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"Maybe, maybe not. I see one, I'm going to try and kill it. There's no guarantee it's going to be able to kill me," he says, this time with the uncertainty and none of the authority.
I give up. I don't like a single thing about him driving to Athens while I sit around at home. But I know my objections will continue to fall on deaf ears.
"You sure you'll be back on time?" I ask.
"I'm leaving now, which puts me there about nine. I doubt I'll stay more than an hour, two at the most. I should be back by one."
"So why do I have this?" I ask, and hold up the slip of paper with the address and phone number.
He shrugs. "Well, you never know."
"Which is precisely why I don't think you should go."
"Touche," he says, bringing an end to the discussion. He gathers his papers, stands from the table, and pushes in the chair.
"I'll see you this afternoon."
"Okay," I say.
He walks out to the truck and gets inside. Bernie Kosar and I walk out to the front porch and watch him drive away. I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling. I hope he makes it back.
It's a long day. One of those days where time slows down and every minute seems like ten, every hour seems like twenty. I play video games and surf the internet. I look for news that might be related to one of the other children. I don't find anything, which makes me happy. That means we're staying under the radar. Avoiding our enemies.
I periodically check my phone. I send a text message to Henri at noon. He doesn't reply. I eat lunch and feed Bernie, and then I send another. No reply. A nervous, unsettled feeling creeps in. Henri has never failed to text back immediately. Maybe his phone is off. Maybe his battery has died. I try to convince myself of these possibilities, but I know that neither of them is true.
At two o'clock I start to get worried. Really worried. We're supposed to be at the Harts' in an hour. Henri knows the di
When I get out of the shower, I open my closet and look for the nicest clothes I have, which are nothing special: khakis, a button-down shirt, a sweater. Because we live our life on the run, all I have are ru
I walk to the front door, where Bernie is sitting, staring out the window. He looks up at me and whines. I pat him on the head and go back to my room. I look at the clock. It's just after three. I check my phone. No messages, no texts. I decide to go to Sarah's and if I don't hear from Henri by five, I'll figure out a plan then. Maybe I'll tell them Henri is sick and that I'm not feeling well either. Maybe I'll tell them Henri's truck broke down and I need to go help him. Hopefully he shows up and we can just have a nice Thanksgiving di
Without the truck I decide I'll run. I probably won't even break a sweat, and I will be able to get there faster than I would in the truck. And because of the holiday, the roads should be empty. I say good-bye to Bernie, tell him I'll be home later, and take off. I run on the edges of the fields, through woods. It feels good to burn some energy. It takes the edge off my anxiety. A couple times I get up near full speed, which is probably somewhere around sixty or seventy miles per hour. The cold air feels amazing whipping across my face. The sound of it is great, the same sound I hear when I stick my head out the window of the truck as we're driving down a highway. I wonder how fast I'll be able to run when I'm twenty, or twenty-five.
I stop ru
"Hey, handsome," she says.
I turn and look over my shoulder to pretend she's talking to somebody else. Then I turn back around and ask her if she's talking to me. She laughs.
"You're silly," she says, and punches me in the arm before pulling me close to give me a lingering kiss. I take a deep breath and can smell the food: turkey and stuffing, sweet potatoes, brussels sprouts, pumpkin pie.
"Smells great," I say.
"My mom has been cooking all day."
"Can't wait to eat."
"Where is your dad?"
"He got held up. He should be here in a little while."
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah, it's not a big deal."
We go inside and she takes me on a tour. It's a great house. A classic family home with bedrooms on the second floor, an attic where one of her brothers has his room, and all of the living spaces-the living room, dining room, kitchen and family room-on the first floor. When we get to her room, she closes the door and kisses me. I'm surprised, but thrilled.
"I've been looking forward to doing that all day," she says softly when she pulls away. As she walks towards the door, I pull her back to me and kiss her again.
"And I'm looking forward to kissing you again later," I whisper. She smiles and punches me on the arm again.
We head back downstairs and she takes me to the family room, where her two older brothers, home from college for the weekend, are watching football with her father. I sit with them, while Sarah goes to the kitchen to help her mother and her younger sister with di
At halftime Sarah's mother calls us in for di