two rows back. She went inside, where the warmth of the machines fought the limpid air-conditioning, and put the jackets in a washer but didn't insert any coins. The few other Thursday afternoon customers didn't seem to notice. She took an empty seat not far from the front windows and watched the parking lot.
It took him a while, but she knew he would have to do something. He couldn't see inside, and with the heat he had to be getting thirsty. Or maybe he just had to pee. It took forty minutes. He got out of his car in his dark sunglasses and trotted over to the 7-Eleven beside the Laundromat.
Go.
She ran out, leaving the jackets behind, ignoring the sweltering heat, dove into the Town Car, and screeched out of the parking space, nearly hitting a bicyclist. Instead of heading to the highway, she turned right onto a back road and parked behind the plaza. Then she got out, pulse racing, and ran around the high, graffitied wall to stand at the corner and watch the lot.
The Laundromat and 7-Eleven were on the far side of the plaza, but she could still spot Rodger in his sunglasses, clutching a redand-white Big Gulp as he stepped outside. He stopped, looked around (she pulled her head back), and ran to his car. He didn't drive away immediately, and she suspected he was calling in his failure and asking for orders. That's how these people were. They always wanted orders.
Then the sedan took the same path as Tina had, but turned left onto the highway. He crossed the median and headed back toward her parents' house.
She was overcome by exhilaration. Tina Weaver had thwarted the Department of Homeland Security. Not many people could say that.
She started the car, but waited until her shaking hands had calmed. The exhilaration didn't disappear, but it mixed with a resurgence of fear. What if they decided to do something to her parents? Or Stephanie? That was ludicrous, of course, because she only wanted to lose them for a short time. But maybe they'd figured out that e- mail; maybe they knew exactly what she was doing, and would kidnap her family to manipulate her.
Did they even do that? Television was no help on this point.
She continued down the back roads, past small, ramshackle houses lacking even brown grass. It had been a dry summer here, and some of these chain-linked yards looked like miniature dust bowls. She emerged onto a paved road and drove north on 183 toward Briggs.
At a bend in the highway, in a bare dirt clearing, sat a broad, screened-in building below the sign loretta's kitchen. She had come here as a child, and when she married she brought Milo. 'Real
Texas barbecue,' she'd told him. They'd sometimes sneak out here, away from her parents, to eat brisket and biscuits with gravy and talk over their life plans. It was the location of many of their fantasies, where they felt they could know with reasonable certainly what university Stephanie would go to, where they would retire to when they won the lottery, and, before a doctor gave them the difficult news that Milo was sterile, the name and character of their next child, a boy.
The clientele of Loretta's was evidenced by the pickup trucks and big rigs gathering heat around it. She parked between two rigs, waited until six, and walked through the hot dust and into the restaurant.
He wasn't among the crowd of construction workers and truckers getting their hands dirty on the picnic tables, so she went to the window and ordered a brisket plate, biscuits and gravy, and ribs from a pink-cheeked girl who, after taking her money, gave her a number. She found a free table among the chatter and laughter of the sweaty, sunburned men, ignoring their intense but friendly stares.
She watched the highway and the dusty parking lot through the screened walls, waiting, but didn't see him. Then he was right behind her, saying, 'It's me,' and touching her shoulder. His cheek was suddenly beside hers. She grabbed his face and kissed him. The tears, too, had crept upon her unawares, and for a moment they only hugged; then she pushed him back to get a look at him. He looked tired, baggy-eyed, pale. 'I worried you were dead, Milo.'
He gave her another kiss. 'Not yet.' He glanced out at the lot. 'I didn't see anyone following you. How did you get away?'
She laughed and stroked his rough cheek. 'I've got a few tricks up my sleeve.'
'Twenty-seven!' the girl at the window called.
'That's us,' said Tina.
'Stay here.' He went to the window and returned with a tray overflowing with food.
' Where've you been?' she asked when he'd settled beside her. 'Too many places. Tom's dead.'
'What?' Her hand on his arm squeezed tight. 'Tom?' He nodded, lowering his voice: 'Someone killed him.”
“Someone… who?”
“Doesn't matter.'
'Of course it does! Did you arrest him?' she asked, then wondered if that was a stupid thing to ask. Despite the years she'd spent with a Company man, she really knew nothing about his work.
'Not really. The guy who pulled the trigger-I had to kill him.'
She closed her eyes as the stink of vinegary barbecue sauce overwhelmed her. She thought she might be sick. 'Was he trying to kill you? This guy?'
'Yes.'
Tina opened her eyes and stared at her husband. Then, overcome again, she grabbed him and squeezed. He was here, finally, and she felt the kind of consuming love that fills you with the desire to eat your loved one, a feeling she hadn't felt since their courtship. Her teeth grazed his stubbly cheek, which was wet from tears she could taste. His? No-he wasn't crying.
He said, 'The point is, everyone will think I killed Grainger. I'm on the run now, but once they've made up their minds, there won't be a safe place in the country for me.'
She got control of herself and pulled back, her hands still on him; his hands were on her. 'So, what now?'
'I've spent days thinking about that,' he said, strangely matter-of-fact. 'Every way I turn it, I can't figure out how to solve the problem. The Company wants me dead.'
'What? Dead? Why?'
'It doesn't matter,' he said, but before she could protest, he added, 'Just know that if I show my face again, I'm dead.'
She nodded, trying to mirror his logical composure. 'But you were collecting evidence before. Did you get it?'
'Not really.'
Again, she nodded, as if these things really were part of her world, things she could actually grasp. 'So what's the answer, Milo?'
He took a raspy breath through his nose and looked at the untouched food. To it, he said, 'Disappear. Me, you, Stephanie.' He held up a hand. 'Before you answer, it's not as hard as it sounds. I've got money hidden away. We've got new identities-you got the passports, right?'
'Yes.'
'We can go to Europe. I know people in Berlin and Switzerland. I can make a good life for us. Trust me on this. Of course, it won't be easy. Your parents, for instance. It'll be hard to visit them. They'll have to come to us. But it can be done.'
Despite his slow speech, Tina wasn't sure she had heard him right. An hour ago, the worst news she could imagine was that Milo had been injured. She'd nearly collapsed, imagining that. Now, he was telling her that, as a family, they should disappear from the face of the earth. Had she really heard him right? Yes, she had-she could tell from his face. Her answer came out before her brain had a chance to process it: 'No, Milo.'
43
He'd been crying since Sweetwater, a half hour back. For the first hours of driving, there had been no tears, just red, stinging eyes. He wasn't sure what had finally triggered them. Perhaps the billboard advertising life insurance, with the Midwestern family smiling back at him-happy, insured. Maybe that was it. It didn't matter.
What really struck him as the sun set up ahead, turning to flame against the flat, arid West Texas landscape,
