Page 122 of The Five Year Lie

A big bottle of water.

A travel-sized toothpaste.

A coloring book in the checkout lane.

“Would you like help out to your car, ma’am?” the bagger asks.

“No thank you,” I manage. My head feels like a thunderstorm gathering—odd pressure and noise. Nonetheless, I’m forming a haphazard plan. Buzz and I are getting out of town, and I’m not going to tellanybodywhere.

Maybe when I feel safer, I’ll be able to think clearly.

I doubt my uncle would hurt me. But sometimes the only person you can trust is yourself.

After loading the watermelons into Ray’s trunk, I drive over to the park, near the picnic tables. The other parents have already gathered on the lawn. Maddy has laid out tablecloths in complementary colors. When I open the trunk of Ray’s car, her husband tromps dutifully over to help me carry the melons. I accept his assistance in silence.

On one of my trips to the table, I see Maddy remove a chef’s knife from her own purse—wrapped in cardboard—for the slicing. She didn’t trust me to bring one.

Any other day, I’d be annoyed. Lucky for her, I’ve got bigger problems.

“Excuse me, Leeza?” I walk up to another mom who has always been friendly to me. “My phone has died. Could I possibly borrow yours for a second? I need to look something up.”

“Of course,” she says immediately. She pulls a phone out of her pocket, unlocks it and hands it to me without any further questions.

If someone means to harm me, I won’t leave a trail of bread crumbs for him to follow. I open Leeza’s browser and search for Amtrak trains out of Portland.

The next one is in sixty minutes. We can just make it.

The children are approaching us now. They’re following behind Miss Betty in a line. Each one holds a loop of the “magic rope” they use to walk the children anywhere. Another teacher brings up the rear.

Buzz is near the front, and he’s laughing at something his pal across the rope is saying. When he sees me, he drops the loop and runs. They all do, and seconds later, the teachers are left holding an empty rope.

“Mama!” he yells, arriving at my side. “I don’t want to do the sack race.”

I take his hand firmly in mine. “No sack race. What is your favorite picnic food?”

“The watermelon. Did you bring it?”

“I did. You should have seen my shopping cart. Full of watermelons.”

He grins.

“Let me talk to Miss Betty for a second? Then I’m going to get you a slice of watermelon.”

“Okay!”

I drop his hand and hightail it over to his teacher, who shoots me a smile. “Hello, Ariel! Lovely to see you.”

My own smile is a reflex. “I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a family emergency, and we’re not going to be able to stay.”

“Oh dear.” Her face turns grave. “I hope it’s not too serious.”

“Everyone will be fine,” I lie. “But thank you.”

My mind offers up an image of Zain slumped over his desk, and a shudder runs through me.

The sun is shining brightly, and the grass is green. It’s hard to make sense of my fear and Zain’s tragedy and the deep blue sky. Nothing seems real. I walk like a robot to the food table, where Maddy and her husband are setting out all the sandwiches and treats. I pluck a piece of watermelon off the tray.

Maddy’s expression turns to shock. “We’re not ready to serve!”