“You gonna go for the change, kid?” she asked when he just stared between her and the closed bathroom door and back up at the cashier.
His eyes snapped back to her and he wrinkled his nose. “I’ll give it to your missus when she comes out.”
Her skin flushed and her breath got choppy. The nerve of this boy—if he knew the weight she had behind her, all the smiles she’d faked and truth she’d hidden to keep it there—the words were out before she could snatch them back: “Missus?” she said, wide-eyed. “Oh, but she’s my sister.”
The boy jerked back, surprised. He stared at Phyllis when she left the bathroom, a little paler than usual, but unmistakable nonetheless when you knew what to look for. She closed her eyes briefly and put a steadying hand against the wall. Worry flashed through Tamara, chased with remorse. The doctor had said she needed rest. And here Tamara was, playing more games?
“What you staring at, kid?” Pea asked, wearily.
The kid closed a tight fist over the bills and stammered. “You-you best be off. They—we—don’t let you folk stay past sundown.”
Phyllis pulled back her shoulders and touched the knife holster beneath her mink coat. She hadn’t been passing on purpose, but they had both known a certain ambiguity would make this necessary gas stop safer. And it would have worked.
Phyllis did not bother to respond. They had known the danger of taking this road; the white folks up here had certain notions of “racial purity” and reputations for their methods of maintaining it. At the driver’s-side door, Phyllis held out her hand and, after a hesitation brief enough that it shamed her, Tamara handed the keys over. They were in danger now; no matter what the doctor said, they needed to get out of town on the double. As they got into the car, the boy went to talk to the cashier, and their whispers slid along the cold earth like snakes. Phyllis gave her friend a small, fortifying kind of smile, and Tamara managed to take a full breath.
Phyllis turned onto US 9, sliding behind a flatbed loaded down with shorn logs and icicles that occasionally wobbled and smashed in the narrow gap between them. Not long after, a blue pickup that they both recognized from the gas station pulled up close to their bumper. Tamara cursed.
“We pay them, and those ofays decide to chase us anyway? Goddamn it, Pea, I left Virginia because of the damn lynch mobs.”
“Those fools? They ain’t even a lynch two-man show. Some stooges in a rust bucket who are about to get left in our dust, that’s all they are. Now, you hold on, Tammy—”
This was all the warning Tamara had before Pea swerved hard to the left and pressed the gas pedal directly to the floor. Dev had kept his old Dodge in good condition; the motor roared to meet the challenge and they shot forward. The flatbed truck was a blur in Tamara’s passenger-side window, and Pea slid in front of it just before they hit a curve.
“Goddamn it,” Tamara said, still gripping the door in a death vise, though Pea was slowly easing the gas. “Goddamn it,” she repeated.
Phyllis shook her head. “Hysterics later, Tammy. Keep watch.”
Tammy took a breath and swiveled to look out the back window. The pickup was playing peek-a-boo with the flatbed, but it couldn’t get up enough speed to pass it before a car came in the other direction.
“Cletus and Junior C are still gunning for us.”
“I hope not literally.”
“Oh, Christ. Why are we going upstate again?”
“Little Easton isn’t a sundown town.”
“Yet,” Tamara muttered.
Phyllis gave a bleak laugh. “The house is on a hill. At least we can see them coming.”
“That’s mighty comforting, Pea.”
Phyllis kept laughing. Tamara, watching her, thought she might just cry.
You are ten kinds of fool, Tamara Anderson, she was telling herself. You are a fool made to teach other fools how to do their business. You are out here alone on the road with Pea, and instead of resting in the back seat like the doctor told her, she’s driving the getaway car while you keep the lookout on a pair of murderous gas station attendants.
“You fool,” she muttered. They weren’t at the Pelican anymore. She didn’t have Victor to protect her when she played those kinds of games. That silver bastard was dead, and this woman beside her had done everything but plant the knife in his skull.
“What’s that?” Pea asked, her voice bright and ready, as though she could think of no greater fun than hot-tailing it out of a sundown town in a sweet ride, with her best friend by her side.
“Just laying blame where it’s due.” Tammy laughed a little, surprising herself. All she had ever wanted was to be safe. But here she was, cross-grain to all of her comfortable grooves. Here she was, about to die in a fiery wreck on US 9. Damn Phyllis—why had Victor’s bloody knife finally gotten it into her head to try to be good? Hadn’t they been comfortable all those high-flying years at the Pelican? Two queens, hearts and spades, flanking Victor’s diamond king? Well, she wasn’t about to confess what she’d done—no need to show all her cards.
The pickup did its little dance from behind the flatbed again. This time, it got some speed on the straightaway, its lights bright and malevolent in the folding gray evening.
“Pea,” Tammy said, urgently, “Pea, could you give us a little more gas? I think they’re gonna—”
Two deer, healthy bucks, darted into the road behind them. The truck slammed on the brakes, and the truck bed jackknifed against the cab. One of the deer made it to safety, but the other flew over the truck cab and crashed through the windshield of the old pickup. It spiraled out of control and slammed into the long end of the wide-bed.
The silence that followed could have cut glass. Pea pulled to the shoulder, turned off the engine.
“Should
