Holly stumbled over her words, talking quickly so as not to let the woman interrupt until she got her say. “Can, can I join up? Sign up? Whatever. I don’t know what I can do, but, actually, I wouldn't be able to. I can't leave where I'm staying. Someone's looking for me, and if he sees me –” She stopped, realizing she sounded like a raving lunatic.
“It's okay,” Margaret said. “Are you asking to join us here on the ship?”
It was as if she'd lost a hundred pounds. “Yes.” She sighed. “Yes, that's right. My boy, Connor, he's just a baby. But he's real good. Him and me. Just the two of us. Really only one if you combine us.” She laughed.
Margaret's face darkened again. Not an angry expression, but there was sadness in it. Pity. The weight that had fled Holly a moment ago poured back, centered in the middle of her chest and stomach, threatened to pull her to her knees. “I'm sorry,” Margaret said. “I really am. But we're full up, and I can't take any more passengers. It's not allowed. If I could, I would. Please believe that.”
Holly wanted to cry, to beg and fall to the woman's feet. But the realization of where she was came back to her. Vulnerable. More so now that she was being turned away.
Margaret continued, “There are others being built, though. They might have room. I have a list. Here, let me get it.”
“No,” Holly sobbed. Tears were blurring her vision. “They'll all be filled, too, won't they? Filled or just never going to be built. Right?”
“I'm sorry.” How many times, Holly wondered, had this woman had to turn people away? She wiped her face with her arm, but it didn’t work. She lifted her shirt partway up and dabbed her eyes.
Connor was with Dot. She had to get to him. Think of what to do now, where to go.
“We have a waiting list,” Margaret said. She pointed to a red-haired woman in a wheelchair across the way. “Please, go over to Estelle and give her your name and number. There are others on the list before you, but people do leave now and then. There's always a chance.”
Holly heard the words but could not respond. After having dried her eyes she instinctively scanned the common looking for Clay. What she saw instead was Ozzie, watching her from behind the wheel of his car. When Ozzie realized he'd been spotted, he gave her a little wave, then shrugged his shoulders. His hand hovered there a moment, then he looked around.
Ozzie reached down and lifted up a cell phone. He was saying something. She stared, ignoring the questions from the woman beside her. Ozzie’s face took on a nervous urgency. As she tried to see what he was saying, she took a couple of involuntary steps forward. Then she understood what he was saying.
She turned and ran. Margaret Carboneau called after her, but Holly did not stop. For a panicked moment, she forgot where she'd parked her car, then remembered she'd driven Dot's Taurus wagon. There it was, three cars away.
She bumped the car in front with the wagon when she put it in gear. Its alarm blared. Muttering nonsensical words, which sounded more like Connor's language than her own, she pulled into the street, having to wait an eternity for an opening in the traffic. She was grateful her car was facing away from Ozzie, or she'd have to drive past him.
The tears kept falling, but she didn't dare wipe them away. She hit the button to roll down the windows, and let the breeze air dry her face. The edges of her vision crystallized, but she could see. As she’d planned before coming, Holly veered off the main road and followed a roundabout route to the motel. The office had plenty of maps to sell her, and she'd worked out two different routes in addition to the highway.
Al l the way, she checked for familiar cars in the traffic. No sign of Ozzie's red Chevy. No sign of Clay's white Saturn. Following her at the moment was an old woman in a small Toyota, and further back a blue mini-van. Even in his current state, Clay wouldn’t be seen dead in one of those.
She had gotten away. For the time being, at least.
* * *
Ozzie pulled from the curb, chiding himself for screwing up like that. Had Clay seen him warn Holly? No, he couldn't have. She had already reached her car when Clay pulled up alongside him. In a mini-van, no less. He would have laughed if he hadn’t seen the death mask that was Clay's face.
“Where,” was all he said. Ozzie described the car he'd seen her get into, and pointed. Clay looked ahead of him, eyes darting, searching; then he pulled away slowly, in calm pursuit.
* * *
“I have to go. Here, Connor! Come here, Baby.”
“I'll say this one more time, Holly. What is going on?”
Holly's face was streaked with dried tears. “Ozzie saw me. He works at the store. He said Clay was coming.”
“Clay knows you're here?”
Holly paused. Did he know where she was? She never saw his car, never saw any flash of red to indicate Ozzie had followed, either. “No,” she said at last. “No, I guess not.”
Dot played with Holly's hair, trying unsuccessfully to untangle it. “Is this place still paid for?”
Holly nodded. “I paid up until June eighth.”
“Well, that's good. Why June... aw, Honey. You don't believe those stories, do you?”
Holly almost denied it, but what would be the point? She nodded. Her friend laughed, a heavy, tension-cutting sound and tousled Holly's hair, having obviously decided the rat's nest was beyond fixing. “You go on and believe what you want. Come June ninth, you can stay with me and Phil, OK?” She took Holly in a loose hug. Connor gleefully squirmed between them. “I'll stay here with you the rest of the day, see if Mister Big ever shows up. If not, I'd have to say you're in the clear. He's never been a very patient man.”
A shadow by the window caught Dot's attention. When she looked up, there was nothing. She'd opened the blinds while Holly was gone, then the windows to freshen the air. From here, she could see the parking lot, and as far as she could tell, nothing was different except her own car which Holly had come back with, and a blue minivan now parked across the lot. It, too, was empty.
By seven o'clock that evening, Dot prepared to leave. Holly had re-closed the windows, turned on the air conditioner and shut the blinds.
“It's like a cave in here,” Dot said, giving a kiss to baby and mother in turn. She paused by the door, talking while typing a long text into her phone. “Phil is probably calling the National Guard for me by now. The man worries too much. I'll call you tonight. You promise to stay put?”
She promised. Dot went home.
An hour later, Holly fed Conner, burped him, and laid him down to sleep. It was dark outside, and Holly lay on the bed. She couldn't sleep, but she knew she had to relax or it would affect her milk.
Twenty-five minutes later, the door to the motel room opened with a subdued
The door fixed, he closed it and wandered to the closet, got the suitcase she'd bought at the store along with the diapers and Pack ‘N Play, methodically opened and closed the dresser drawers, throwing whatever clothes he found into the case. He snapped it shut, looked down at Connor and gently lifted his sleeping form.
Every muscle in her body tensed, ready to spring if Clay made any threat. He didn't. He smiled again and handed Connor over to her, folded up the Pack 'N Play, lifted it and the suitcase and walked to the door.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Time to go home.”
Holly hesitated. Clay turned back. He wasn't smiling. “Now, Babe. Or I'll kill you both right here.” She looked into the two dark orbs that used to be his eyes, and knew he
Holly cradled her son closer and followed Clay to the mini-van parked across the lot. They did not speak on the ride home. She tried not to think what was going to happen when he had her back in the house, in the place where he felt safe enough to act out his true nature. When he got her inside, she had to make sure Connor was
