I turn into an IHOP and when we get out of the car, I stretch my arms above my head and groan luxuriously. Branwen casts me a look and I think she knows I’m making more noise than I normally would to make up for her silence. I sling an arm around her shoulders and we head in and find a booth.
“I’m goddamn starving,” I mutter, perusing the familiar pictures on the menu. There’s just something about diner food. Filling and comforting and plenty of it. Branwen looks like she could use a good feed. In the bright light of day, she’s so pale and thin, you can practically see through her. I don’t suppose they go in for good dinners at her convent.
She’s wriggling around in her seat. Oh, yeah. Bathroom. I wonder what she’d do if I just ignored her. Wet herself rather than ask to go to the toilet? After a few more minutes of squirming, I take pity on her and take her to the restroom. Once she goes into the ladies’, I nip into the gents’ and relieve myself as fast as I can, then come out and stand by the door until Branwen emerges. One of the waitresses give us a funny look.
“She gets scared if I’m too far away,” I explain with a wink, taking Branwen’s hand and leading her back to our booth.
The same waitress comes over a few minutes later for our order while Branwen still has her nose buried in the menu.
“Baby, what’ll you have?”
She points out the strawberry and banana French toast and I have to hide my grin. Good girl, she’s got an appetite, then. I order for her, and then add, “And I’ll have the sirloin tips with two eggs, two hash browns, and two pancakes. Orange juice and coffee for two.”
We sit in silence as we wait for the food, and I watch her as she watches the people around us, curiosity in her lively eyes. She’s been in a convent for months, so this must be like getting out of prison for her. How sheltered was she before? Maybe her daddy never let her out of Avallonis, except to go to school. I wonder if she had friends. Boyfriends. And just like that, I’m looking at her mouth and wondering if any man’s ever kissed those cherry lips before. If anyone’s sucked those rosebud nipples. I fucking hope not. I want to be the only one to have touched her like that, not some little stoner teenager.
I’m drawn out of my reverie by our food being placed in front of us. Damn, I’m hungry. I spear a piece of sirloin and shove it in my mouth. Branwen eats all the strawberry halves from her plate first, then all the slices of banana, and then pours about half a bottle of syrup over her French toast and dollops on extra whipped butter.
“Would you like some French toast with your syrup?” I ask, but she’s too intent on her food to acknowledge me. Finally, when her whole plate is clear, she reaches for her juice and drinks that down, and then sits back. She’s going to be buzzing down the interstate on a sugar high, I can just tell.
When the waitress comes to clear our plates, I ask her for a pen and paper, and though she gives me another funny look, she brings it. I should do this now while Branwen is feeling content and well-fed.
“I want you to draw me a map of Avallonis. Where the gates are. Where the house is on the property. Where the doors are. Mark any security cameras or other things I should know.”
I slide the pen and paper across to her, but she doesn’t touch them. “C’mon, Branwen. Last night, you promised you were going to be a good girl for me.”
Her cheeks flush and she looks away. I stab a finger onto the paper. “Young lady. Remember what I said? If you’re a good girl, I’ll buy you some new clothes.”
Haltingly, she reaches for the pen and paper and writes, and then turns the paper around to show me. What are you going to do to daddy?
My temper flares. She’s thinking of the well-being of that asshole? “Just draw the map, Branwen.”
But she sits back and folds her arm in classic “No, don’t wanna” fashion. I narrow my eyes at her, wondering how best to proceed. She’s been so tractable so far, I wonder if I should let it go and come back to this in a few hours when she’s had time to think about it.
I swallow a mouthful of juice and change the subject. “Why were you running that night I found you?”
She hesitates, and then picks up the pen. Because daddy’s mad at me. He thought I was going to tell.
“Tell what?”
What he did.
“What did he do?” But she doesn’t write anything. “Why aren’t you talking?”
Branwen sighs, and then writes, Because I swore to God that I wouldn’t speak again until I’ve atoned for what I did.
“Sounds like your daddy should be making amends for what he did, not you,” I mutter into my coffee cup as I take a sip. “I know he should be atoning for what he did to me.”
What did he do to you?
“Take a wild fucking guess.”
Her eyes search my face. She knows. She saw the finger.
Branwen puts the pen down on the paper and sits back. She’s done all the talking she’s going to do. I slap some cash onto the check and get to my feet. I’ll get what I need when we get to Avallonis. I just may have to do it with a gun to her head.
We drive and drive, the Mustang eating up the road. The sun travels with us, slowly sinking down through the clouds. Around six thirty, we pass through El Paso but I keep going. I want at least to get out of Texas today. We drive for another thirty minutes and the first place we reach in New Mexico is Berino, a sand trap of a town with a single strip of stores and a motel at the far end of the main street.
We could keep going but my eyes are falling out of my goddamn head. I need some sleep or else I’m going to kill us on the interstate. It’s nearly eight hundred miles to Los Angeles from here and I want to get north of there tomorrow, and then reach Napa by midday the day after. Sleep now, and then a long day tomorrow.