face. “Let me
see her room.”
“Well, I still have to—”
“I want to see it now.”
“Okay,” she says. “Follow me.”
There is nothing in the room that’s been left behind. Nothing of interest. Even though James knows he’s not going to lose
her, he still wants to know where she’s headed.
The more information he knows, the better it will be when he reaches her.
“You have a phone in here?” he eventually asks.
“No.”
“Do you remember—did she use your phone at all?”
“Why would she do that?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No.”
“What about a cell phone. Did you see one on her? Did you see her use one?”
“She had very little on her.”
He sighs and curses and looks around the room.
“Why are you looking for her?” the old woman asks.
“Did she take her car when she left?”
“She sure didn’t leave it here. Hey—what do you want with her?”
James just ignores her and heads back downstairs.
When he gets in the car, he dials the phone.
“That was useless. Utterly useless like this whole trip.”
But he listens to the instructions and says yeah a few times and it all sounds so easy. Just like everything. Everything was
supposed to be so easy, but Laila didn’t take the bait when she was supposed to.
“I’m done chasing and playing games,” he says in the phone. “When I catch up to her, I’m through with all this. This was supposed
to be easy. She was supposed to be easy. If I find her, I’m going to make it easy again.”
• • •
Laila has been driving since the morning. She passed the exits for Nashville half an hour ago and finally decides she’s driven
far enough to stop. More than anything, she wants to get out of the car and rest. She’s driving west, but beyond that doesn’t
have any idea where she’s going.
She finds a fast-food restaurant and barely eats a chicken sandwich. She sits outside and warms herself in the sun. It feels
good against her bare arms and legs. Her feet are bare, and she reminds herself that she needs to purchase something besides
sandals, which aren’t the best to drive or walk around in. This makes her think of other things she needs, but then she glances
at the car and knows it holds everything she owns. They could bury her with all her possessions. And maybe that’s the way
life should be.
The Honda CR-V still has the new-car smell inside it. She purchased it in Greenville just a month ago, just as she was thinking
her life was moving ahead. Perhaps not moving. But she was standing up on her own two legs and finally ready to start moving.
All before the past showed up on her doorstep.
She glances at the car.
“Alabaster Silver Metallic,” she says.
It can’t be called just silver. Of course not. Now paint colors for cars had three-word definitions. But silver is silver.
She thinks of what’s in the car. The only things she really caresabout are the photos she’s carried with her since leaving Brady, their meaning continuing to grow as the years go by. In
New York she had several thousand shots that she left in an instant. Many of them her, many of them her with the beautiful
people, with celebrities and friends. She had photo albums and framed shots and magazine covers and pictures shot by the big-name
photographers. But none of those meant anything. Not like the dozen or so she still had—some of them folded, some of them
blurry, some of them really bad outtakes. The other shots were all part of the fallacy and the façade. But these pictures
were real.
For a moment Laila thinks of the pictures she left behind in Chicago. Those were left for a different reason. Different but
the same.
The pictures she still has are all that matter. They are a piece of life reminding her of her humanity.
And along with those pictures, she has the handgun Kyle’s cousin loaned to her. It’s hers now. One day she’ll send Kyle some
money for it.
She scans the
see her room.”
“Well, I still have to—”
“I want to see it now.”
“Okay,” she says. “Follow me.”
There is nothing in the room that’s been left behind. Nothing of interest. Even though James knows he’s not going to lose
her, he still wants to know where she’s headed.
The more information he knows, the better it will be when he reaches her.
“You have a phone in here?” he eventually asks.
“No.”
“Do you remember—did she use your phone at all?”
“Why would she do that?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No.”
“What about a cell phone. Did you see one on her? Did you see her use one?”
“She had very little on her.”
He sighs and curses and looks around the room.
“Why are you looking for her?” the old woman asks.
“Did she take her car when she left?”
“She sure didn’t leave it here. Hey—what do you want with her?”
James just ignores her and heads back downstairs.
When he gets in the car, he dials the phone.
“That was useless. Utterly useless like this whole trip.”
But he listens to the instructions and says yeah a few times and it all sounds so easy. Just like everything. Everything was
supposed to be so easy, but Laila didn’t take the bait when she was supposed to.
“I’m done chasing and playing games,” he says in the phone. “When I catch up to her, I’m through with all this. This was supposed
to be easy. She was supposed to be easy. If I find her, I’m going to make it easy again.”
• • •
Laila has been driving since the morning. She passed the exits for Nashville half an hour ago and finally decides she’s driven
far enough to stop. More than anything, she wants to get out of the car and rest. She’s driving west, but beyond that doesn’t
have any idea where she’s going.
She finds a fast-food restaurant and barely eats a chicken sandwich. She sits outside and warms herself in the sun. It feels
good against her bare arms and legs. Her feet are bare, and she reminds herself that she needs to purchase something besides
sandals, which aren’t the best to drive or walk around in. This makes her think of other things she needs, but then she glances
at the car and knows it holds everything she owns. They could bury her with all her possessions. And maybe that’s the way
life should be.
The Honda CR-V still has the new-car smell inside it. She purchased it in Greenville just a month ago, just as she was thinking
her life was moving ahead. Perhaps not moving. But she was standing up on her own two legs and finally ready to start moving.
All before the past showed up on her doorstep.
She glances at the car.
“Alabaster Silver Metallic,” she says.
It can’t be called just silver. Of course not. Now paint colors for cars had three-word definitions. But silver is silver.
She thinks of what’s in the car. The only things she really caresabout are the photos she’s carried with her since leaving Brady, their meaning continuing to grow as the years go by. In
New York she had several thousand shots that she left in an instant. Many of them her, many of them her with the beautiful
people, with celebrities and friends. She had photo albums and framed shots and magazine covers and pictures shot by the big-name
photographers. But none of those meant anything. Not like the dozen or so she still had—some of them folded, some of them
blurry, some of them really bad outtakes. The other shots were all part of the fallacy and the façade. But these pictures
were real.
For a moment Laila thinks of the pictures she left behind in Chicago. Those were left for a different reason. Different but
the same.
The pictures she still has are all that matter. They are a piece of life reminding her of her humanity.
And along with those pictures, she has the handgun Kyle’s cousin loaned to her. It’s hers now. One day she’ll send Kyle some
money for it.
She scans the
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