“We can … I think we should meet up,” said Vern. Gogo was silent on the other end of the line. “I mean if you still wa—”
“Yes,” said Gogo.
“I’m at a motel called Vital Springs Inn. There’s a storm nearby. Storm Rhoda. That enough to find me?”
“Yeah, the storm’s coming in here, too. We might not be able to leave until the rain has passed.”
“Can I talk to Howling or Feral, at least?”
“You want me to wake them? They’re sleeping.”
Vern sighed. “No, that’s all right,” she said, but it wasn’t. She was desperate now to reunite with the people in her life.
“Is this the number I should call you back on?”
“Until I can pick up a burner or something,” said Vern.
“All right. I’ll talk to you soon. And Vern?”
“Yeah?” she asked.
Gogo hesitated a moment, then mumbled an answer. “Love you. Bye.” And with that, it was her turn to hang up on Vern.
23
THE SKY TONIGHT WAS AN ANEMIC GRAY, and Vern had to turn the TV way up to hear it over the fierce wind kicking up outside. Rain had begun to fall, but only in sprinkles, the worst yet to come.
Vern sat at the foot of the bed, Linda’s phone clutched in her hand, waiting for it to buzz. The weather report said the storm wouldn’t hit its peak until after nine. Depending on how close they were, there might be time for Gogo to drive here.
Vern—more accurately Linda—received a dozen texts, one of them Michelle’s husband: She with you?
Vern still wasn’t used to all the ways Cainland and the outside were the same. Husbands controlling wives and wives not knowing how to leave them. No one knew how to extricate themselves from pain. Everywhere there were silences that should be replaced with screams. Everywhere there were children who’d taken their care into their own hands.
Vern called the pizza place Linda had told her about as she flipped through channels, pausing on the news. Heart racing, she turned up the volume even higher and stood so she was only a foot in front of the screen.
“The search continues for Vern Fields following the alleged murders of local men Jonathan Leary and Willis Crawford earlier today. She’s considered armed and very dangerous. Multiple witnesses place Fields at the scene. Police warn not to apprehend the suspect,” the reporter said gravely.
Vern licked her lips and paced in front of the blaring screen. This was Cainland through and through. There had been no witnesses. Only Queen, and she was the one who’d killed the men—which was fine by Vern. She’d have done the same if she’d had the chance.
Vern sat back down on the foot of the bed between a haunting of a woman knitting a blanket for the baby in her pregnant belly and another of a child whittling hardwood into a bird. Vern’s knees bounced, and she bit her nails nervously, finally texting Gogo.
I’m on the news.
No shit.
What they’re saying isn’t true. I didn’t kill those hunters. I didn’t kill nobody. But I would’ve.
I know.
They’re tryna set me up.
Get a disguise.
When are you gonna get here?
Maybe not till morning. They’re issuing flash flood warnings. The roads are too dangerous.
Please. Hurry.
Vern startled at the sound of knocking on her door. She tossed Linda’s phone to the side. “Yeah?” she asked.
“You ordered pizza?”
“You can leave it out there,” she said, and slipped two twenties under the bolted door.
“Any change?”
“Nah,” she said, and waited for him to go before retrieving her supper. In the space of fifteen minutes she finished both large pizzas.
Vern found Michelle’s number in Linda’s phone and dialed.
“What the fuck do you want, Linda?”
“It’s Vern.”
“Who?”
“The one your mam’s letting stay at the motel.”
“The chick with the costume?”
“It’s a condition.”
Vern felt the woman’s mood soften. “Did you just fucking swipe Linda’s phone? Remind me to hug you.”
“Her wallet, too. I was wondering if you knew where I could get a wig or something? Some hair dye? I need a hoodie, too.”
“Right. Vern. I saw that story about you on the new— Violet-Grace! Stop right now!”
“It’s not true.”
“Uh-huh,” said Michelle.
“You gonna rat me out?”