The Great Escape

She headed down the steps and toward the water, where he’d stopped by the canoe. She scuffed the heel of her sneaker in the dirt. He didn’t look up. She wished she’d chosen a traveling companion who didn’t indulge in oppressive silences and favor loathsome bumper stickers. But then, she wished for a lot of things. That she’d picked a different fiancé to abandon, one who’d done something—anything—to justify being ditched at the altar. But Ted hadn’t, and some ugly part of her hated him for being so much better than she was.

She couldn’t stand her thoughts a moment longer. “I like to fish,” she said. “I throw everything back. Except when I went to Outward Bound. I kept the fish then because—”

“Not interested.” He straightened and gave her a long look—not undressing her with his eyes; he’d stopped doing that—but looking at her in a way that made her feel as if he were seeing every part of her, even the parts she didn’t know were there. “Call Ted and tell him you’re sorry. Call your folks. It’s been three days. You’ve had your adventure. It’s time for the rich girl to go home.”

“I’ve heard enough rich-girl cracks.”

“I call it like I see it.”

“Like you want to see it.”

He studied her for an uncomfortably long moment, then tilted his head toward the canoe. “Help me get this thing in the water.”

They flipped the canoe and slid it into the lake. She grabbed one of the paddles without waiting for an invitation and stepped in. She hoped he’d stalk off, but he picked up the other paddle and climbed in, the motion so graceful the canoe barely moved.

For the next hour, they glided through the water, steering clear of the water hyacinths that choked the swampier areas. As they paddled from one hidden bayou to the next, through eerie cypress forests draped with Spanish moss, he barely spoke. She glanced back at him. The play of his muscles stretched his white T-shirt over his chest as he paddled, highlighting the message written in black letters. The shirt wasn’t one of his recent purchases but something that must have been stashed in the bike’s saddlebags when he’d left Wynette. If only it had stayed there. “Those awful bumper stickers are bad enough,” she said, “but at least a person has to be close to your bike to see them.”

He watched an alligator lolling in a patch of sunlight on the far bank. “I told you about the bumper stickers.”

She turned around in her seat, resting the paddle on her knees and letting him steer. “You said the bike’s previous owner put them on. So why didn’t you let me peel them off?”

He shifted his paddle to the other side. “Because I like them.”

She frowned at the message on his T-shirt: IT ONLY SEEMS KINKY THE FIRST TIME.

“It was a gift,” he said.

“From Satan?”

Something that looked almost like a smile flickered across his face and then disappeared. “You don’t like it, you know what you can do about it.” He cleared another snarl of water hyacinths.

“What if a child saw that shirt?”

“Seen any kids today?” He shifted his weight slightly on the seat. “You’re making me sorry I lost my favorite one.”

She turned back to the bow. “I don’t want to hear.”

“It says, ‘I’m all for gay marriage as long as both bitches are hot.’”

Her temper sparked, and the canoe wobbled as she twisted back around. “Political correctness is obviously a big joke to you, but it isn’t to me. Call me old-fashioned, but I think there’s value in honoring the dignity of everyone.”

He pulled his paddle out of the murky water. “Damn, I wish I’d brought the one I got a coupla weeks ago.”

“A terrible loss, I’m sure.”

“Want to know what it said?”

“No.”

“It said …”—he leaned toward her and spoke in a slow whisper that carried over the water—“‘If I’d shot you when I wanted to, I’d be out by now.’”

So much for conversation.

When they returned to the house, she made herself a sandwich from the groceries they’d picked up, claimed an old paperback someone had left behind, and closed herself in the bedroom. Loneliness wrapped around her like a too-heavy overcoat. Had Ted done anything to find her? Apparently not, considering that he hadn’t tried to stop her from leaving the church. And what about her parents? She’d called Meg twice from Panda’s phone, so it couldn’t be that hard for the Secret Service to locate her.

What if Mat and Nealy had written her off? She told herself they wouldn’t do that.

Unless they were so disgusted with her that they didn’t want to see her for a while.

She couldn’t blame them.

SOMETHING ODD HAPPENED OVER THE next few days. Panda’s manners underwent a marked improvement. At first she didn’t notice the absence of all those belches, slurps, and scratching. It was only when she saw him cut a piece of chicken neatly from the bone and carefully swallow his first bite before he asked her to pass the pepper that she became thoroughly confused. What had happened to that open-mouth chewing and using the back of his hand as a napkin? As for any suggestions of sexual violence … He barely seemed to notice she was female.