“…If you prick us, do we not bleed?  If you tickle ...

After she’d told Jerry her story, he’d sighed and told her to get into the bunk. From time to time, she heard him on the radio, but it was only a blur of sound. She slept through all the merges and exits, through the toll booths. She woke briefly in Boston, where Jerry gave her a bottle of water and asked if she needed a bathroom. She thanked him and said no, and slept again, even though she knew she should ask about a plan for when they got to Maine. If he took her to Mason Brothers trucking, she was sure there would be people watching and it would start all over again.

She only woke when she heard a familiar voice calling, “Hey, Spit,” and felt a warm hand on her cheek.

Without fully opening her eyes, she wiggled out of the truck and right into Andy Mason’s arms. She snuggled her head into his neck as his arms tightened around her. “My hero,” she whispered sleepily. “All my life. My hero.”

He set her on her feet. Still emerging from the throes of sleep, she leaned against him for support, secured by the strength of his arm. He represented home and all that meant. “Welcome back,” he said.

“Oh, Dandy. You don’t know how good this feels. It’s been so awful.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, wanting to stay right there forever. She felt his hesitation before he hugged her back. “What do we do now?”

“We don’t do anything. We say thank you to Jerry, and then Sonny’s going to take you—”

“Sonny? Not you?” she interrupted. “Who is Sonny, anyway?” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. Of course, he would be watched. Probably his phone was tapped. But seeing him opened a lake of yearning. For her father. For Rose and Charlie. For people she could trust. For home, though she knew home wasn’t safe.

She looked around. They were in standing in front of a house she didn’t recognize. A neat split-level with blue shutters. Jerry’s, she supposed. She didn’t see Andy’s truck anywhere, though an unfamiliar pickup idled out in the street. “I know you can’t, but won’t they be watching Sonny, too?”

She felt Lilliputian, standing beside Jerry’s huge rig. In the distance, something clanged metallically into something else and she jumped. A tiny thing but it was all she needed to remind her of the situation. Back in Maine or not, all that had changed was her location. She was still in danger.

“Maybe, if they were able to follow Jerry’s truck or the twisting and turning way I got here. Good thing you’re small.” He looked away as he said it and her heart sank. It would be the disappearing Jenny act again. What would it be this time? Oil drum? Cooler? Another duffel bag? Maybe the toolbox built into Sonny’s pickup. Why not? Hadn’t she spent the last week being treated like a tool? For Alfonso, a lever to lift his campaign; for Buxton, a drill to sink his ship.

“We’ve tried to make it comfortable.”

The look on her face stopped him and when he spoke again, something in his voice almost broke her heart. It was low as a whisper but thick with anger and frustration. “You think I want to do this? That I don’t know what you’ve been through and it doesn’t make me angry. Hell, Spit, angry isn’t a big enough word.”

“Mad as wet hen?” she suggested, using one of his mother’s favorite expressions.

But he wouldn’t be humored. “I want to take you home to your father, tuck you into your own bed, and sit there with my gun, ready to shoot anyone who comes near. You know I’d move heaven and earth for you, Spit. We all would.”

It was very early in the morning, just at that time when the birds start up. Even in the poor light, she could see how awful Dandy looked. Unshaven and unrested.

While she’d been racing desperately from place to place, they’d had their own kind of desperation here. The desperation of the helpless. Needing to know and having no information. Longing to help both Jenny and her mother, and in each case, unable to. They also serve who only stand and wait.

She touched his face with gentle fingers. “Poor Dandy. It’s been bad for all of us,” she said. “But it’s almost over.” She slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled his head down to hers. He stiffened. Resisted. “It helped to know that you were here.”

“Jenny, don’t! You don’t know how…” He expelled a breath with something like a groan and never finished the sentence. She felt his rough whiskers brush her face, his warm, chapped lips on hers. In the passion of his kiss, she felt all the fear and worry, all the love of a lifetime of friendship, all the care he wanted to surround her with. It surprised and moved her. An unexpected moment when, like the peace in the eye of a hurricane, everything temporarily felt right. Safe and good and whole. When the people in the world could be relied on and trusted again.

This was not Trask and Morrissey’s redemption through sex, either. This wasn’t even about sex. This connection was a feeling flowing back and forth along a web of love and attachment that had been spinning between them all their lives. Ever since she’d toddled over to him and demanded that he pick her up. She was still toddling over; he was still picking her up.

As suddenly as he’d kissed her, he pulled away, red-faced and flustered. “Sorry, Jen,” he said, his voice rough with feeling. “I never meant to do that.”

“Don’t apologize, Dandy. Sometimes, especially when things have been as bad as they are here, it’s important to know there’s still love and goodness in the world.”

He wouldn’t look at her. Poor Dandy. Big brothers aren’t supposed to do what he’d just done. “Anyway,” he said. “Sonny’s going to take you in his truck up to Liberty.”

“What’s in Liberty?”

“Dizzy’s snowmobile. Dizzy will take care of you until… until we’ve figured out what to do.”

“I know what to do. I just need wheels. A gun. And some clothes. Please tell me you’ve got clothes. My clothes. My shoes.” A catch she shouldn’t keep from her voice. She’d worn stranger’s clothes long enough.

He shook his head and held up a brown grocery bag. “Got a few clothes from your dad. We figured you’d probably lost what you had.” He chuckled. “Stuff went back and forth between our houses in a pie basket. Adele thinks you can never say enough good things about a pie basket.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a toothbrush in here?”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

She hugged him again. “Me and my little coated teeth are grateful,” she said.

He made no move to go. “Dizzy’s kind of a funny guy. Scary, maybe. Don’t be put off by his looks, okay? He’s a straight arrow. Got no patience with politicians. And he’s a big fan of your mom.”

“Like half the state,’ she said, trying not to let Dandy’s description alarm her. “Speaking of mom’s fans, Dandy, do we know any big fan of my mom who’s a TV reporter?”

He shrugged.

“Ask my dad, will you?” Suddenly she had a million questions. “How do we stay in touch? How do I get around? I’ve got things to do, people to see. Am I staying with this Dizzy guy?”

He made a time out sign. “Slow down, Spit. Your mouth works faster than my brain, okay? We stay in touch by me using a pay phone to call Dizzy at his shop. But listen, Spit, you’re all beat up, even in bad light without my glasses I can see that. You ought to take a couple days and rest up.”

“Haven’t got a couple days.”

He gave her his ‘don’t be a brat’ look, but shrugged. “Yeah, you’re staying with Dizzy. Can’t be worse than what you’re used to. You need to go somewhere, Dizzy’s nephew, Gus, will take you.”

Jenny thought about cold streets, bathroom floors, gunshots in the dark. Whatever awaited her couldn’t be worse. “Bet your ass,” she said.

Dandy winced, big brother enough to object to her language. “We figured that you could lie on the floor behind the seat. There’s lots of room. He’s got those two little seats back there. And we’ve put in lots of padding.”

She flashed to other back seats. To the bizarre combination of agony and elation when she’d escaped from the hospital on Britt’s car floor. The even more bizarre and agonizing ride with Trask and Morrissey, tossed in like a piece of luggage, utterly helpless. And Trask’s trunk. She’d be a long time getting her head back to some healthy place, and that was if this ended happily.

“No problem,” she said. “Are we keeping him waiting?” Then, “Hold on. I need a gun. A shotgun. Too out of practice for a rifle.”

“Already in Sonny’s truck,” he said. “One you’ve used before, and don’t wreck it, okay. It’s got sentimental value.”

“Word of honor,” she said, examining the shells and finding #4 buck. “I’ll be careful.”

“Just don’t shoot your foot off.”

“Never have yet,” she said.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“My hero,” she said. She’d been defenseless long enough. “Tell my dad to find me that reporter, okay. Someone honest, reliable, ambitious and on our side.” She started toward Sonny’s truck and turned back. “Tell Daddy I love him, please? And hug Adele?”

He put his arms around her, nuzzling the top of her head with his chin. “When this is over—”

“We’re going to share the biggest hot fudge sundae in Augusta. I get all the cherries.”

He released her, shaking his head. “Some people never change.” He walked her to Sonny. “Okay, pal,” he said. “She’s all yours.”

Jenny climbed into the truck, slow and awkward as she lowered herself onto the floor. When she was in, they slid her gun in beside her, dropped blankets over her, and piled some light junk on top. She heard the murmur of their voices. Then the truck started with a roar and the metallic clang of something rattling underneath and she was on the road again.