Page 18 of The Sinner's Bargain

I didn’t want any music or conversation. I wanted silence and a place to curl up and sleep. But it never mattered what I wanted. It wasn’t up to me.

“I don’t really care,” he mused. “I can drive in silence or if you like a specific station...”

I didn’t know any stations. I hadn’t heard a single song that wasn’t classical and played at Mother’s events and performed by a live band.

“You go ahead,” I assured him, hoping he would leave me alone. It was a terrible thought when he was being kind, but it was taking all my effort.

“Are you hungry or anything?” he pressed. “We can’t stop for a while unless in the case of an emergency, but—” Something lit up at his elbow and an obnoxious tinkling erupted into the silence.

I jumped.

Wiley cursed and reached towards his hip. Plastic rattled before a phone was being placed against the side of his head.

“Wiley!” he barked. “No, I’m busy. I’m handing some family shit...” he trailed off a moment before yelling, “What the fuck do you mean she’s in prison? What happened?”

I stayed very still. Very quiet. I tore smaller shreds of my tissue and kept my eyes down. Barely breathing. Giving no one a reason to remember me.

To notice me.

To turn their anger on me.

Still, I flinched when a palm struck the wheel.

“Goddamn it, I’m going to kill her! I told her to stay home and do what other pregnant women did. No, I can’t ... I can’t. I have...” he broke off to listen some more. “For Christ sakes. Fuck. Yeah, I’ll ... I’ll be there. Fuck!”

The phone was tossed into the empty seat next to him.

I didn’t ask if he was all right. I remained perfectly still.

“So, here’s the thing...” he pulled his cap off and rubbed the back of the hand across his brow before stuffing it back over the large, shiny bald spot. “My old lady got herself in a bit of a pickle. She’s a feisty thing when she gets worked up and I’m not there to reel her in, you know?”

I didn’t. I had no idea why his grandmother would get so worked up.

“Problem is, she’s about to pop any day now and she’d kill me if I let her have the baby behind bars ... again. But I made your brother a promise and I’m a man of my word. I’m going to get you to the airport. Only...” he cleared his throat. “I might not be the one who does it.”

“You’re leaving me with someone else?” I asked, horrified.

“Look, I wouldn’t if I wasn’t already on thin ice with Carly. That bitch gets extra mean when she’s knocked up. But I will find someone reliable. Someone I trust with my life, okay? I’ll make sure they know the drill. It’ll be fine.”

But Malcolm chose you, I want to yell at him. He trusted you. Instead, I watched as he pulled the phone back to him and swiped it on.

He spoke quickly to whoever picked up and a decision seemed to be made. Whatever it was, he didn’t bother telling me until I found myself alone in a strange car parked on a dirt road lined on both sides by tall grass. Wiley kicked out of his seat the moment we stopped and stood leaning on the hood, head bent over his lit screen, smoking a cigarette.

Taking advantage of the solitude, I pulled the bag up next to me and tore open the pocket with the Ziploc bag. I yanked out the book with my new life and skimmed as much as I could in the darkness.

Katie Smith.

That was my name for the rest of my life. She was a year younger with blue eyes, my height and build. The passport was absent of stamps. The book was handwritten, by Malcolm, I assumed. It was neat and methodical, just like him. Everything was detailed and listed. But a faint outline in the endless night thick around me.

Accepting I was going to see no more, I closed the book and returned it to the bag. From another pocket, I pulled out a wallet with several pieces of ID and a reasonable amount of cash in different amounts.

I’d never held money before. The paper notes had some weight and roughness. There was also a bank card with Katie Smith written across the bottom. I’d never seen one of those either. Mother held everything. She would have sent them to Jarrett to care for since I had no need for my birth certificate or a bank account in my name. Those were things my husband would handle.

But now, I had one. I was responsible for all my own financial choices. I got to pick what I wanted to eat. Wear. Do. I didn’t have to answer to anyone. The absolute freedom terrified me.

Excited me.

I could do so much and yet I didn’t know what. I’d never been outside on my own. What if I did it wrong?

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