I’d never met an aunt. Never even heard of one. My folks had died when I was sixteen, and Chicago wasn’t far. There had been plenty of opportunities to meet in those sixteen years.
This wasn’t Alma’s deception.
I let the note droop in my hand. “They didn’t want me to know.”
She nodded. “Your folks never told me much. They were wrapped up in some kind of bad business, though I’m not sure what it was. They went up north to disappear. The only thing your mom ever told me is that your dad came from extremely dangerous people. Deadly people.”
I dropped down on the couch beside her. I have an aunt.
Alma sat quietly, perched rigidly on the edge of the cushion. I could almost taste her emotions—a bitter chicory taste, like dandelion root.
“Why didn’t my aunt come for me? After Mom and Dad died?”
She shook her gray hair and took my hand. “All I know is that your folks loved you more than anything in the world. And if they didn’t want you to know about your family in Chicago, then it was for your own protection.”
“So what about now?”
“It sounds like the boogeyman has come to town.”
I swallowed hard, and we sat silently, hand in hand, with only the sound of the wooden chimes clacking outside.
Finally, I stood. “I’m being hunted. The backwoods couple targeted me.”
Alma nodded. “Sounds like.”
“I have no idea why they’re after me, but I need to figure it out. The local authorities think I’m a nutter, and the whole thing is being whitewashed by a government man in a black truck.”
“Typical.”
“There’s a chance that this could be linked to my parents, and they left a note that if ever someone came looking for me, I should go—”
“Don’t tell me!” Alma interjected.
“What?”
“Ah, ah, ah.” Alma plugged her ears. “If a government man comes asking me where you’ve gone, I sure as hell don’t want to know the truth. As far as I know, you’ve gone off to Tuscaloosa for art school, like you always planned.”
“But you already—”
Alma shoved me toward my room. “Get your butt in gear and get packing for art school!”
I shook my head in a daze. I loved Alma, but she was a certified, tin-hat nutter.
Man, I hoped it hadn’t worn off on me.
Suddenly, my stomach sank. “My car is in the shop. Randy had to tow it.”
Alma pulled a wad of cash out of her pocket and held it out. “Get him to fix it, fast.”
I pushed the money back. “I can’t take that.”
“I’ve been saving it up. You’ll need it to get that hunk of rubbish to wherever you’re going.”
Surrendering, I accepted her gift, then yanked a small bag from under my bed—the sleepover bag I’d had the night our house burned down. It was full of unmentionables and dust, but also a few things I’d need if I ever had to run. My stomach twisted. All these years, I’d kept a bug-out-bag under my bed, as if some part of me knew that I’d never be safe.
I started haphazardly hurling underwear and socks inside. Was I really going to split town?
I’d never been one to run from my problems. Usually, I just kicked them in the nuts and made them pay their tab.