Jaden Baker (61 page)

Getting there was the real challenge. Smuggling himself aboard a freighter was plausible, but not practical, especially for the amount of travel time required. And what would he do once he arrived? He had no passport. At least in America, the country of his birth, he needed no proof of citizenship.

So he considered big cities like Chicago, Phoenix, Houston and New York. New York’s immense size made it the most appealing, and, like Seattle, it was a harbor city. Getting out of the country would be easier from a port, if it came to that.

Vancouver, British Columbia, also had its appeal. The climate was similar to Seattle; it was just north of where he was now. However, due to its convenience, Archcroft was probably monitoring it, a thought which occurred to him as he stared at a photo of the glimmering city.

New York then. It would take ages to travel by foot; a long journey, yet necessary. Hitchhiking was an idea, as people more menacing in appearance than he got rides hitchhiking. Surely someone would give him a ride.

He planned his route, recording notes in his notebook, the same notebook containing sketches for various carpentry projects he hoped to one day build. A part of him wished he knew how to ride a bike, the other part wished he had one to ride. It would make the journey faster, easier, and more enjoyable.

Libby came home as Jaden was taking a closer look at Michigan. Google estimated his walk to New York would take over thirty-seven days. He would need new shoes.

“So, where’re you headed?” she asked, coming in to look over his shoulder.

“New York,” he said. She had the scent of garlic on her breath. It smelled good.

“Ah, yes. Pack your swim trunks then,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Humidity. You’ll need gills to breathe. It’s so hot your arms will sweat.”

“Ewww,” he said in a voice that suited her more than it did him. He shook it off and went back to Michigan.

“Why New York?” she asked.

“It’s big.”

“That’s true. It’s jam packed with people. You sure you can walk that far?”

“I don’t have too many options. I’ll hop as many trains as I can, hitchhike some, and walk. I’m not stealing another car,” he said, popping into street view to get a better idea of where he was going.

“You stole a car?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Two.”

“Two cars?”

“In under twenty four hours.” Based on her incredulous expression, this bothered her. “I’m sure both cars got back to their rightful owners. I didn’t wreck the first one, and I think the second one was okay.”

“When was this?” she asked.

“When I escaped. I needed to get out of the city so I stole some cars. I didn’t have time to walk across the Bay Bridge, and I don’t think I could have anyways,” he remarked, jotting more notes.

“Well,” she said, smiling now. “I guess that’s what car insurance is for.”

“I took less ostentatious cars than yours. You won’t have to worry about me stealing that Honda.” He finished taking notes. Real maps were essential for his trek.

“You probably couldn’t handle my car,” Libby said.

He chuffed under his breath. “Yeah, okay.”

“You couldn’t. It takes mad skills to handle that little baby. Did you have lunch?”

“I weaved in and out of rush hour traffic in a Ford while being chased by a helicopter, I can handle your bean of a car,” he said, finding himself smiling at her. “And no, I didn’t raid your kitchen.”

She smirked. “What kind of Ford? You were chased by a helicopter?”

“A Focus, and only for a little while.” He stopped himself from telling the full story and pushed away from her desk, taking his notebook.

“Manual or automatic?” she asked.

“Who cares?” he asked.

“Me. Me cares.”

He stuffed his notepad in his backpack. “Automatic.”

“Oh ha, that’s not real driving.”

Jaden sighed. “Well, no one taught me the rules of the road, so excuse me,” he said. Was this friendly banter? Was she bantering with him, even after her lunch with the client she’d flirted with on the phone? “How was lunch with that guy?” he asked.

“Fine. We talked about work a little, then the conversation turned to how his kids are doing in school. How boring is that?”

Jaden looked up. “He’s got kids?”

“Yeah, who doesn’t?” she said, then gathered makings for sandwiches from her pantry.

“So he’s a married family guy?” he asked, hoping it sounded casual.

“Yep,” she said, not commenting on his tone or question.

The jealous lion that had been pacing around his brain all day yawned and relaxed. There was nothing to worry about then. Not that it mattered. She treated whoever was on the phone with the same kind regard she showed him.

“You want a sandwich?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said.

“What about false names, have you thought of those at all?” she asked.

“Sort of,” he answered. “I have a list. I’m not sure what to chose. Maybe I’ll rotate through all of them.”

“No, pick one and go with it,” she said.

He looked through the names in his notebook. He had written so many, how to chose?

“I guess it has to be realistic, so you can’t be, like, Sirius Black. Which is a real bummer; you look just like him,” Libby said.

Jaden didn’t know who that was and didn’t ask. He smiled and resumed his scanning. She stood beside him and ran her finger down the list. He was pleasantly aware of her close proximity.

“Hmm. Those are interesting. Write them and decide which signature you like best.” She spread mustard on a few slices of bread then added roast beef.

“How will that help?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Pick the one that comes the easiest. Maybe there’s some psychological reason one name would flow easier than another. It’s worth a shot.”

He felt silly writing the names over and over, watching them form on the page. But her idea held weight. Nicholas Monroe wrote nicely. He told her.

“Nicholas Monroe?” she asked, her nose scrunched. “Nick? I don’t see it.”

“This was your idea. Nicholas Monroe looks the best.”

She looked at the names he’d written down. “Yeah, but Nick Monroe? It’s not you.”

“Well what is me?” he asked.

“You’re a...” she looked at him as she put lettuce on his sandwiches. “You’re a...”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Yes?”

“Yeah, see, you look like a Jaden to me. Or a Sirius Black.”

“Neither of those are helping me right now. What about Christopher—”

“Robin?”

Jaden sighed.

“Sorry,” she said. She put a second piece of bread on both sandwiches and slid the plate across to him. “It’s just that picking your own name is important.”

“You suggested picking it based on signatures!” he said, chewing.

“Yeah, well that’s when I thought you’d come up with a good name. Nick Monroe is not you. Neither is Christopher Robin.”

“I wasn’t going to pick ‘Christopher Robin,’” he said through a mouthful of sandwich.

“Sure,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “What about Scott something?”

“No,” he said, cringing.

“What’s wrong with Scott?”

“I think of tape.” He took another bite.

“That’s ‘Scotch’ you dummy,” she laughed.

“It’s close, though,” he said. “Howard Cline?”

“Do you hate you?” she asked, giggling now. Once she calmed herself: “David?”

He shrugged. That was a name he liked and had thought of before. “Maybe.”

“Okay. First name a maybe. David goes with a lot of things and it’s not out of the ordinary. David, David... David Cameron?”

“No, not Cameron. Sounds like a first name.”

“David Carpenter?”

Oh. “I like that,” he said. He finished the first sandwich and wiped his hands and face on a napkin she handed to him. “That’s not a name of a famous serial killer or rapist is it?”

She laughed. “Not that I know of.” She whipped out her phone and searched for it, then frowned. “Never mind.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, what are the odds? Okay, moving on. David Summers?”

“Not really thrilled with Summers, but what does the internet say?” he asked.

She checked and nodded. “No serial killers came to the first page. We’ll chew on it. Write it down, let’s see how it looks.”

He did, and Libby nodded in approval. “I like it. You want me to call you David the rest of the time you’re here?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He wrote his own name, something he had not done in a while, since the third grade. Of all the names, this one looked the best, flowed the easiest. Despite wanting to shed the life of Jaden Baker, forget about everything that came before, the idea of changing his name was not as adventurous as he thought it would be.

“How do you sign your name?” he asked her, shaking himself of the thought.

She took the pen from him and signed Elizabeth James, embellishing the E and J. Then, inspired, she took the book from him and flipped to the inside cover, and wrote something. She winked and handed it back.

He flipped to it to find a note:

Happy trails and good luck to you, David S. May your journey find you well, and may you not get eaten by a bear. Best Wishes, Libby

Jaden froze. He blinked and read it through a few more times, but his eye kept coming back to her name. Libby. Libby with two loops through the tail of the Y.

It was like standing under a broken umbrella in a hail storm. He was pelted with facts and information he disregarded before, but now hit him.

Libby with the curly Y.

Libby with her bright blue eyes. Electric blue. Libby with her auburn hair. Libby who knew people in Archcroft. Libby who ran away from home because her two parents were absent. Libby with all her books...

“Is everything okay?” she asked. “I was kidding about the bear. Well, I really don’t want you to get eaten by a bear, but you know...”

He looked at her. Hadn’t he suspected all along who she actually was? And in the car from Seattle to here, on the ferry, hadn’t she said been particularly flattered when he said her name was pretty? Like she’d chosen the name Elizabeth James? Her face was familiar. Had he not suspected her the whole time?

Maybe he was reading too much into this. Maybe lots of women put two loops through their Ys, knew people in Archcroft, had witty responses to things, intense blue eyes, and auburn hair. He doubted it, but still needed confirmation. Act calm, be casual.

“Your name,” he said, his voice strangled sounding. “Well, you know a lot about changing names. Were you born Elizabeth James?”

She laughed. “No way. Elizabeth James is too perfect of a name. I got it down to a science. It sounds good, but real enough that it doesn’t sound fake.” She poured herself a glass of lemonade.

He felt suddenly hot.

“Why did you change it?” he asked, forcing himself to sound nonchalant.

“I had to. My parents Albus Severused me.” She took a long drink.

“They what?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Albus Severus.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

Libby looked furious. “I thought you read books,” she growled.

“I do!” he said.

“Well you’re missing seven big ones. Seriously. Anyway, what I mean is, they gave me a horrible name and I had to change it. It was in line with becoming a new person anyway. I changed it when I emancipated.”

Jaden’s heart beat fast. “So,” he began, trying to stay calm. “What was your real name?” Though he was sure he already knew.

“Margaret Sanger Dalton, if you can believe that,” she shivered and winced.

Whatever his face did next, it was a reaction Libby agreed with.

“I know. I hate, all caps, bold, and underline,
hate
that woman. Hate!” she said, putting a sharpness on the T. “Who names their daughter after that—that vile, disgusting, evil woman? Only crazy people, that’s who. Fruitloops!”

Jaden said nothing. He didn’t think he’d be able to form words. This, the woman standing before him, the woman he’d bumped into yesterday, whom he’d stayed and felt comfortable with, was Molly Dalton. Molly, the girl whose books he borrowed and read all those years ago. Molly who he thought and dreamed about, wondering what she was like, imagining her face and her laugh. Molly Dalton was here, now, in the kitchen. She made him sandwiches.

“You’re Molly Dalton.” He said it under his breath, trying to make it real. Trying to believe she was real. Molly Dalton was an actual person, not a girl he dreamed about, whose books he held close when he slept so he wouldn’t feel alone. Molly was here with him, in this room. She was not a fantasy after all. Molly was Libby. Even the new moniker resembled the old. A formal name which could be shortened. Constant, vowel, double consonants, Y.