“I never liked her.” Mom listed to one side, her eyelids drooping. “I want to sleep.”
“You can’t.” I looked around the room wildly. How to persuade her? “How about if I get you a donut? Remember, I bought some at the store.”
Mom scratched her temple. “I want tea.”
On the dresser sat a coffee maker. Where were the tea bags? But we had no time for that. We were sitting ducks in this room.
“I’ll get you some tea as soon as I can. Promise. But we’ve got to get moving now. Please.”
I pulled a glazed donut from its white sack and forced it into Mom’s hand. “Here. Eat this while I get our stuff.”
Mom blinked at the donut as if she’d never seen one before. “I have to go to the bathroom.” She set the donut on her bed.
Now I wanted to scream. “Okay. Go. Hurry!”
With both hands I pulled her to her feet.
While she was in the bathroom I gathered our things, including the tote bag with Samuelson’s gun. Every sound of footsteps in the hall brought me to a halt. Had someone seen the TV? Was a policeman coming for us?
By the time Mom emerged, I was trembling all over. “Come on, Mom, we have to go now.”
“Where’s my donut?”
I snatched up the donut and thrust it in her hand. “Let’s go.”
She frowned at her feet. “Where are my shoes?”
“In the suitcase. You can put them on in the car.”
Mom’s voice rose to a shriek. “I want my shoes!”
My throat cinched tight. We’d never get out of here. I yanked the shoes out and threw them at her feet. “There!”
Mom leaned over, steadying herself against the nightstand. Her left foot inched out and sought its shoe.
My heart pounded and my mouth went dry. I wanted to shake Mom into action. I wanted to keep her alive. Come on, come on!
How far would we get before a cop pulled us over? A person of interest!? Harcroft and Wade knew I didn’t kill Morton. No question now one of them—or both—was working with the terrorists. This was their way of using all of law enforcement to find me.
Mom’s right foot slid into a shoe. She straightened. “I want to eat my donut first.”
“In the car, Mom.”
“No, now.”
I stuck my face in hers. “Do you want us caught? Do you want me to go to jail?”
Her face blanched. “They want to put you in jail?”
“They’re saying I killed Morton.”
She drew back her head. “You?”
“Yes.”
“The Bad People say that?”
A half-crazed laugh sputtered out of me. Bad People, Good People—they were all the same.
“Mom.” I swallowed hard. “If we don’t get out of here now, they will take me away. And you will be alone. Do you understand?”
Her nostrils flared in fright. She turned and clumped toward the door, back hunched.
The trip down the hallway to the outside exit seemed endless. Twice we passed people. I looked down each time, my chest on fire.
At the door, I struggled to open it with my hands so full. A man stepped out of his room, spotted my predicament, and came over to help. My legs turned to water.
He pushed open the door and held it wide. “There you go, ladies.”
“Thank you,” I managed, my face averted.
By the time we reached the car I couldn’t get enough oxygen. Somehow I managed to unlock the doors and toss our things in the backseat. Mom’s purple hat still sat on the floor in the front.
I buckled Mom into her seat belt and threw myself behind the wheel. Started the engine with clumsy fingers. My foot wanted to press to the floor. Just get us away from the hotel, on the road.
As if we’d be any safer there.
As I drove out of the parking lot, an epiphany hit. My one remaining aunt lived somewhere in Fresno, about an hour away. I had little contact with her other than exchanging Christmas letters. Still, we were on good terms. Aunt Margie was a widow, spunky and a bit on the rebellious side, even in her eighties. Maybe she would help us.
On the road I forced myself to drive the speed limit, glancing all directions for a police car.
We hit I-5. I turned north to backtrack a little before we could head east toward Fresno. My back was like steel. I hunched forward, spine not touching the seat.
Mere minutes passed before Mom declared she had to use the bathroom again. She sat with her arms crossed, a beleaguered expression on her face. Confused and scared. An elderly woman who’d been driven from her own home and bed. Rage flew around inside me. It was one thing to do this to me. But to my mother.
I patted her arm, forcing my voice to sound even. “I’ll stop soon. I promise.”
“Why are we in the car?”