Chapter 2 Sophie
TWO
SOPHIE
Something new accompanied the anticipation of reading the books: Excitement. Because the black pickup I saw on Monday also appeared on Tuesday. And again, it waited for the light to turn green.
Tomorrow. If they come back tomorrow, it’s a sign, I told myself after the huge vehicle vanished from my sight and I exhaled, only then realizing I had been holding my breath.
When they appear on Wednesday at the same time, my heart races at the idea that forms in my mind.
It can’t be a coincidence. The driver has appeared three days in a row now.
And each day, they’ve waited for the light to turn green.
Though I don’t know much about probability theory, I’m pretty sure they will reappear tomorrow.
I would have the full extent of three minutes to run out of the house, down the driveway, and jump into the truck.
I’m well aware of how daring this plan is, but I don’t care.
I can’t let this possibility of running away drive by—literally.
I have to take the risk that the driver will not take me with them or—what I don’t fear because it really seems unlikely to happen—do me any harm.
I have to. Because they could be my only chance of living a life that is not defined by my mother’s views and rules.
And I have to know what this life could be like.
Of course I’ll miss her. I’ll miss her soft humming whenever she’s working in the garden, and how quickly her fingers bundle up the herbs. I’ll miss the smell of lavender in the house after she’s taken a bath. I’ll even miss praying with her even though I don’t agree with all of her beliefs.
But I can’t stay here any longer. I have to leave her, even if it breaks my heart.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will leave. Tomorrow, I will be free.
I barely slept. There was this tingling in my stomach all night, and more than once, I thought I had to throw up as I did like a child after I ate the poisonous berries from the potatoes in our garden.
But I knew it was the excitement. What I’m about to do is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done, and it will probably change my life.
As soon as my mother leaves, I relax a little. It was exhausting to hide my nervousness from her, but she seemed so immersed in her preparations that she didn’t notice the shaking of my hands and my glances toward the window.
To keep myself occupied, I fulfill my duties before going to my room, where I stop in the middle and look around.
What does one take when planning to run away from their mother and the only life they’ve ever known?
I don’t have any personal belongings. There’s only a hairbrush on the dresser beside the bed, and next to it is a tray with a few hair ties and bows.
For a second, I consider taking the book I’m currently reading with me, but it would be too difficult to hide it from my mother at the dinner table while keeping it close enough to reach.
Indecisively, I look at the clothes I’m wearing.
The loose trousers made of dark-blue linen and the gray sweater are functional and not particularly pretty, but my wardrobe doesn’t offer much more choice, so I’ll leave it at that.
As there’s nothing for me to do or take here, I leave the room for good, head to the kitchen, and start preparing dinner.
While slicing the potatoes and carrots, my gaze keeps darting through the window to the intersection with the useless traffic light. My heart flutters nervously in my chest because the pickup should show up in about an hour if the driver sticks to their schedule.
I wonder who will be sitting in it. Will they even take me with them? And what will my mother do when she realizes I’m gone?
A dagger pierces my heart at the last thought, but I shake the feeling off. I can’t stay any longer. I have to know what life is really like. I have to see for myself if people are truly as corrupt and cruel as my mother says. And I have to find out what it’s like to be free.
The minutes pass agonizingly slowly, yet time runs out as I sit across from my mother at the table.
"You’re not even eating." She scrutinizes me while I poke around in my stew.
I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and try not to focus too much on the way the blood rushes in my ears. "I’m not hungry."
She examines me for another second before finishing the last bite of bread and putting her spoon down on her now empty plate.
"I’ll eat it later," I say, hoping it will keep her from giving me a long sermon about how I should honor God’s gifts instead of scorning them.
The pickup will show up in a few minutes.
When I stand to clear the table, I suddenly become very calm. The trembling of my hands has stopped, and though I can feel my heart beat in my chest, it’s no longer racing like it was an hour ago.
I glance at the clock and then look out the window while putting the dirty dishes in the sink.
In a moment. It’s almost time.
The scraping of the chair’s legs is unnaturally loud as my mother stands and pushes the chair back under the table. "It looks like it’s going to rain. I’ll go unload the car."
My heart stops for a moment at her words. She won’t be in the bathroom when the pickup appears. She’ll be outside and see how I’m about to run away. But I can’t deviate from my plan. I have to try it, so I put the dish brush back down, turn off the faucet, and dry my hands. "I’ll help you."
The sky’s almost pitch black. Could this be a bad omen, pointing out I’m about to do something foolish? I don’t know, but I won’t think about it either. The pickup will appear at any moment, so I rush to my mother’s car and open the door to hand her the first box, hoping she’ll take it inside.
Just as her fingers brush mine to take it from my hands, I hear the low hum of an approaching engine. I take a deep breath and turn back to my mother’s car and the road as she walks back into the house. Only a few seconds later, the black pickup comes into view and stops at the traffic light.
Now. I have to go right now before my mother comes back and stops me.
I make the first step and feel the adrenaline that suddenly rushes through my veins. A second step. The third is faster. I run down the dirt driveway that leads to the road. It’s not far anymore.
What if the driver won’t drive off, and my mother pulls me out of the vehicle?
I’m sprinting now.
The doors could be locked so I can’t even get in.
My whole body tingles as my heart races again.
The driver could be a bad person.
I hear the squeaking of the screen door being pushed open behind me.
This is my only chance.
My fingers reach the handle of the passenger door, and I yank it open.
"Sophie!" My mother’s voice sounds miles away, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I jump on the passenger seat, slam the door shut, and look to the left at the same time.
Next to me sits a young man whose appearance is almost frightening. Broad shoulders. Strong arms covered with dark images down to the backs of his hands. Raven-black hair that is short on the sides and slightly longer on top. Hard facial features. Storm-gray eyes that scrutinize me.
"What do you think you’re doing, little darling?" His rough and deep voice vibrates through my chest while he lifts a brow, astonishment and anger flickering in his eyes.
My throat threatens to constrict, but I won’t let it. He’s the only chance I get. My only chance for freedom.
"Drive, please," I plead, praying earnestly to God for the very first time in my life as I hear my mother calling for me outside. "Please!"