A beam of sunlight settles on Audie’s eyelid and he tries to flick it away like an insect. The light comes back and he hears a giggle. Billy is holding a small mirror and angling the sun through the open barn door.
“I can see you,” says Audie.
Billy ducks down and giggles again. He’s wearing tattered shorts and a T-shirt that’s too big for him.
“What time is it?” Audie asks.
“After breakfast.”
“Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“It’s Saturday.”
So it is, thinks Audie, rising to his hands and knees. At some point during the night he rolled off the bunk and curled up on the floor, which felt more familiar than a mattress.
“Did you fall out of bed?” asks Billy.
“I guess I did.”
“I used to fall out of bed but I don’t anymore. Ma says I outgrowed it.”
Audie emerges into the sunlit yard and washes his face at a pumpjack. It was dark last night when he arrived. Now he can see a clutch of small, unpainted houses surrounded by rusting vehicles, spare parts, a water trough, a windmill, and a woodpile stacked against a crumbling stone wall. A small black boy is riding a bicycle that’s too big for him, sitting on the frame to reach the pedals, navigating between fluttering chickens.
“That’s my friend Clayton,” says Billy. “He’s black.”
“I can see that.”
“I don’t have many black friends, but Clayton’s OK. He’s little but he can run faster than a bike unless you’re going downhill.”
Audie cinches the belt on his trousers to stop them falling down. On the porch of a neighboring house he notices a thin man in a checked shirt and black leather vest watching him. Audie waves. The man doesn’t wave back.
Rosie appears. “Breakfast is on the stove.”
“Where’s Ernie?”
“Work.”
“He starts early.”
“Finishes late.”
Audie sits at the table and eats. Tortillas. Eggs. Beans. Coffee. There are glass jars of flour, dried beans, and rice on shelves above the stove. He can see Rosie through the window hanging washing on a line. He can’t stay here. These people have been kind to him, but he doesn’t want to bring them trouble. His only hope of staying alive is to follow the plan and keep hidden for as long as possible.
When Rosie reappears he asks her about getting a lift into town.
“I can take you at midday,” she says, rinsing his empty plate in the sink. She brushes a strand of hair from her eyes. “Where are you heading?”
“Houston.”
“I can drop you at the Greyhound Depot in San Antonio.”
“Is that out of your way?”
She doesn’t answer. Audie takes money from his pocket. “I’d like to pay you something for the lodgings?”
“Keep your money.”
“It’s clean.”
“If you say so.”
It’s thirty-eight miles into San Antonio, heading north on I-37. Rosie drives a small Japanese-made car with a broken exhaust and no air conditioning. They travel with the windows open and the radio turned up loud.
At the top of the hour, a newsreader lists the headlines and mentions a prison break. Audie begins talking, trying to make it sound natural. Rosie interrupts him and turns up the volume.
“Is that you?”
“I’m not fixing to hurt anyone.”
“That’s good to know.”
“You can drop me off right here if you’re worried.”
She doesn’t answer. Keeps driving.
“What did you do?” she asks.
“They said I robbed an armored truck.”
“Did you?”
“Hardly seems to matter anymore.”
She sneaks a glance at him. “Either you did or you didn’t.”
“Sometimes you get blamed for things you didn’t do. Other times you get away with things you did. Maybe we finish up even at the end.”
Rosie changes lanes, looking for the exit. “I don’t have a lot of moral authority since I don’t go to church anymore, but if you’ve done something wrong you shouldn’t run away from it.”
“I’m not running away,” says Audie.
And she believes him.
Pulling up outside the bus station, Rosie looks past Audie at the row of buses heading to distant cities.
“When you get caught, don’t mention what we did for you,” she says.
“I won’t get caught.”