Page 36 of The Hitchhikers

Simon let Tom have more Tylenol and a fresh bag of frozen vegetables for his shoulder, but he refused to open any of the windows for a breeze. Tom stayed shirtless in his athletic shorts. The bruises on his legs were angry-looking red-and-blue splotches. Alice brought him ice cubes in bags, pressing them around his body. She dampened a cloth with the melting ice and rested it on his forehead. In minutes it turned warm, and she flipped it over to the cold side.

Jenny was humming a tune as she cleaned the kitchen, singing words under her breath that Alice couldn’t hear. Was sheenjoyingthis? Jenny looked up at Alice, and must have read something in her eyes, because she stopped singing and finished the cleaning in silence.

Simon told Alice to lie beside Tom, then he tied her wrists and ankles in a complicated figure-eight pattern. When he was finished, he moved over to Tom, who groaned when Simon pulled on his injured arm. Those bindings still weren’t enough for Simon. He took another two lengths of rope and tethered Alice to Tom. He did the same with their ankles.

“I’ll give you a chance to use the bathrooms before we crash for the night, but if I see these ropes loosened I’ll separate you.”

Simon and Jenny disappeared outside. Their voices were a background hum, never loud enough to make out any words. Alice worried that they were planning their murder. Simon was probably tired of having to take care of them. It would be easier for him if they were dead.

She felt Tom shift to look at her. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “If I could get my legs around his neck, I could squeeze him in a wrestler’s hold.”

“His hands would still be free.”

“And he has the gun, I know.”

“Even if we managed to disarm Simon, what about Jenny?” Alice whispered. “I don’t trust her.”

They lapsed into silence.

“I hate that you’re being forced to do everything, and I am lying here, useless.”

Alice didn’t say anything. Her head was too full.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I talked you into this trip, took out a loan for the RV, and we’ll be lucky if it isn’t destroyed by the end.” Alice didn’t understand why he was worrying about money. Didn’t he realize that they’d be lucky if they walked out of thisalive? She took a breath. Of course he realized, but Tom was terrified. So terrified that he couldn’t even look at the possibility that they might not make it. It was easier to focus on other practical problems.

“I can get a job.”

“No. I’ll figure out a way. I’ll take on extra tutoring.”

He didn’t think she was ready. Was he right? She’d spent so many days in bed after they lost their baby. Weeks, maybe. She didn’t know. She’d make Tom breakfast in the morning, then collapse back into bed, only to drag herself out to start dinner before he got home. Sometimes she barely remembered to shower and had taken to pulling her hair back in a bun and wearing a housecoat. He hadn’t said a thing about it. Not even if dinner was late. Didn’t scold or question her. He’d brought her tea in bed, sat with her quietly reading a book or grading papers.

She rolled her head toward his. She could barely make out the shape of his handsome face in the dark light, the gleam of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have had to fix me.”

He was quiet for a moment, as though lost in his own memories.

“It could be my fault, you know,” he said. “Maybe I’m the reason we can’t have a baby.”

“Tommy had a heart problem.” His small, precious heart. It had beat inside her all those months, and when it stopped, it broke hers. They’d named him after Tom and requested an engraved angel on his headstone. She had to believe he was somewhere, watching over them, and one day they would meet again. When Alice visited his grave, she left small toys, metal cars, trains.

“All the miscarriages too. Each one, I saw the light go out of your eyes. You never told me how to help you. I didn’t know what to say or do.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I kept thinking that when you were ready, we’d talk about it, but until then I just wanted things to feel normal.”

“What is normal?”

“Well, it’s certainly not this.” He said it so wryly that Alice found herself giving a small, hollow laugh. He rubbed his thumb alongside hers.

“I feel like I let you down,” she said.

“Never.”

“You wanted a family.”

“You’re enough for me. I hope you know that. As long as we have each other.”