Hitchhikers by Kate Spofford Read Free Book Online Page B

leave now. But I can
tell Bobby will leave those dishes in the sink until mold starts
growing again, unless I wash them. And what harm could it do? Bobby
has given me so much, the least I can do is one last sinkful of
dishes.
    And when those dishes are done, and Bobby’s
eyes have slipped shut by the light of the television, and I’ve
repacked the boxes with all the clothes I won’t need, I enter that
bedroom down the hall.
    It’s worse than the shrine.
    Now I know Bobby’s son must be dead and gone.
The little bed is neatly made up with a faded Star Wars comforter.
Books and toys line the shelves. I drop the box down on the bed and
pick up a sealed package containing an action figure of Han Solo.
There is a thick layer of dust coating the top. I wonder if Bobby’s
son was a serious collector. Or if he’d ever been here at all.
    The clothes are practically new, the toys are
new, the books have no creases on the spine.
    For the first time I wonder where Bobby’s
wife is. Did she take their son and leave him here all alone?
    I place the box back on the floor, on the
square spot where the carpet looks brand new instead of dulled over
by dust, and head back into the living room. Lila is whining at the
door so I let her in, and then I sit down on the couch, pull an
afghan over me, and warm my toes under Lila’s body curled at my
feet.
    The television’s dancing lights and muted
sound send me to sleep.
     
     

 
-17-
    I snap awake in the dark. Lila is sitting in
the middle of the living room, watching me, her eyes green.
    (Did I kill him – no don’t look)
    It is a colossal effort to turn my head, to
look at the place on the couch beside me.
    (Blood you’ll see blood everywhere)
    But I don’t see any blood. Bobby is sound
asleep, just as I’d left him. He is obviously breathing, but I
don’t hear any snoring. I don’t hear anything at all. The
television is silent, its black eye watching me.
    “You need to go back.”
    My head whips around looking for the source
of that voice. A girl’s voice.
    (Kayla’s voice)
    No - that’s impossible.
    The window near me is open, letting in a
chilly breath of air that reeks of autumn and decay. I look out. No
sign of a teenage girl.
    Not even the crickets make a sound.
    “We need you back home.”
    My head whips back to look for the source of
that voice. It sounded close, closer than anyone could sound from
outside, but even though I have better hearing than most people I
don’t know where it came from. It’s just me and Bobby and Lila. The
hair on my arms is standing on end, every pore in my body painfully
alert.
    The voice almost sounded like it was coming
from inside my head.
    Vibrations rumble through my head darkness
swimming in sweat
    I swallow and try to hold off. I don’t want
to kill Bobby. I don’t want to kill Lila.
    Nausea
    No, no, no.
    Lila’s eyes catch mine. Immediately I feel a
flood of calm. No nausea. No dizziness. Her eyes anchor me to this
place, this safe place where I am warm and well-fed.
    “You must go home.”
    That voice again, soft and feminine. It is
Lila, I know it is.
    “Yes,” I say.
    Then I wake up. Everything is sideways. I’ve
slipped over so my head uses the couch’s hard armrest as a pillow.
Lila is asleep on my feet. Bobby is snoring. The television plays
its late-night reruns, filling the room with a babble of voices and
laugh tracks.
    I start to sit up, then stop. Relax.
    Go home? Does it make any sense? No one out
here knows anything of what happened that day, my thirteenth
birthday. I’ve been running all these years, but where has it
gotten me? A few states over, homeless and hungry, with no plans
for a future aside from “go someplace warm.” It could be the police
aren’t looking for me anymore. It could be no one found those
bodies.
    And even if I am wanted for murder, maybe
it’s time I stopped running and faced it like a man.
    Yes, I will go back.
    My eyes close and I pull the afghan tight
around my