so she decided to try something else.' Sara shook her head. 'She's terrified, Jeffrey – so terrified that she's willing to cut you out of her life if she has to. You're the only constant she's ever had. What's so horrible that she's willing to lose you?'
'Did you ever think maybe she's right?' he responded, not wanting to answer her question. 'Maybe it's a good idea that I don't get involved.'
She gave something like a laugh. 'You're not going to leave this alone.'
'You sound pretty sure about that.'
'Seven-eight-zero, A-B-N.' She paused, as if she expected an answer. 'Isn't that what you wrote on the back of the card – the license plate number from the white car?'
Jeffrey took out the card, checked the number on the back. 780 ABN. As usual, Sara had perfect recall. He glanced at his wife. She was staring out the window, keeping her thoughts to herself. He knew that she was no longer regretting the fact that she'd come to the hospital with him. She was regretting that
Sara was a cop's wife, and she had absorbed a cop's mistrust of coincidence. The thug in the white sedan had shown up less than thirty minutes after Lena 's escape. Even from where she sat in the BMW, the tattoo on the man's arm must have stood out to Sara like a neon sign.
It's hard not to notice a blood-red, four-inch swastika.
TUESDAY MORNING
FOUR
Sara paced around the motel room with the phone tucked up against her ear, the cord limiting her movement like a leash on a dog. Both Sara and Jeffrey had been relieved when they had seen the 'vacancy' sign outside the Home Sweet Home Motel as they drove out of Reece last night, but Sara had regretted their decision to stay the moment Jeffrey had opened the door. The place was almost from a parallel universe, the kind of dump that Sara thought only existed in B movies and Raymond Chandler novels. Just thinking about the dank shag carpet in the bathroom was enough to bring a shudder of revulsion. Making matters worse, neither Jeffrey's nor Sara's cell phone could get a signal in the motel. Sara had used all the alcohol swabs she could find in the first-aid kit from her car before she could even think about using the phone.
'What did you say?' her mother asked. She was somewhere in Kansas. Her parents were only two weeks into their road trip and already Sara could tell that Cathy was desperate to return home.
'I said that Daddy's not that bad,' Sara answered, thinking it was a rare day indeed that she felt compelled to defend her father. Cathy and Eddie Linton had been married for over forty years, yet Sara had guessed from the beginning that their dream vacation together was a big mistake. The fact was, her parents did not spend much time in each other's company, let alone stuck in a confined space. Her father was always at work or fooling around in the garage, while her mother usually had some meeting to attend, a rally to organize, or a church group that took her away from home for hours on end. Their independence was the secret to their happy marriage. The thought of them both trapped in the thirty-seven-foot Winnebago they had purchased for their two-month-long trek across America was enough to give Sara a headache.
I just never realized how irritating he can be,' her mother insisted. She was obviously in the kitchen of the RV; Sara could hear cabinets opening and closing. 'How hard is it to hook up to a waste trap? The man is a plumber, for the love of God.' She gave a heavy sigh. 'Two hours, Sara. It took him two whole hours.'
Sara held her tongue, though her mother had a point. On the other hand, her father was probably dragging out the chore in order to prolong his life.
'Are you listening to a word I'm saying?'
'Yes, Mama,' Sara lied. She was wearing thick socks, but she used her big toe to prod a green MStM that seemed to be stuck in the carpet by the window. 'Two hours.'
Her mother was silent for a moment, then said, 'Tell me what happened.'
Sara gave up on the M amp;cM when her sock kept getting stuck to the candy. She resumed pacing. I told you what happened. I let her escape. I might as well have opened the door for her and driven her to the airport.'
'Not that,' Cathy insisted. 'You know what I'm talking about.'
It was Sara's turn to sigh. She was almost glad she'd made a fool of herself last night at ^he hospital because Lena 's rapid departure had given Sara a new thing to toss and turn over when she was supposed to be sleeping. Now, her mother's question brought the malpractice suit firmly back into her consciousness.
Sara told her, 'I would say their strategy is to claim that because I was attacked ten years ago, I was too distracted to tell the Powells that Jimmy had leukemia, and that he died because I waited an extra day.'
'That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.'
'Their lawyer can be pretty persuasive.' Sara thought about the lawyer, her Tourette's-like crocodile smile. 'She even had me convinced.'
Another cabinet was opened and closed. 'I can't believe that another woman would do this to you,' Cathy said. 'It's disgusting. This is why women will never get ahead: other women are constantly cutting them off at the knees.'
Sara held her tongue, not in the mood for one of her mother's feminist lectures.
Cathy offered, I can come home if you need me.'
Sara nearly dropped the phone. 'No. I'm fine, really. Don't ruin your vacation because of-'
'Shit,' her mother hissed; it was rare that an expletive crossed her lips. I have to go. Your father just set himself on fire.'
'Mama?' Sara pressed the phone to her ear, but her mother had already hung up.
Sara held the phone in her hand, wondering if she should call back, deciding that if something had been really wrong, her mother would have sounded less annoyed. Finally, she returned the phone to the cradle and went over to the large plate glass window looking out into the motel parking lot. Sara had kept the drapes closed most of the morning, thinking sitting alone in the dark room was less bleak than staring out into the empty lot… Now, she opened the polyester drapes a few inches, letting in a thin ray of light.
The table and set of white plastic lawn chairs by the window seemed perfect companions to the dismal view. Sara adjusted the threadbare towel she'd draped over one of the chairs and sat down. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, but the thought of getting back into bed, sliding between the rough, yellowing sheets, was too much to bear.
She had walked across the street earlier in the morning to buy coffee and ended up purchasing some Comet with bleach additive and a sponge that smelled like it had already been used. Her thought had been to tidy the room, or at least make the bathroom less disgusting, but every time she thought about taking the supplies in hand and actually using them, Sara found that she didn't have the energy.
