Pearl tore a strip from a sheet of brown paper and wrote down the name and address of someone who could be trusted. She was someone who could be trusted because, like Pearl, her value was largely unrecognized, except by certain influential women who had come to rely on her. She was someone whose name was never pronounced in the company of their husbands, whose presence they pretended to know nothing about.
As Pearl handed over the ice bag, Bunny knocked the flashlight into a bottle of oil, sending it toppling.
Concentrate, Bunny, Pearl thought.
“I’m so sorry, Pearl,” Bunny said, grabbing the bottle of oil as it spilled its contents on the counter.
“Leave it,” Pearl said, picking up a rag. “I’ll do it.” Pearl couldn’t trust Bunny in this kitchen but she knew that she could trust her to get to Covey, if Covey was still alive. Bunny knew the coast as well as Covey did.
“You know I can’t go with you, Bunny,” Pearl said. “Little Man’s people are all over the place. You’ll have to go on your own. Just act normal-like, Bunny, and if you find her alive, don’t stay with her, just leave her these things and go. And walk slow. Be quiet, don’t trip on anything.”
Pearl jabbed at the name written on the piece of paper. “You make sure Covey understands she’s not to talk to anyone, except this person here. They will know what to do.” She pushed Bunny toward the door now.
“And under no circumstances are you to come back here until after daylight, do you hear me?”
Covey
Covey was cut up and bloodied by the time she crawled onto the sand, dressed only in the slip she’d worn under her wedding dress. First came the nausea. Then she blacked out. When she woke up, she was being pelted by rain. She burst into tears. What had she been thinking? Where could she go? Who could help her? She’d heard the voices coming off the beach that afternoon. Covey had run off. The police assumed that she had murdered Little Man. Her only advantage now was that everyone would think she was dead.
Covey had watched her father earlier, as she lifted her head above water behind the rocks where she’d been hiding. There was an opening in the stone where she could come up for air. Where she had let Gibbs kiss her more than once. Where she struggled on her own, grabbing at things that cut and stung, dropping below the water line when the search boat approached. The boat slowed but didn’t enter the hollow. Everyone knew that no one could withstand the surf near the rocks for very long, that their body would be spit out of the space like a clump of uprooted seaweed.
Covey watched her father turn his gaze from the water, then lower his head and walk away. Holding Covey’s wedding dress balled up in his arms, he stopped to look back, then walked, then stopped. When Covey came up for air again, she heard a shout. She saw two men knock her father to the ground, but Bunny’s brother was there to pull them away. They must have been Little Man’s men.
Her father bent down to pick up her dress again. He looked sorry.
Pa.
Well, too late. He had no one to blame but himself. Johnny Lyncook should have thought twice before going to those cockfights, before going into debt, before selling her off like a sack of red peas. Yes, let them all believe that Covey was dead, Pa included. Her father had stolen her destiny from her, and now she was going to steal it back.
Covey started. There was someone in the dark. She held her breath.
“Covey!”
It was Bunny.
Of course!
Bunny was the only person who knew how well Covey knew the cave, except for Gibbs. But Gibbs was too far away now to be of any help.
“Don’t stay until it’s too late. If you change your mind,” Gibbs had said, as Covey clutched at his shirt, weeping, that last day together, “send me a letter, come and find me.” But she couldn’t, not now. She couldn’t even place a long-distance call. She was a fugitive from the law. If she had any chance of getting away, if she wanted to protect the people she cared for, she would have to close the door to everyone and everything she knew.
Bunny was standing over her with a flashlight, which she turned on, then promptly turned off. Dear, dear Bunny, with a towel and dry clothes, with water and food and money from Pearl. Bunny, with the address of someone who could be trusted. Bunny, who loved Covey enough to make sure that she would get away.
London
Covey looked out the bus window. She could see the university coming up. She rang for the stop and stepped outside, her legs quivering. The campus was a sprawling thing of angles and columns and greenery. London could be funny that way. So much stone, then so much life. Covey found a bench across the way and sat down, scanning the crowds of people coming and going. She pulled her cardigan close around her body and watched all those faces, chatting, laughing, frowning. People she might have been, lives she might have led.