On the Run, M Zeigler [you can read anyone txt] 📗

fine with him doing whatever.  I just won’t be held accountable for his actions.

 

Just when I’m figuring this conversation to be over and ready to go find Joan; Barrette throws me for a loop and playfully jumps to his feet to hug me. I don’t understand why until I glance over his shoulder only to see a sheriff walking into the building. Barrette should really know, no matter what the situation is, hugging me is the worst thing anyone can do to me. I am in fact the last person on earth you want to try and hug, I have never been treated with such kindness in my life, so what you see as a kind loving gesture I see as an attack.

I’ve seriously injured my aunt, Anna, and two close friends several times before they realized to just keep their distance from me. Yes, I know, I’m well beyond the definition of out of control, the question is, am I going to change that?

 I force myself to relax and return the hug to Barrette so no one will think our little encounter out of the ordinary; thankfully he releases me just as suddenly as he dragged me in. He leaves no words as he turns back for the booth, I stand for a brief spell trying to calm down and force away that grossed out feeling. You know that feeling, the same icky skin crawling vibe that is felt when a toddler makes a huge mess with their food and then touches your hand. Or you step in a puddle on the bathroom floor at night and you don’t want to know what that puddle is. It’s nothing about Barrette that disgusts me; it’s the close human contact that has me irked.

Looking up I see the police officer has left and is driving away in his patrol car while cramming a hand full of food into his mouth, I look back to Barrette as I take a seat at the booth. Even though his close proximity really made me uncomfortable I can admit that was a good save. Both of us need to be more careful, one wrong move and we both go down for everything that has happened in the last…how long has this mess been going on?

“Good call.” I say to Barrette as Joan finally comes over with a smile on her face ready to take our order, there’s a pink stain on her cheeks telling me that either she has a thing for the local sheriff or he said something that had her laughing pretty hard and flushed her face.

“What can I get for you, kids?” Joan asks as her faded silver blue eyes look between Barrette and I. “I’ll have the breakfast mini skillet, and water.” I say to Joan who jots down my own order in a tiny palm sized note book she’s holding ever so tightly in her hands. It’s obvious that note book might be as old as she is, there are more stains on the pages than I’ve seen on a paint factory floor, not to mention the spiral binding is mostly gone. There are only three rungs still holding the booklet together, the little things like this remind me to be grateful of what I do have. I may only have my car and a few personal belongings but that is more than some people have, some walk down dank pee smelling alley ways with only boxes or other pieces of hung garbage as their roof.

That’s another thought that helped me through life, there are people out there that have gone through far worse events than I have. I just wish there was more that could be done for the ones still going through that, it’s crazy to think but, sometimes I wish I could just gather up all of the people who are cast aside, looked down on, and feel all around hated, tell them everything will be okay and put them on an island. I would totally call it the island of ‘misfits’ I feel that no person should ever have to go through life thinking they are worthless.

“And you son?” Joan asks Barrette who glances at the menu really quickly, he didn’t really review what they have to offer so he’s scanning through as quickly as he possibly can. “He’ll have the same thing, except make it the triple order.” I confirm to Joan who looks at me with uncertainty. “Are you sure? That is a lot of food.” Joan says skeptical as to whether Barrette can manage to eat that much. The portions here are well thought out, I know that after a long day hiking, rafting, swimming, or even fishing I’m not going to want to eat any meager amount of food.

“He’s a Texan, he can eat that much. Right Alex?” I say to Barrette using a fake alias and home location for him. “I guess you gotta keep them country boys well fed.” Joan shrugs still not believing Barrette can actually eat the food that is about to be served to him. She scratches down his order then walks off towards the chef’s window and starts hollering out our food order.

“Texan? Alex? What is this America’s most wanted:  In the criminal’s shoes?” Barrette jokes as Joan doubles back to hand both of us a glass of ice water. “Basically.” I reply lacking a joking tone to my response. Barrette thinks that verbal exchange over for a moment then gives a slight shrug deciding I’m right on this one.

How can he say I’m wrong? If I kill one more person and become solely blamed I’m going to be my famed great grandmother, the only difference between us is knowing right from wrong. I used to want to be an actress; god knows I’m good at it when I want to be. But I wouldn’t put other people’s lives at risk to achieve my goal to be famous, and I certainly wouldn’t do what my grandmother did to become famous. I can’t imagine that she was so cold to the fact she actually killed people for no other reason than to have her name known.

“Putting a loose plan together here, I’m thinking we stay at the cabin until the weekend.” I announce my idea to Barrette; I’ve been working over the idea since we were on our freeway. Being secluded so far back in the mountains mean’s that Devon won’t be able to pin point our location and that will give us time and peace to form a plan.

Barrette thinks about what I’m saying then seems to frown at the idea. “Why so long? That’s almost the entire week? Or are you trying to kidnap me now?” Barrette replies still trying to remain humorous in a seemingly hopeless situation. Though I appreciate his attempt at keeping the situation less stressful I really need him to focus right now.

“Technically, I’ve already done that? I mean your manager doesn’t even know where we are and the world thinks you’re dead, or at least MIA.” I reply to Barrette who again can’t argue with my logic. At this time it’s best to let them assume Barrette is either dead or missing in action because that makes people less likely to look for him.

“Besides that your shoulder is going to need at least that long to start healing, especially after moving the water case today.” I add then pause to think about going further and mothering him by saying he needs to take it east and stop trying to be so stubborn. I let that idea drop because I know that Barrette won’t give up on being stubborn, it’s in his nature, and the more I tell him to stop, the worse he’s going to be. Wow, does that remind you of anyone? He is as bad as I am in some ways!

“That is true, but, four days? I think after a day or two I should be fine.” Barrette tries to bargain with me, men, I swear, the worse they are injured the more they try to play it off.

 “No, not exactly it’s going to be a while before that wound closes up. You’re lucky it wasn’t a very high caliber gun you were shot with.” I inform Barrette who decides that arguing with me is pointless, I’m a woman and therefore I will win.

Besides, even if he disagrees I have the car keys so he really won’t get far away once we arrive at the cabin. Speaking of the cabin we’re going to need bedding, I’m sure there is nothing left of what my grandfather packed under the bed so many years ago. The probability of rodents and other animals gnawing away at the items is high, added to that is just the normal decomposition of all natural linens. My grandfather hated using polyester materials; he figured quickly that he cannot dry the bedding over high heat because the materials melt. Therefore he made blankets or had my grandmother make them so we knew all materials were one hundred percent cotton.

“Okay, the triple breakfast for the gentlemen and a Mini skillet for the Mrs.” Joan says appearing at the table almost as if she teleported there. Her wrinkled hands toss down two spare oven mitts, and then she uses both hands to set the skillet down in front of Barrette who looks at the dish as if he’s just found a small portion of heaven.

“I’m driving.” Barrette announces as he uses hidden skills to snag the keys from my belt loop. “Um, no? This car is my baby, this is my life. No one drives this car except for me, its okay if I total it.” I announce trying to snag the keys back but he holds them above his head far out of my reach. His free hand wraps around my waist to stop me from jumping up in a failed attempt at getting my car keys back.

“I said, I’m driving, I won’t kill your car.” Barrette demands in an almost controlling way, he is very lucky I’m too tired and overstuffed to argue right now otherwise I’d clock him one in the jaw and call it a day.

“Fine if you want to drive then just know, if you break it you buy it. If I find so much as a scratch on this car you will be the next name on my death list.” I warn shoving away from him only to fall into the passengers door because he releases me when I least expected him to. I quickly brush off the embarrassment and wrench the car door open before stepping in.

Inside the car Barrette already has the map out and looking to see the direction we are headed in, after a quick glimpse he is starting the car and pulling out of the parking place. Easing onto the gas pedal, Barrette pulls out onto the road but that little touch of the gas pedal has the Mustang peeling out. He manages to keep control but seems surprised, I make driving look easy in this car.

 “What are you running in this beast?” Barrette asks when he has fully gained control of the now speeding vehicle. He seems impressed with how well this old car drives and is trying to show off just a little. All he is accomplishing by showing off is scaring me; I don’t trust other people driving, especially when they are driving my car.

“Barrette do you know anything about cars?” I ask sarcastically tapping the emblem in the center of the steering wheel. He gives me an eye roll then looks at me as if to ask ‘do you think I’m stupid?’

“Bonnie, this car has way more power than a stock standard sixty five fastback. So once again, what are you running?” He replies proving he has a considerable amount of knowledge when it comes to car engines versus as