The Lot

Chapter 10:

The key's in the bike.

I sit at the window for an hour and think about that.

Not the key. The fact that he told me. He could have kept his mouth shut. He could have taken the key out and put it in his pocket and I'd have gone out there and found an empty slot and gone back inside and never known he'd done it.

Instead he looked me in the eye and told me where it was.

That bike's got a key in it. It's been in it since last night. It's still in it now.

That's not a mistake. That's a door held open.

---

The town goes by the window.

Carl's truck pulls out of the gas station and heads east. The woman from the hardware store sweeps her sidewalk. The kid on the bicycle comes back and does a loop in front of the bar and looks at me through the glass and pedals away fast.

Miss Ada comes out of the general store at nine-thirty with a bag of something and walks across the street and comes in without knocking.

"Eat."

"I already ate."

"You ate eggs at seven. That's not a meal." She sets the bag on the counter. "There's a sandwich in there. And a banana. And a thing of those cookies Marlene makes."

"Miss Ada—"

"Don't." She points at me. "You're going to sit there and you're going to eat the sandwich and you're not going to argue with a woman who's been feeding people longer than you've been alive."

I eat the sandwich.

She sits down on the stool next to me.

"You're thinking about running."

I stop chewing.

"How did you know?"

"Because I've been watching you look at that Harley for an hour." She tips her head. "And because I've been where you are."

I look at her.

"You?"

"1979. My husband was a biker and he rode with a club in the next county. And when things got bad, I thought about running. I thought about taking the truck and the dog and the money I had in a coffee can and driving until the road ran out." She folds her hands. "I didn't go."

"Why not?"

"Because I couldn't leave him." She looks at me. "And because I knew the man who was after us wasn't going to stop at the county line. He was going to follow me. And then he was going to find me. And then it was going to be worse."

---

I put the sandwich down.

"What happened?"

"He came. In the spring. Three men and a truck and a shotgun." She tips her head. "And my husband met them in the road in front of the house with a rifle and my brother-in-law and two men from the club. And they didn't fire a shot. They just stood there."

"And?"

"And the men in the truck turned around and left." She looks at me. "That's the thing nobody tells you about running. It's not a plan. It's a delay. You get a head start and you feel safe for a week, and then you look in the mirror one morning and they're behind you again."

"I'm not going to make it a week."

"I know." She pats my hand. "You're not going to make it an hour. Not in that Honda. Not with a detective out on the line."

I look at the Harley.

"What if I'm not running for me?"

Miss Ada's quiet.

"What if I'm running to keep this town out of it?"

"Girl." She tips her head. "You think this town's not already in it?"

---

She leaves at ten-fifteen.

"Sandwich is in the fridge. Banana's on the counter. You eat it before noon."

"I will."

"You won't." She opens the door. "But you'll try."

The bell rings behind her.

---

I sit at the window for another hour.

The sun's out now. The street's drying. There's a man on a ladder at the hardware store hanging a new sign and a woman on the church steps with a bucket and a rag.

Ordinary morning. Ordinary town. And I'm sitting in the middle of it with four fingerprints on my throat and a key in a motorcycle in the lot.

I think about the woman who didn't run in 1979 and the men who stood in the road and didn't fire a shot. I think about the fifty people who brought food to a stranger. I think about Miss Ada's phone tree and Jax's four bikes in the window and Kael sitting on the floor in the doorway all night with his boots on.

And then I think about Marcus.

I think about the way he gets quiet before he hurts me. I think about the phone he took away. I think about two years of being told I remembered things wrong.

And I think about what happens to a town of eight hundred people when a family with a hundred years of money decides they want something.

---

I stand up at eleven-forty.

I put the banana in my pocket because I know Miss Ada will ask.

I go to the back.

There's a door at the end of a hallway that smells like bleach. It opens onto the lot. I push it open and the hinges squeal and the wet air hits my face.

The bikes are parked in a neat row along the fence.

Dutch's is the blue one. Jax has a red one with a dented tank. The two Rook boys have matching black ones. And in front of all of them, parked closest to the street, is the big one.

The Harley.

Black tank. Chrome gone dull with rain. The seat worn smooth on the left side where a man sits down a thousand times a year.

I walk over.

The gravel's wet and it hurts through the bandages and I don't care.

I put my hand on the handlebars.

The key's in the slot. Right there. Brass and worn and turned halfway already, like somebody left it ready.

My hand's shaking.

I don't know how to hotwire a bike. I don't know how to ride one. I've never even sat on one.

But I know how to run. And there's a road out of this town. And if I can get far enough away — far enough that a detective with a rental car has to choose between following me and sitting on a town line taking pictures — then maybe the town gets left alone.

Maybe Kael gets left alone.

Maybe nobody has to stand in a window with their arms crossed for me ever again.

I put my foot on the peg.

"Come on," I whisper. "Come on, come on—"

---

Boots on gravel.

I don't turn around.

"I know you're not," Kael says from right behind me, "trying to steal my bike."

"Go back inside."

"Elara."

"Go inside, Kael."

His hand comes down over mine on the handlebar.

And then he moves, fast — faster than a man that size should be able to — and he's spun me around and my back's against the warm metal of the tank and his hips are against mine and his face is an inch from my face.

His breath is on my mouth.

One hand's still on mine on the handlebar. The other one comes up and lands flat on the seat beside my hip. I'm not going anywhere.

"You run from me," he says, very low, "I chase."

Chapter 10 Ends.