Dead Dreams (19 page)

“Do they know about us moving?”

“Naturally. I bragged about us taking a trip to Hawaii for R and R. They just rolled their eyes. If the cops questioned they’d think we went there, but we’ll be out of the States by then.”

I still worried about the fake passports she’d arranged for us. What if Interpol got wind we were carrying fake IDs? That was a federal
and
an international crime.

She handed me the phone. I checked the messages and saw Mom, and now also Lilly, had texted me three more times each.

“How do we get to Switzerland? Won’t the cops know to check our movements? They have Interpol at their disposal,” I said, my eyes scanning the urgent text messages. Somehow, each text felt like a stab to my heart.

“All taken care of. I bought two tickets to Hawaii, and also two to Mexico City. The United tickets to Hawaii are just decoys. The Mexico tickets bear our fake names. Sienna Smith—that’s you.” She winked at me. “And Taylor West—that’s me. Like your new name? I even have fake California driver’s licenses to go with these.” She groped in her LV and fished out two IDs, one with my face on it. “I’ll keep them safe for the both of us.”

“So, who’s inheriting the Hawaii tickets?” It would have been fun to bake in the Maui sun. I’d heard about the island’s clear waters, warm winds, and the heavenly snorkeling. Maybe we’d get there once all this was behind us.

“I sold the tickets on e-Bay. There was a company that buys purchased tickets. Can you believe it? I don’t even know how they’d change the names, underground market and all, but that would work the cops for a bit till we’re safely out of US. airspace. Besides, it gives the FBI a chance to clamp down on these illegal activities. Think of it as us doing the American public a civic duty, a service to rid society of evil corporations.”

Right! What did I get myself into?

“Stop being a snort bowl,” she said, and waved at me as if I were a mosquito buzzing too close to her.

“Snort bowl?”

She pretended to dig her nose and made a face. “C’mon. You’ll love the travel. We fly to Mexico tomorrow afternoon then connect to London. Both flights are on Mexican Air. I found out their computer system isn’t up to date, so the inefficiency works in our favor. Also, Brian Susman—that’s the guy I got the Mex Air tickets from—assured me that the Mexican staff is more open to… monetary incentives, shall we say?”

I swallowed hard. Some things she said didn’t register. “Who’s Brian Sussman? Is he trustworthy?”

“I met him years back when I went to that English boarding school. He’s not one to run to the Bobbies, I can tell you that. Too many skeletons in his closet.”

I didn’t dare ask whose skeleton, so I just sighed.

“So, make sure you’re set to leave tomorrow morning.”

I jerked so hard my head hit the ceiling of the car. “Did you say
tomorrow morning
? That’s too soon. I thought we had a couple more days. I can’t move that fast.” The car squealed when she braked suddenly as we reached my assigned parking spot below the apartment building.

“No need to panic. Ga-wd! Besides, it’s not like you have a long list of pals to bid farewell to.”

Ouch! “You said we…”

“Let me explain.” She shook her head. “My contact in London can house us for a day so nothing goes on black and white, and we won’t have to use credit cards.” She swiveled in her seat and faced me squarely. “Stop looking so dismal. Gawd!”

Why’d she keep on saying “God?” The very being I’d been trying to avoid. Could God even help me, if I wanted out?

I grabbed my LV backpack, the spanking-new one Sarah had gotten me, and my old duffel she’d used when at the Bank, heaved myself off my seat, and slammed the Mini Cooper door a tad too forcefully, making the whole car rattle. I was going to miss my tiny British car—although, if I ended up in the UK, it’d be easy enough to replace it and blend with the English public. I’d read that it was easy to get around in London: hop on the Underground, and I could even get over to France and practice my miserable French. But, my dad had bought me the Cooper, and it felt like the last string I had attached to him. Maybe I should never have agreed to this plot. Was this worth a gazillion bucks? Still, it was too late to back out.

As if reading my thoughts, Sarah ran after me and pulled my arm. “You’re just having buyer’s remorse. It’s common. Trust me. You’ll feel better once we’re on that plane.”

I shrugged her hand off and continued my pace. “Whatever.” Lilly’s text had said Dad was better. Still, I’d wanted to see him, to say good-bye face to face, even though, technically, he wouldn’t know it was farewell. I hoped I wouldn’t break apart.

Quickly, I changed back to my regular outfit, peeled off the false nails, that would have made it impossible to drive, and ponytailed what was left of my hair. This way, the dark-red dye wouldn’t look so obvious.

Quitting Starbucks went easily enough. Nobody commented on the variation in my hair shade or its length. Pony-tailing helped it not look too obviously different. Nobody cried buckets at the idea of not seeing me there again. And they’d called themselves my friends. The manager, Jane Brown, didn’t even seem interested when I handed her the resignation form.

“Have a good one,” she hollered as I gathered my things to leave.

Sarah had insisted I come home early to pack items I’d really want to have for always.

“In case you feel homesick,” she’d said, winking.

I sorted through photos, cards, those sorts of portable memorabilia, and a few choice items of clothing I’d insisted on keeping—a bridge to my past. The rest would be donated to the Salvation Army. I got Rosco, the old teddy bear Dad had given me when I’d turned seven, and hugged it. It was something to remember Dad by. I could even smell him in it, as if Rosco stored all the scents of my childhood in its faded brown body.

Sarah stepped into my bedroom and snatched my bear from my suitcase when I tossed it in. She shook her head, her eyes wide.

“This?” She dumped my bear back into my luggage.

Someone who got thousands of dollars of stock certificates for her seventh birthday wouldn’t understand the value of a cuddly stuffed animal. While I’d been at Starbucks, she’d FedExed the stock certs out to that London address where we’d stay. All under more false names, naturally.

I could tell from her mannerisms that something was upsetting her. “The K twins want us to dismantle at least one of the beds so they can quickly take things down for curbside pickup tomorrow.”

“The Salvation Army can’t dismantle for us?”

“Something about labor laws—they can only dismantle one bed per unit. I even offered to pay and the lady was horrified. We can take yours apart, and you can sleep on your rug...” She pointed to the small rectangular splash of floral carpet I had in front of my bed—my attempt to cheer up my room. We’d donate the rug, too.

“Forget it.” Of course, it would have to be
my
bed that had to come apart.

“Okay, sleep on the couch, then,” she quickly added. “It’s only for
one
night.”

Come to think of it, she didn’t look too happy about it, either. Maybe she had compassion for me after all. Sarah couldn’t sleep unless she was reposed on a bed like Cleopatra, complete with goose-down duvets.

I sighed. “Fine, I’ll take the sofa. By the way, you sure you paid Jim?” I asked. There must have been a reason he was avoiding me. At least, that was what I felt.

“Taken care of. Why?” Did Sarah sound worried? It occurred to me that the brown bag of something she’d passed to Jackson could have been meant for Jim. Maybe she’d paid him late, due to her paranoia about not using checks.

“I was wondering why he hasn’t returned any of my messages. Thought maybe he’s cheesed off with us for not paying.” Even Pete had not responded to my last couple of texts when I’d been at Starbucks.

“Quit worrying. Just focus on making this place look like we left for Hawaii.” She’d bought bathing suits, and we’d leave the receipts and the price tags in the trash, plus maps of Maui we’d downloaded and printed out. We’d circled spots with red ink to make it seem as if these were the places we planned on visiting, hotels we’d considered and some Sarah had called—for effect, she’d said. We crumpled the maps and tossed them in the trash.

Mr. Yamamoto said he would give us a free cleaning of the apartment and didn’t feel he needed to do a final inspection, since he’d received the hefty check, which he apparently had banked on the very day he’d received it. If the cops found the decoy stubs and receipts, provided they looked early enough, they’d be on a goose chase that would buy us time. Hopefully, we’d be somewhere in the Caribbean by the then.

For their efforts, the K twins would be additionally rewarded with my Mini Cooper. I’d reluctantly handed over my papers to Sarah. She wanted to take care of the nitty-gritty details herself.

“Fine!” I said, flashing my eyes so she’d know my annoyance. I determined to not tell her I was going out that night to visit Dad using my car, which technically was still mine until tomorrow. The strain was taking a toll on Sarah, too. We kept nipping at each other.

For about an hour, we heaved and puffed like the big bad wolf, trying to tear down my twin poster bed with the lilac headboard. My parents had given it to me when I’d reached first grade, and I remembered feeling like a princess when I’d slept in it those first weeks. Now, with chipped nails and bent screwdrivers, Sarah and I slumped on the floral rug and admitted defeat. I’d never seen her so riled up about anything.

“Can’t be done,” she said after she’d muttered some expletives.

“We can dismantle
your
bed.” Of course, Miss Princess needs her comfort to sleep.

She stared at me as if I’d just suggested she jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.

I said, “Fine. You can sleep on
my
bed. I’ll crash on the couch as we’d agreed. And you won’t have to feel guilty.” This might work out to my advantage.

She looked unsure. “Nah. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You know you won’t catch a wink there and you’re going to be a basket case tomorrow. You can barely sleep on your triple-layered down mattress, with a gazillion poufy pillows, and you want to sleep on the
couch
?”

She opened her mouth again but I interrupted. “You’ve got bags under your eyes. You need the sleep, girl. It’s only for a night,” I reassured her. “And my bed’s comfortable if you pile it up with your dozen poufy pillows.”

She nodded slowly, but still looked reluctant. Mighty thoughtful of her—
for once
.

We scooted to her room, and her twin bed came apart in thirty minutes. She’d emptied her drawers, and her Louis Vuitton suitcases sat neatly side by side in front of her walk-in closet.

“You look exhausted,” I told her. It was not like Sarah to survive on so little sleep, though it had become a part of my routine. Slight bumps under her eyes had formed and she looked antsier than when we’d been at the bank.

“The worst is over,” I clapped her on the shoulder, but she shrugged me off. The strain was getting to her, and possibly the physical exertion, too. Taking the bed apart was possibly the most workout outside of a gym for her.

“You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep,” I said.

She flashed me a weak smile.

“Why don’t you rest and I’ll make you your nightcap.’

“Maybe I won’t have one tonight.”

“What? Don’t be insane. You want to have a good sleep so your head will stay clear tomorrow. And you have to get up by six—that’s like an unearthly hour for you.”

“Maybe I’ll take a small sip,” she relented, although she didn’t sound convincing.

I mused about a plan I’d concocted to remain undetected while visiting Dad. If Sarah caught me it could end our relationship, or at least add to the tension, but I convinced myself that it was a small dastardly deed compared to her deceiving me about Jackson. She might even thank me for helping her get such a deep sleep, especially if she’d noticed the bags under her eyes. She was vain that way. I walked to the kitchen, toward her pitcher of margaritas. She’d been downing one, sometimes two, cupsful every night, with a ring of salt on the rim. The drink helped her sleep better, she’d always said.