bothered me about homework.”

  “Well, I’m not your mother.”

  “No shit,” I said.

  Dad looked up at me, his voice sharpening. “Watch your mouth.”

  I sounded like a child, and I knew it, but yelling at Dad turned my ache into a numbness. Raising my voice pushed back the pain.

  “You get your work done, and I won’t have to bother you about it,” Dad said.

  Neither of us cared about the homework. He was still pissed about me running away with Ian, and I was pissed about Jamie and Mom and everything else. For once, I wished we could have a fight about the real stuff.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Give it a week and I’ll be back with Mom and you’ll be out of my life again.”

  Dad gave me a confused look, like he’d missed a turn. I took a step back, toward the bathroom. I shouldn’t have said that. Fighting about homework was safer.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Dad said.

  “Well I am. Mom’s coming back, and then I won’t have to live here anymore.”

  I gestured around at the decrepit trailer, making sure he got the picture. Even as I said it, I knew I was wrong. Something had happened to her. She was probably lying in a ditch somewhere. She would never leave me for this long otherwise. If cops couldn’t find stolen cars, it wasn’t a surprise that they hadn’t found her.

  Dad stood up, facing me. I flattened myself against the bathroom door, hand on the knob. “I’m sorry your mom walked out on you,” he said, “but you need to start facing the truth. Things aren’t going back to the way they were. They can’t.”

  Panic fluttered behind my ribs. He was right, of course. Nothing would ever be the same again, no matter how much I wanted it to be.

  “She could be dead,” I said. “And you won’t even look for her.”

  “She’s not dead,” Dad said. “Leaving was her choice. You better figure that out fast, or you’ll waste years of your life being bitter.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yes, like me.”

  I hadn’t really expected Dad to agree with me, so I didn’t know where to go from there.

  Dad leaned back against the fridge. “Look around, Ricki,” he said. “I’m the one giving you a place to stay, even if you hate it. I’m sorry I can’t provide more, I truly am, but who else in your life is trying to give you anything at all?”

  Tears swelled up in my eyes, and I tried to blink them back, but the traitors ran right down my face.

  Dad’s face softened when he saw me start to cry, and the pain inside jabbed sharp and new. I couldn’t take the sympathy, so I jerked open the bathroom door and squished myself inside, slamming it shut. “Leave me alone,” I yelled through the pressboard door.

  I heard Dad shift back to the table, heard the squish of the seat as he sat down, but he didn’t say anything back.

  I sat down on the toilet, kicking the thin wall separating me from the closet. The wall gave a little and I stopped. Ian had the guts to stick his foot through a windshield, but I didn’t. I just went along with whatever they wanted—Mom, Dad, Jamie. It wasn’t fair. How come none of them were curled up in a bathroom, crying?

  * * *

  I stayed in the bathroom for over an hour before I steeled myself to walk through the trailer to my bunk. I’d heard Dad move over to his bed a few minutes before, so I knew I wouldn’t have to walk past him.

  I stood, turning on the faucet and rinsing off my face, looking at my swollen eyes in the mirror. When I opened the door, I didn’t even look at Dad, just moved directly to the table, hoisted myself up on my bed, and closed the curtains. I heard Dad sigh, but he didn’t comment, which suited me fine. I’d wanted to fight with him, but now that we’d yelled, I didn’t feel like it fixed anything.

  I reached up and grabbed the picture of Mom and shoved it underneath the mattress pad, where I wouldn’t have to see it. A few minutes later, Dad turned off the lights, plunging me into darkness.

  Tears seeped through my eyelids. I propped myself up on my elbows, rubbing my eyes. I couldn’t just sit here and cry all night. It was pathetic. Worse than pathetic. No wonder no one wanted me if all I did was lie around and feel sorry for myself.

  Ian said I should take charge of my life, but so far I was still sitting here, letting Dad determine everything. And meanwhile Ian sat out in the truck, chained down, unable to make decisions for himself.

  I’m not sure when I knew I was going to let him go, but the decision settled over me like a warm blanket. I’d been fooling myself about running away. I didn’t have the guts. But Ian could take care of himself. He could get out of here, even if I couldn’t. We might both be victims of our parents’ choices, but at least one of us could be free.

  I waited until Dad’s breaths came deep and even and ruffled with phlegm. I eased myself over to the edge of the bed, careful to move my weight gradually. That was the trouble with such an old trailer—everywhere you moved it squeaked.

  Making sure not to kick the table, I extended my leg until it hit the seat below and placed my foot on the firm bench edge, hoping it would be less creaky than the middle. I lowered my weight a pound at a time, keeping my hands at the edge of the bed, my elbows locked for support. As I transferred the last of my weight, I listened.

  Dad’s snores were softer now but still there. I forced myself to breathe slowly and quietly as I stepped down onto the carpet.

  I shifted my weight slowly again, but even so the floor let out a loud groan, like an old man easing himself into his armchair. I cringed and waited. If I wasn’t supposed to do this, this was when he’d wake up. But no movement came from Dad’s bed. His breaths stayed soft and even.

  Kneeling, I reached out for Dad’s pants, discarded on the floor. I lifted them by the belt, slowly, so they wouldn’t jingle, and felt the keys in the pocket. I closed my fist around the keys so they wouldn’t clink together and then pulled them out.

  Setting the pants back down, I took the last two steps to the door, quick and light, with minimal squeaks from the floor. Reaching the steps, I saw the dim outline of a soda can hanging from the doorknob on a string. I looked over at the shadows on Dad’s bunk. He must have put the can there so he’d hear if the door opened. But was he trying to keep Ian out or me in?

  I wrapped my hand around the can and pulled it away from the door slowly, then lifted the string up and over the handle. The can made a tap as I set it on the counter. I’d have to remember to put it back.

  A cold blast of air blew in as I eased the door open, and I hoped it wouldn’t reach Dad under his blanket to jar him awake. Slipping out quickly, I eased the door shut again behind me.

  I waited for a long, quiet moment, listening. No sounds came from inside. All the windows stayed dark. I let out my breath, watching as moonlight caught it in a steamy puff. I smiled to myself, walking around the front of the trailer, toward the truck.

  A flickering orange light came from inside the cab. I stopped for a moment, planting my feet together in the gravel. At this point I could still turn back. I could quietly go back inside, and no one would have to know I was ever out here. Not Dad. Not Ian.

  I could see his silhouette in the back window of the truck, hunched over in the back seat. The light sputtered and went out, then flicked on again.

  My stomach squeezed with anticipation, and I knew I wasn’t going back inside until I’d done what I’d come out here to do.

  North Platte, Nebraska.

  Ho
urs since phone call: 4.

  Distance from busted truck: 3 yards.

  16

  I walked quickly so I wouldn’t think twice. When I got to the driver’s side of the truck, I took out the keys and unlocked the rear door, pulled it open, and tucked the keys into my front pocket.

  Fumes burned my nose. Ian’s hands were cuffed to the floor, but he held a lighter in front of him, melting the plastic on the back of my seat. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I said back. I stood there in the dark as Ian’s flickering lighter blinked out again.

  “Your dad know you’re out here?”

  “Nope.”

  Ian flicked the lighter on again.

  “You trying to set yourself on fire?” I asked.

  Ian shrugged. “It just melts.”

  “Smells awful.”

  “I got nothing better to do.”

  “Still. That can’t be healthy. How’d you get that thing past my dad?”

  Ian let the lighter go out again. “I have my ways. So is that what you came out here to tell me? Worried I was going to burn alive?”

  “No,” I said.

  “What do you want, then?”

  I’d come here to let him go, but now I wanted to stay with him a little while, to hold his attention. Even if Dad woke up, he probably wouldn’t notice I was gone right away. Not in the dark.

  I took a deep breath and climbed up onto the seat, edging along until I sat right next to Ian. Don’t think, I told myself. Thoughts hurt. I wanted to feel something other than pain. I reached up, put my arms around his neck, and kissed him.

  Ian didn’t hesitate at all, just kissed me back hungrily. His mouth was warmer than Jamie’s, and he bit at my lower lip as I pulled away. “Your dad’s going to kill me,” he said.

  I didn’t want to think about Dad. Or Jamie, or Mom. I kissed him again, pushing thoughts of them out of my mind.

  I lifted my leg over Ian, resting my knees on either side of his legs and pushing my body against his.

  I reached into my pocket, pulling out the keys. “Here,” I said, twisting around to reach for the floor bolt. “Let me fix that.”

  When the chains hung free, Ian held out his handcuffs to me. I didn’t want him to run away yet, so I put the keys back in my front pocket and slid his cuffed hands over my head, to rest around my neck. The chains hung down my back, dangling against my thighs as I leaned into him.

  Ian pulled me closer. As our mouths met again, he reached his hands up the back of my shirt. I shivered at the brush of cold metal, but he ran the tips of his fingers across my skin in a fanning motion, and goose bumps rose on my skin.

  Ian’s face was only a few inches away, and he closed the distance, running his mouth along my jaw. My eyes closed in reflex, but my mind started to rush. How far did Ian expect this to go? I hadn’t thought it through very well.

  I pushed away a little, breathing heavy, and sat back on his knees, putting some distance between us.

  The cuffs pressed into my back as he pulled me toward him again, leaning forward to meet me halfway. He kissed my collar bone, nails digging into the small of my back. His whole body pulsed, rubbing against mine.

  “Do you want me to get your feet, too?” I asked, pushing back again.

  “How do you know I won’t run away?” he asked.

  My body ached for me to shut up and keep him here. But I had to let him go. I had to. “You will run away,” I said. “That’s why I came out here. To let you go.”

  Ian smiled, reeling me in again like I was a fighting fish. His mouth traveled down my neck again. His hands moved up under my bra strap, massaging my skin. Even with the cuffs, his fingers were nimble enough to unhook it. He pushed his arms up under my shirt and began to lift it over my head.

  My breath came sharply, and it took all my self-control to flip my leg back over him and kneel on the bench seat beside him—safely away.

  “I’ll get the chains,” I said, reaching for his ankles to start there. At the moment, his ankles felt so much safer than his hands. I released the catch on the cuffs, then reached for his hands without looking him in the eye.

  He kept his eyes on me the whole time. I could hear his breath coming fast and hard.

  When I finished uncuffing him, I let the chains fall to the floor and stuck the keys back in my pocket. I expected Ian to open the car door and run into the night, but instead he knelt on the seat in front of me, pulling me up so our knees and hips touched. He ran his fingers just under the waistband of my jeans.

  My heart pounded a little. Kissing him wasn’t silencing my brain as much as I’d thought it would. Instead I grasped for control over my body. In my efforts not to think too hard, I hadn’t considered how I was going to make him stop. Or how hard it would be to make me stop.

  Ian’s hands inched farther down my hips, and he kissed my neck more fiercely. I stiffened involuntarily.

  “You should go,” I said. “My dad might wake up any second.” I grabbed for the door handle behind me, but it didn’t open. The child lock was still on.

  Ian’s hands slid around my waistband to my butt. He kept kissing me, his lips making their way toward my shoulder. My body reacted instinctively, pulling away from him. The frightened little girl in me took charge over the hungry woman, dragging her over the bench seat and out the driver’s-side door, escaping the heat of the cab. The damp night air was heavy. I panted to catch breaths of it.

  Ian followed me out. He didn’t try to grab for me again.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I—I’m worried about my dad, that’s all. You should go. I wouldn’t want him to catch you.”

  Ian smiled, stepping toward me. This time he kissed me on the cheek. I shivered again. The dew in the air clung to me like sweat after a breaking fever.

  “Thanks,” Ian said.

  “Sure,” I said. “You might want to stay off the freeway and away from credit cards for a while.”

  Ian cocked his head to the side, winking at me. “Got it.”

  I crossed my arms across my chest, and we looked at each other for a minute. I didn’t think either of us knew what to say.

  “’Night, sweetheart,” Ian said, finally. Then he turned and walked confidently along the gravel road, toward the entrance to the RV park.

  “’Night,” I said, but only once he was too far away to hear.

  For a moment I held perfectly still, feeling the echoes of his fingers against my skin. For the first time, I honestly hoped this was the last I’d see of Ian Burnham. I’d thought the rush of kissing him would make everything better, but I felt even more spun-around than before.

  When Ian was out of sight, I walked carefully back to the trailer and lifted the door handle quietly. I managed to get myself in and the door shut behind me before the damn floor uttered a mighty groan under my toes.

  “Hmm?” Dad said, shooting up in bed.

  My hand went to my pocket, but the keys weren’t there.

  “I was just going to the bathroom,” I said quickly, checking my back pockets, too. No keys.

  What had I done with them? Were they on the floor of the truck, with the chains? No, I distinctly remembered putting them back in my pocket.

  Ian. He must have taken them. But why would he do that after I let him go?

  Dad blinked at me, hair standing up at all angles, and then looked me up and down. For a horrified moment I wondered if Ian had left marks on my neck or my face.

  “You put on your shoes to go to the bathroom?” Dad asked. He raised a hand to his hair, scratching the back of his neck.

  “Um, I thought I heard a noise outside,” I said. “I was just checking, but I didn’t see anything. It’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

  He reached for his pants and pulled them on. “You don’t check if you hear a noise. You wake me up so I can check.” He rose to his feet, reaching for his shoes.

  “Really, it’s fine,” I said. I should have made something up about my feet being cold, r
ather than raising Dad’s suspicions. Ian probably hadn’t had the chance to get far yet.

  But Dad was already headed for the door. I stepped to the side.

  Dad walked outside, and I heard him swear.

  “Lock the trailer and stay inside,” he yelled.

  I heard his footsteps crunch through the gravel as he headed away.

  I checked again in my pockets for the keys. Would Dad remember where he’d left them? Would he realize I must have taken them to Ian?

  Movement caught my eye, over by another camper. Ian stood in the shadows. He leaned into the light, flashing a bit of metal in my direction. The keys. Maybe I’d dropped them. Was he bringing them back to me?

  I stepped out the trailer door, closing it behind me and hurrying to the shadows before Dad could see I hadn’t locked myself in.

  Ian ducked behind a neighboring trailer, and I followed him out of Dad’s sight. He grabbed me by my belt loops and pulled me into him, stuffing the keys into my back pocket. The keys jabbed my butt, and I reached to adjust them.

  “Ouch,” I said. “I would have taken them.”

  Ian didn’t respond, just pulled my hips against his and kissed me hard.

  My insides squirmed. I didn’t want Dad to catch us, but more than that, I didn’t like the way Ian was holding me, like he wouldn’t let me go. The panic I’d felt in the truck crept back through me.

  “Hang on,” I said. “You need to get going.”

  Ian shook his head, wrapping his other arm around my shoulders and pushing my head into his chest. My neck tweaked, and I slammed my fists against him, trying to break away.

  That’s when the cold metal hit my temple. I gasped. Ian wrapped me tight against him, holding my arms so I couldn’t fight.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he said in my ear. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you make me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see a gun held next to my face—Dad’s handgun from the utility box on the truck. Of course Ian had stolen it. The keys were on the same ring.

  “I was going to let you go,” I said.

  “Your old man wouldn’t have,” he said. “I’m not going to jail.” Ian’s voice sounded cold, vibrating from his chest to mine as he pulled me tighter.