A Girl Undone

by Catherine Linka

  Her eyes brightened as one of them came to the front. A dimple creased his smooth face, and Charlene held out her pen as if she’d been saving it just for him. He frowned at the bid sheets, not cracking a smile until the last one. He scribbled his bid, and I crossed my fingers for him.

  The MC announced the close of the bidding, and the band started up. Older couples came out on the floor, and the girls stepped out of the booths into the arms of the men who’d won that dance.

  “We should dance,” Luke said. “All the other married couples are.”

  “I’m not very good. I’ll probably step all over your feet.”

  “Don’t worry about that. If these boots can protect me from Shelby’s hooves, they’ll keep me safe from a little thing like you.”

  He reached for my hand, and set the other on my back, leaving several inches of space between our bodies. “You need to look at me,” I said. “If you want people to think we’re in love.”

  He dropped his eyes and met mine, and I was suddenly aware of the warmth coming off his body and the muscles under his shirt. Of the warm brown of his eyes. Of the golden stubble along his chin.

  My stomach began to feel fluttery, like it was warning me I might do something I shouldn’t. Luke and I were just dancing, I told myself, but the fluttery feeling continued to grow, and after a few more turns around the floor, I broke away. “Will you excuse me?”

  I was relieved the ladies’ room was almost empty. I’d be fine; I just needed a little cool water on my face.

  The only other person in there with me was a princess redoing her makeup at the sink. Her hand was shaking as she brushed on more mascara and a faint tear track had bleached through the blush on her cheek.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  She met my eyes in the mirror. “I’ll be fine,” she told me in a voice that said there was no way she was going to be fine. She screwed the top back on her mascara.

  I wet a paper towel and dabbed my face. Don’t say anything. It’s none of your business.

  “Dammit.” A black streak of mascara coated three of her fingers.

  “Hold on.” I grabbed another towel. “I’ll get it off.”

  Her chest was going up and down and I could feel her trying to keep from losing it. Her parents shouldn’t have done this to her. It wasn’t fair of them to force her.

  I scrubbed the smear on her hand. You can’t say anything.

  A tear trickled from her eye and she swiped at it with her other hand. “I have to stop crying,” she said. “I’m up next. I have to look pretty.”

  Her fingers were clean, but I couldn’t let go of her hand. I knew I should just walk out the door and go back to Luke.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said quietly. “There are people who can help you.”

  “What?”

  “They can take you away and hide you until you turn eighteen. Then your parents can’t Contract you.”

  She wrenched her hand out of mine. “Get away from me.”

  “I know it sounds scary—”

  She snatched up her makeup bag. “You think you’re so smart, but you have no idea. My brother broke his back, and we’ll lose our ranch if we can’t pay the hospital. I’m going out on that stage and I’m going to save my home. Not that it’s any business of yours.”

  I stepped out of her way. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

  She pushed past me, leaving my stomach in cinders. Then the lock on one of the stalls clicked open, and Hazel McAllister emerged.

  Oh my God.

  “Hi, Tracy, are you having fun?”

  My hands dove into the folds of my skirt and I sidled toward the door. “Yes, I’m having a wonderful time, but I got so warm while we were dancing I needed to freshen up.” I grabbed hold of the doorknob. “I shouldn’t leave my husband out there all alone.”

  And I was out of there.

  I spied Luke on the far side of the dance floor and darted through the crowd to get to him. Once I reached him, I threw my arms around his neck. “Act like you love me!”

  Luke lifted me onto my tiptoes and brought his face in close to mine. “Any particular reason?”

  “Hazel. She was in the bathroom. Is she watching us?”

  “Like a snake on a rabbit. We might want to give her a show.”

  Before I could say yes the band started up, and Luke spun us out on the dance floor. He held me to his chest and my toes hop-skipped across the wood, trying to keep up with him.

  “Wait, I don’t know how to do this,” I cried.

  “You’ve never danced a polka!”

  “No, never.”

  “Then hold on, and leave it to me.”

  He danced us around the other couples, picking up speed as we circled. My feet flew out from under me, and the faster he danced, the tighter I held him.

  The dance floor began to empty, as people made room for us, and the fiddler turned to watch, his bow strokes turning shorter, bolder, faster like he was pushing Luke to break into a gallop.

  Luke grinned, his smile so big it blew up my heart like an overfilled balloon, and when he threw back his head and yelled, “Whowee!” I did, too.

  One last circle round the floor, and the fiddler struck the final note. The dancers put their hands together, clapping first for the fiddler and then for Luke and me. He set me down on my feet, but didn’t let go while I stood there, catching my breath and waiting for the spinning in my head to stop. Luke’s cheeks were bright pink, and when our eyes met, his expression made my breath catch. I’m so lucky you’re mine.

  Heat rose in my cheeks. Calm down. He’s acting.

  Luke nodded over my shoulder and his hand tightened around mine. “Hazel McAllister’s still watching us.”

  “I guess we should keep dancing then.”

  “You know how to do the two-step?”

  “Nope, not a clue.”

  Luke led me through the two-step, the cowboy cha-cha, and a waltz, before we broke for punch and shared a slice of chocolate cake. I licked the fluffy icing from my fork, and the thought hit me that even though Luke and I were putting on a show, this is how it might feel to be a newlywed, enjoying a last night on the town before heading up to fix my pa’s roof in Walla Walla—to be exhausted from dancing my heart out in his arms, but wishing the music would never end.

  The band was playing a slow song when we left. Luke held me to his side as I teetered in my silver shoes, navigating around the iced-over puddles in the potholed parking lot, too hot from dancing to zip my parka despite the frosty air.

  Back at Vera’s, I locked myself in the bathroom and peeled off the dark blue dress, replaying how Luke and I had whirled around the dance floor. His joyful face floated before mine and I blinked, my gut telling me that what I’d sensed from him when I was in his arms wasn’t acting. It was real.

  I plunked down on the edge of the tub, the dress a dark cloud beside me. Maybe my gut was completely off, but I had to be careful Luke didn’t get the wrong idea. Yates might be handcuffed to a hospital bed hundreds of miles away, but that didn’t mean my heart wasn’t right there with him.

  11

  We left the house a little before five A.M., so it looked like we were heading out to catch the Greyhound 5:20 pickup downtown. Harris had bought Luke and me bus tickets to Walla Walla to cover our tracks, and he made a point of handing them to us as we got in his car. The light was on in Hazel’s kitchen. “We’ll call you when we get to Walla Walla, Cousin Vera,” I said, loud enough for Hazel to hear.

  “I’ll be praying for your family,” Vera told Luke, embracing him.

  She pulled me in for a last hug and I clung to her, wishing this wasn’t good-bye. “You be safe,” she whispered. “And don’t you worry about Harris and me. We’re tough old birds.”

  Pocatello was quiet. Just the doughnut shop was awake.

  At Selena’s, a dozen little dogs raced around the room like windup toys. Selena caught each one, and Luke and I popped them in crates and l
oaded them into the RV. We stowed our packs in a cabinet and Selena made us lock our guns into her gun safe. “I hope the police don’t stop us, but if they do,” she said, “it’s better like this.”

  Ten minutes later, we were gone.

  Selena drove, and Luke sat up front in the other captain’s chair while I sat farther back, peeking at the still-dark town from behind a half-drawn curtain.

  “How long until we get to Laramie?” I said.

  “Is over four hundred miles,” Selena answered. “This afternoon, I think. Depends. You travel with dogs, you need to stop more.”

  The first couple of hours were quiet, but I couldn’t relax even though there were long stretches on the two-lane highway where the only light was the stars. Every time a beer truck or pickup roared up, its headlights blaring, I gripped the seat until it passed.

  The dogs slept in their crates in the cramped bedroom in back. The radio was tuned to country-western, and every few miles, I’d recognize a song from last night, and I’d catch myself looking at Luke. The light from the dash lit his profile and his thumb tapped a beat on the arm of his seat.

  Selena must have picked up on something. “You went to the dance last night?” she asked Luke. “How was it?”

  “It was real fun,” he answered. “Band was all right. We danced up a storm, didn’t we?”

  I gave him a sleepy smile, careful not to sound flirty. “Yeah, we did.”

  Selena nodded at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes crinkled at the edges like she was sure something more had happened.

  Nothing happened. We were acting, throwing Hazel McAllister off our tracks. That was all.

  “Hey,” I said, “could you turn up the radio, please?”

  Three hours in, dawn was finally breaking, turning the snowy landscape gray white. I began checking the silhouettes of oncoming cars for patrol car lights. The RV wasn’t breaking any speed records. Fifty-five made the ancient engine groan.

  About twenty miles from the interstate, the DJ announced breaking news.

  “The federal manhunt in Colorado, Utah, Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming continues for Aveline Reveare, suspected terrorist connected to the recent shootout in Salvation, Idaho.”

  Selena and Luke glanced at each other. She knew who she was helping.

  “Authorities are also on the lookout for a man they’re calling a person of interest, Luke Stanton, the son of two terrorists killed in the shootout. Investigators have not released a description of Stanton as residents of Salvation are resisting the investigators’ attempts to question them.”

  Luke’s hands curled into fists. “Son of a—”

  “Luke?”

  “You get what they’re doing? They’re holding my family in the church, and forcing them to talk.”

  I crawled into the gap between his and Selena’s seats. “I know. It’s awful.”

  “Jonas is only six and Sarah’s ten! The feds are probably telling them that they’ll go to hell if they don’t tell the truth. Or threatening to hurt Nellie and Rogan.”

  I wanted to tell Luke he was wrong, but the men who’d attacked us were capable of anything.

  Luke tried to swivel his seat, but I was in the way. “Pull over,” he told Selena.

  She shot me a worried glance.

  “Pull over! I’ve got to go back.”

  “Keep driving, Selena,” I said.

  Luke glared at me, his chest heaving. “Get out of my way.”

  “No.”

  He went to climb over me and his boot caught me in the ribs.

  “Ow! That hurt!”

  His mouth fell open, seeing what he’d done. “You should have gotten out of the way!” He jerked his pack out of the cabinet, and grabbed hold of the gun safe. “What’s the combination, Selena?”

  “Don’t tell him!” I scooted across the floor to get to him, one hand holding my bruised rib. “Luke, no you—”

  “Give it to me!” He slammed his fist down on the keypad, and the RV swerved onto the shoulder, throwing me against the cabinets.

  “Stop it!” I yelled.

  Luke righted himself as Selena straightened out the wheels and got us back on the pavement.

  I looked up, wanting to take his hand, but knowing he’d only shake it off. “You can’t go back. Nellie and Rogan sent you away to keep you safe.”

  “They shouldn’t of done that.”

  “Maybe not, but if you go back, everything they’ve gone through will be for nothing.”

  “It’s not right. It’s not right for Sarah and Jonas to suffer because of me.”

  “I know,” I said softly. “I know.”

  Luke stood there, leaning over the gun safe, while I waited, hunched at his feet, praying for a sign that he’d heard me. Then, finally, he slid the black steel box back next to the toaster. “I’m sorry I kicked you.”

  “It’s all right, I know you didn’t mean to.”

  “How bad does it hurt?”

  “It stings.” I straightened up to show him I’d be fine.

  He helped me onto the bench seat, then slid back into his seat. “Selena, I apologize for yelling at you,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

  “Is okay. We all get a little crazy sometimes.”

  Luke leaned back and stared out the windshield. On the outside he looked like he’d pulled himself together, but his calm felt as unreliable and unsteady as the eye of a hurricane.

  He had to be terrified, not knowing if his family was alive or dead. I remembered how I felt watching Mom go through hell, but not being able to help her; Mom crying for more painkillers and the nurse snatching the pills out of my small hand.

  I wish you’d tell me what you need from me, Luke. I wish I knew how to help you.

  I pictured Sarah’s angel face, and Jonas in his cowboy hat. If the feds hurt them, Luke would never forgive himself. And if they hurt Nellie and Rogan, he’d never forgive the feds.

  The highway ended at the interstate, and Selena merged into a string of eighteen-wheelers. The big trucks walled us in back and front. The sun was hidden behind thick pewter-colored clouds. Hills of scrub went on for miles, uninterrupted by billboards or houses. Mountains loomed in the distance, but I couldn’t tell if they were five miles or twenty miles away.

  I stayed tucked behind the curtain and out of sight. Patrol cars passed us, but the sheriffs inside didn’t glance our way.

  When the dogs started whining, Selena pulled off at a truck stop. We put sweaters on them and leashed them by twos, then Luke walked them around the gas station parking lot before we crated them back up. Even though we hurried, it took thirty minutes with all three of us working together. We ate carnitas sandwiches, standing up, and the pork was spiced with cumin and jalapeño, but I could barely taste it. We still had a hundred and fifty miles to go before we were off this road.

  We were only an hour from Laramie when the traffic began to slow up ahead. A few minutes later, both lanes were at a crawl and the left lane was merging into ours. Selena leaned out the driver’s window. “Dios mio. It’s the police.”

  My heart started to pound. You can’t freak. You have to stay focused.

  “What are they doing?” Luke said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe there’s been an accident.” I strained to see. Red and blue lights flashed, reflecting off the steel body of a trailer truck up ahead.

  A moment later we were stopped, stuck in the line of traffic with no exit for miles.

  “I’m going to take a look,” Luke said.

  I followed him out. Black highway patrol cars lined the shoulder. “There’s more on the other side.” Luke pointed through a gap between two trucks.

  “I don’t see any emergency vehicles.”

  Our eyes met. “This isn’t an accident,” I said. “It’s a roadblock.”

  We crept alongside an eighteen-wheeler. A couple hundred feet ahead, troopers surrounded a car. The driver and passengers got out, and the troopers lined them up along the shoulder.
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  People were reaching into their pockets, and I saw a man offer a trooper his wallet. “They’re checking IDs.”

  Luke frowned.

  A trooper pulled a semiautomatic out of the car trunk, and suddenly, all five passengers were standing spread-eagle, being patted down.

  Holy crap. I pressed against the side of the truck and scanned the land along the highway. It was flat and open with low scrub and no cover for a quarter mile to the south and more to the north. The snow was deep enough to lead the law right to us.

  “Bad spot to try and make a run for it,” Luke said.

  “Yeah.” I swallowed, trying to push down my fear. Luke and I turned toward a chop-chop sound. A helicopter was flying up the line of cars.

  The troopers finished with the car they were inspecting, and moved on to an SUV. Light bounced off the telescopic mirror a trooper was about to pass under it. The passengers unloaded boxes and suitcases from the rear, and the troopers ordered them to open them.

  “We can’t hide in Selena’s RV,” Luke said. “We’re going to have to bluff our way out.”

  “Right.”

  We turned back toward the RV and had gone just a few steps when Luke said, “I never thanked you for climbing up that ridge and saving my family back in Salvation. Not many people would risk their lives like that—”

  A chill blew through me and I yanked his arm hard so he almost tripped. “No. You do not get to say good-bye to me. Not here. Not now. You need to tell me you think we can do this even if you have to lie.”

  Luke glanced past me to the officers, then took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “All right. We can do this. We’re going to do this.”

  Back in the RV, Selena had freed the perritos from their crates. Twelve tiny dogs were bouncing from the floor to the seats, yapping and begging for treats. A few had sweaters on and dragged leashes behind them.

  The coffeemaker was choking out the java and Selena was stacking paper cups beside it. “Immigration comes,” she said, “you don’t run. You run, and they know: illegal. So you smile. You give them coffee.”

  It was the same lesson Ms. Alexandra had taught me: be audacious when you break a rule, and people will assume you have permission.