The rest stop is a hive of people, probably because Exit 139 is the first restroom stop we've come across in an hour.
I've never had a problem with crowds like this. Of course all that has changed now that I'm public enemy number one. Ken has the entire west coast hunting for me and my sister.
"Are you sure about this?" I ask, eyeing the picnic tables with families eating their mid-afternoon lunches. "I mean, there's even a line wrapping around that tree for the women's restroom."
Nova yawns, stirring in the back.
"You wanna know the funny thing about hiding from the police?" Brandon muses. "It works best when you do so in plain sight. As of now, everyone is looking for a young girl with her sister in a Mercedes. Not two young parents and their kid driving a rundown Camry."
"You're oddly okay with the fact that someone could easily recognize one of our faces," I point out.
He sighs, undoing the sleeves of his mechanic uniform, then reaching for his jacket in the back. "What you fail to realize is that this is the perfect opportunity."
"For what?"
"This place is crawling with future Vegas tourists. People who are excited to get their vacation started and who are not paying attention to their wallets or mood-dampening Amber Alerts. We're not going to make it to the first safe house by nightfall. That means we need to steal someone's ID. Someone who looks similar to one of us for a hotel check-in."
"Um, we?"
"Yeah, you're right. Let's go with someone like you. It's too risky having me check into a hotel."
"Seriously? Brandon, I can't—"
"Nataly you're already a kidnapper and an accomplice to auto theft. What's the big deal in swiping some lady's wallet for one night? By the time she officially reports it, we'll be long gone and on the road again."
I huff, brushing my long golden curls into a bun. "The problem, Brandon, is that I'm not stealthy like you. Some of us weren't raised to steal cars and wallets at the same time we were learning how to pee in a toilet."
He smirks. "It's not that complicated. Strike up a conversation with someone who looks like you, point at something in the distance, and sneak your hand into their purse. Then, pull out the wallet and bingo. A free temporary ID."
"God, you make it sound so easy."
"Well it ain't rocket science."
"Natawee?" Novas yawns. "Are we here?"
I turn around with a bright smile. "Hey bug! We've stopped for a potty break."
Brandon turns around next. "Hey, ladybug? How would you like to play a game?" I give him a questioning look. "A game where we all call each other by our Nightmare Before Christmas names around other people? That means we call me Jack. Sissy is Sally. And you..."
I shut my eyes the moment Nova squeals with, "I'm Oogie!"
"You betcha'," Brandon laughs. "You're Oogie. And right now, sissy is going to do your hair before we use the restrooms." He motions with his head and I go around back, quickly brushing Nova's loose curls into two braided pigtails. Then I slam her with a beanie I managed to snag before we escaped the house this morning.
"Alright Sally and Oogie," Brandon says, leading the way. "Let's make this as quick as possible."
As we head toward the restrooms, Brandon snakes an arm across my waist, keeping his head low. It's about seventy degrees out with a flesh-tickling breeze so his added warmth feels practically luscious. I can't help but focus on how his callous fingers make contact with the bit of flesh at my midriff, summoning a million goosebumps around my core.
Beside us, Nova skips and hops along, kicking at pebbles into the vast expanse of the Nevada desert. A purple mountain range surrounds the valley along with speckled patches of grass.
Soon we're standing before a refillable water station. Nova asks me to lift her so she can drink from one of the water fountains. Brandon retracts his arm from my waist and I'm left battling a lot of mixed emotions about it.
"Her," Brandon says, discreetly gesturing to a thirty-something Black woman with her young daughter. They're heading for the women's bathroom. "That's your target. We need her ID."
My mouth slightly opens as I watch her pass by with a Coach purse. It just so happens that it's already slightly unzipped and the corner of her black wallet pokes out, practically begging for us to steal it.
I whirl around on Brandon. "Look, stealing from Ken is one thing, but stealing from an innocent mom on vacation with her family is pure evil. I'm not going to do it."
Brandon shuts his eyes like he can't believe he has to put up with me. Then he reopens them, puncturing me with a stare that would quiet the most oppositional child. "That innocent mom will be just fine, Sally. She'll have a new ID within days and will still be able to enjoy her trip because she's with her husband who works for Apple. He'll drive them around Vegas in their brand new Tesla, stopping at all the pricey stores along the strip, buying his sad wife whatever her heart desires to make up for the fact that she misplaced her wallet somewhere between Exit 139 and Las Vegas."
I glance back at the parking lot. A Black man wearing an Apple logo t-shirt waves at his wife as he walks away from his Tesla, heading toward the men's restroom.
While I was busy lifting Nova to drink water, Brandon was busy reading people like a book. He chose this Black woman, because sure, she and I could maybe pass for one another, but also because stealing from her won't leave her destitute or without options.
With awe, I nod my head slowly. "Okay. I'll see what I can do."
Brandon snags my arm, rooting me to the spot. This forceful gesture should cause me to push him away and get super angry. But, of course, here I am instead feeling a wave of pleasure that deepens the dance in my belly.
Seriously, I'm becoming more like my mom each second I spend with Brandon.
"Don't get caught, Sally," he says darkly, morphing into the dangerous convict with bloodstains on his hands. "This isn't just your ass on the line. Steal like our lives depend on it because it actually does."
I swallow, unable to voice words.
Brandon lets go of me and it feels like tiny sparks erupt all over my skin.
We lock eye contact for a moment longer before Nova starts tugging me toward the bathroom, doing the potty dance. Then, Brandon disappears into the men's room.
It just so happens that we get in line right after my target and her daughter.
The mother strokes her child's box braids as they talk excitedly about their upcoming stay in Caesars Palace.
Nova starts rambling about her friend Arthur and his likes and dislikes. I'm only half paying attention because my eyes narrow in on my target's wallet, still jutting a bit out of her purse. I know what I have to do for our survival but there's no way I can do it without her noticing. Then I remember Brandon's advice on having to distract her. But once again, I'm unsure of how to do that and I've never been all that great at acting.
Think, Nataly, think.
There has to be a way to do this without getting caught.
But what if I do get caught?
What if I'm not quick enough?
I shudder, thinking about the social awkwardness that would come with getting caught in the middle of a crowded rest area. I'd be doomed.
The line moves up.
Fuck.
We're only five people away before I lose my opportunity. There's still no one behind me.
Brandon won't let me live this down. He'll forgive me for trying and failing but not copping out. I have to try something. As much as I'd like to play the victim card, this isn't about me stealing for him. I'm stealing for us—my sister and me. Escaping a monster sometimes means becoming one yourself. Survival of the fittest and all that.
We're now down to four people and my heart thuds inside my chest with triple speed. It's now or never. I have to act. Just as boldly as I did with Ken.
"Gosh, it's cold," I find myself saying out loud.
The woman turns, granting me a polite smile. "Right? We're from Wyoming so we're no strangers to cold, but this breeze has a snowy sort of chill to it."
"It sure does." I hug myself, clicking my teeth. Nova rests her head against my stomach.
"What a darling baby," the woman says, blinking down. "Where you all from?"
"Thank you. Jack and I and our little bundle of joy here are from Utah," I say, trying to stick to the truth as closely as I can. "We're trying to visit some family out west."
"We are? But I wanna go to Disneyland," Nova whines.
"We're slowly making our way there, bug." I pat her head, hoping she'll shut up.
"So adorable," the woman says. "I miss that age. Treasure it. It goes so fast." She then gestures to her own child, who looks to be about ten and is currently playing a game on her iPad mini.
The line moves up and my heart all but plummets into my chest.
I look over my shoulder. The husband, already done with the restroom, waits for his wife and daughter, scrolling on his phone.
Brandon casually exits the men's room next, slowly meandering in front of the husband, blocking us from his view.
I can practically hear his voice in my head. It's now or never, princess. Do it.
"Do you know where the Butter Farm is?" I ask abruptly, remembering a sign we passed a few miles back.
The woman nods her head. She starts pointing and sprouting directions. She even launches into her own experience with the Butter Farm and how their gift shop is way overpriced.
We laugh together, standing shoulder to shoulder. Even Nova starts watching the older girl play her game and she's kind enough to bend down and show my sister how it works.
With every moral fiber gradually disintegrating inside me, I stick my left hand into the unsuspecting woman's purse, going as far as to press my palm into her shoulder as an added distraction when we laugh together again. The second my hand runs over leather, I pull it out and slip into my back pocket, absolutely sick to my stomach with fear that someone is watching me.
But the only one who is stands thirty feet away, the dumbest, proudest grin stretching across his face.
The woman and I say our goodbyes, parting ways into the two stalls.
Meanwhile, I silently pray for the sanctity of my soul.
Brandon is waiting for us by the car, still grinning like it's Christmas morning. "You fucking did it, Nataly. I almost doubted."
Nova wags her finger at him. "That's a bad word, mister."
"I feel like a complete monster," I say, shoving the woman's wallet at him. "Here. Take it. I don't want to hold onto it."
"Dammit, woman," he growls, whipping it into his pocket. "That could've waited until we got inside the car. There are still people everywhere."
I roll my eyes, helping Nova into her car seat. As I buckle her in, I catch a glimpse of the woman hugging and kissing her husband as they get into their Tesla. She has no idea what I've done. That a fellow sistah just stole from her without batting an eye.
Well, maybe I batted an eye or two.
That's beside the point.
The point is that she trusted me and I betrayed her. Even if she'll be okay at the end of the day, even if she has a really handsome rich husband to take care of her, it still doesn't erase the fact that I did a bad thing. And that I keep doing bad things.
You know what? This is Brandon's fault. I am a victim. I never would've thought to do any of this without him. He's a bad guy and now he's turning me into a bad girl.
Damn him.
With heightened frustration, I finish buckling Nova in and accidentally pinch her arm, which makes me feel even worse. After apologizing profusely, I kiss Nova's cheek and shut the car door.
Brandon has his arms folded, staring at me like I'm the one being ridiculous. "If you're having a moral dilemma, take it out on me, not the kid," he says.
"God, stop acting like you actually care about her."
"I do."
"Please. You only care about yourself."
"It's possible to care about myself and a cute little human at the same time," he says, shrugging.
Silence passes between us and his eyes penetrate mine, shattering every invisible wall of defense.
Irritated, I look away. "I'm not used to this. This is...I don't like being a bad person."
He straightens, his hand resting on my shoulder, forcing my eyes back to his. "Nataly, bad is relative. It depends on religious beliefs, societal laws, and cultural understandings. Bad and good are just an illusion. It's how we feel about our decisions that speak volumes about who we are as people."
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe that. I think we all know deep inside us what is good and bad."
He sighs. "And I agree, to an extent. But what drove you to steal from that nice woman today, hm?"
"Ken," I murmur. "I don't want him to find us. And I want my sister to sleep in an actual bed tonight, not some broken down car."
"And do you know where that woman and her daughter will be sleeping tonight?" he asks gently.
Actually, it dawns on me that I do. "Caesars Palace."
"With her really rich husband. He's going to take care of them just like you're trying to take care of Nova. If you don't trust your actions, then trust your feelings about that. Everything you've done since leaving Ken has always been about that little girl in the car. Don't ever question yourself again."
My shoulders relax as my breathing loosens.
"I know some pretty bad people, Nataly," Brandon continues, taking off his jacket. "Trust me when I tell you that you aren't one of them."
He dumps his jacket in the car, then slides back over to me, rolling up the sleeves of his uniform. Different shades of ink spill into my vision: skulls and R.I.P. gravestones, as well as the phrase: MEMENTO MORI. Then he leans against the car, leisurely crossing his arms, yet drilling me with a look.
He's doing it again. The way he stares at me like he sees me, he knows me. Like he's got my back one hundred percent.
Suddenly I'm floating. My chest feels light, as if I've lifted the anchor from a harbor of despair and guilt. Brandon's words settle deep into my bones, maybe even press themselves into my skin like a tattoo.
I'm still a good person. I'm still a good—
But the free floaty feeling doesn't last for long. A police car turns into the rest area, resurfacing my anxiety. And to make matters worse, they pull right up next to our car.
I gulp.
"So, you ready to drive? You've more than earned it," Brandon says, his back to them. He doesn't even realize how much deep shit we're in. Because these Nevada cops will know his face. They've been looking for him.
A young officer opens the passenger door. "Thanks for stopping, Lou. I'll only be a moment," he says to the driver.
The driver replies, "Oh, I'm coming too! I've been drinking a lot of diet Coke today."
Brandon starts to turn his head, to see what all the commotion is about. He can't turn his face. They'll recognize him immediately. And if they recognize him, how long before they recognize me?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I catch Brandon's face with my palms, his eyes expanding wide.
"What are you—"
And then I interrupt him with something I thought I'd never have the gull to do.
I kiss the escaped convict.
I kiss the man holding me hostage with everything I've got.
WC: 2819