6

I felt the car take a right turn.

“You can sit up now.” Brown’s voice was gruff.

We traveled down a rural road. Discouragement and panic fought for attention in my heart. This turn of events made it harder for anyone to find me.

He drove with the gun in his right hand.

“You can put that away. I won’t run.”

He peered over the backseat at me.

Maybe if I held onto my swollen stomach, or cried, he might have mercy.

He put the gun on the seat. My breathing leveled out. Psalm 139 came to my mind. Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. The Father could see me. I’d rest in that. I took a deep, calming breath. “How much farther? You know pregnant women and bathrooms.” I willed my voice to be light and calm.

He didn’t answer. Each time he raked his hair back or rubbed his neck, his hands shook. He was scared. “Not much farther. There’s food there. You must be hungry, eating for two and all.”

Was that his normal sounding voice? How quickly he could turn his anger on and off. Just like when I was five. He’d never really played with me, but sometimes he did talk. If I’d irritated him, he would fly off into a rage. More so at Mom.

“Three, remember.” Pain tightened my lower back. I breathed deeply against it. I would not let my mind consider that I might be going into labor.

“Yeah, I thought you looked kind of big, even for this late in the game.” He shook his head and let a whew escape his lips.

My mind flew into overdrive. I must keep him placated, look for a way to escape or alert someone, and pray that someone found me. I had to think about my babies. The little ones did need nourishment, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. What time was it anyway? It wasn’t good for my legs to be cramped in the same position this long.

“We’re almost there.” He pointed up the road, which narrowed with each mile, extending farther and farther into the woods.

“Good, I’m starved.” I wanted to ask if he’d take me home after our “talk”. But it might set him off. How could he take me home after what he’d done? An arrest surely awaited him. I’d have to convince him I wouldn’t press charges. One of the little ones kicked me in the ribs. “Ouch, whoa there, sweetie, that hurt,” I said with a forced laugh. Would a semblance of normal chit-chat keep him calm?

“How far along?” He said, looking at my swollen tummy.

“Any minute now. This unseasonal warmth is killing me. I never did like the heat, and being pregnant makes it worse. I appreciate the air conditioning.” Whatever this white car was, its a/c worked great.

“Yeah, I remember you didn’t like to play outside in the summer. Chubby, and all that hair, you were always red in the face.” A chuckle escaped smirking lips. The car stopped suddenly. He motioned for me to get out and then gently helped me into the front seat.

I slid over, hugging the passenger side door. A fast rewind to the day he left us rose like illness in my stomach. “Fat little kid.” Door slam. No more daddy. Mom left alone. My fault. Why did I feel like unloading twenty years worth of unsaid anguish? Hadn’t I already dealt with it? Where was all that healing and forgiveness? I forced my breathing to remain steady. Not now. Could he want to apologize? Make things right? He sure went about it in a strange way.

He drove farther into the woods then turned down another dirt road, almost hidden by trees and brush. The car came to a clearing where he pulled into the dirt driveway of a small, white-washed cabin.

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” he said, with a lilt of pride.

“Nice.”

He got out but left the keys in the ignition. Could I scoot over and peel out before he reached for me?

Don’t think. Just do it.