The Miles Between - Page 45

I don’t have to finish the last sentence of my story. I can see it on Aidan’s and Seth’s faces.

“Hugh Williams,” Seth finally says.

I nod. “That’s right. And you can’t blame it on the Law of Truly Large Numbers. The universe isn’t that old or that big! Sometimes there’s a destiny that we can’t understand. Unimaginable things happen. Far stranger things than a car being at our disposal. Nothing has changed from this morning, when you wanted to come with me, except that now I’ve been honest with you.”

Seth rolls his eyes and looks at Aidan. They both look at Mira, who is still clutching the keys in her fist. She appears to be deep in concentration. She pinches her chin. “It might be wise for us to name our children Hugh Williams, don’t you think?” She looks sideways at Aidan and winks. “All three of them.”

Aidan tries to maintain his scowl, but the magic of Mira weakens him. He grins and shrugs. “I suppose we’re already in trouble. No one’s come looking for the car yet. What can a few more hours hurt?”

Seth sighs, turns, and throws his hands up in the air, a captain facing mutiny. He whips around sharply to face me again, still breathing hard, like he has just run a marathon. He is not happy that I have exposed him. His eyes narrow. He smiles. Not a happy smile but like a cat who has cornered a mouse. “I’m the only one who can drive. So before we go anywhere, I declare a game.”

“A game?” I don’t have a good feeling about this.

“Truth or dare.”

Not good at all. “What’s the dare?”

“We drive straight to the market in Langdon and you call Hedgebrook. You tell them you took the car.”

“And kidnapped us,” Aidan slips in.

Not so bad. He’s an amateur at this, really. I lean forward, bracing myself against the car. “And the truth?”

“An easy one, that is, if you have the same guts to tell the truth as you do to steal a car.”

“I do.” I think.

“What’s the big deal about this day? October 19. What’s the secret?”

An easy one?

Hardly.

Unexplainable. Illogical. Impossible. Yes. But at the same time, real. Very real for me. A day I was rejected. Sent away. Separated. A day I should have said good-bye. A day I should have taken different steps. A day I turned seven. Not easy at all, Seth. But I must get home today. Tell them. Tell my parents. Has the courage suddenly materialized? Or the foolishness? I am not sure. But I must get home. A measure of truth could get me there.

“Tr

uth, Des.” It is like Seth can see the workings of my mind, as I search for something plausible to substitute for the truth, and he is trying to trip me up. Truth, Des. Truth. A measure.

“Today is my birthday.”

They are silent, their faces blank, like they were expecting something else.

“That would make the day special,” Mira says.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Of course.”

There they go again. Assuming. Not a wise thing to do. There are many meanings to special, and they aren’t all good. Different. Odd. Rare. Uncommon. Peculiar. Yes, special. Like special circumstances in a crime that can up a life sentence to a death sentence. Yes, that kind of special.

“The nineteenth.”

“Oh.”

It is obvious that their minds and mouths are out of sync. Minds racing. Mouths tripping.

“You and your mom share the same birthday?” Seth’s voice has suddenly gone soft.

Tags: Mary E. Pearson
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