Chapter Twenty-three
Monday afternoon, I drive up to my apartment in a brand-new Toyota Camry. It’s not my Camry. It’s a rental. My nerves are shot, and it’s been hard to work today with all the research and planning I’ve done. Hopefully it all pays off.
I go up to my apartment to find Sierra watching skiing videos on her laptop.
Me: Your flight isn’t until Wednesday night, right?
She shakes her head.
Sierra: Actually, I wanted to talk to you about staying a few more days. The airline reached out looking for volunteers to be bumped to a later flight. There’s one Friday night instead. If that’s okay.
Me: That’s even better. I was worried about you getting back in time and missing your flight.
Sierra: Getting back in time from what?
I put the key fob on the table next to her, still nervous.
She looks up. “What’s this?”
Me: Don’t get mad. Yes, I’m meddling. But it comes from a good place.
Sierra: Did you buy me a car? I’m leaving the country, Ellie. I’d have nowhere to keep it.
Me: It’s a rental. Be patient. This is a long story.
She motions to the chair next to her. I sit and try to sum it all up in one quick text.
Me: The car is so it can’t be traced back to you. You’re going to drive to Chicago and get your mom. You’re going to bring her here. I know it’s a long drive, but you don’t want to risk flying. He’d be able to track you. I got her a job. It’s only temporary, but it’s something. If you’re careful, he won’t be able to find her or know it was you who helped.
Sierra: Ellie, I’ll give you points for originality, and I applaud you for wanting to help, but she can’t take a job. He’ll find her. And I’m not going to have her living with you. That would put you in danger. I just found you. It’s a risk I won’t take.
Me: She won’t have to live here. My boss agreed to give her a job in laundry and housekeeping at my school. And they won’t be paying her. There will be no record of her employment. They will be letting her live there. It’s perfect. It’s the last place Grant would look. If he suspects you had a hand in it at all, he’ll probably think you took her with you to New Zealand.
Sierra: She doesn’t have a passport.
Me: That’s good. Maybe he won’t suspect you then. I have a plan. If you leave tonight, you can get there after he goes to work tomorrow. Go in disguise in case he has security cameras, which I suspect he does since he’s a cop. Put on a wig and a ball cap so he can’t see your face. Better yet, try to look like a man to throw him off. Wear different clothes. Stop at Goodwill on your way out of town to pick things up. If you know where the cameras are, do not glance at them, that would tip him off to it being you. Throw only what she needs in a suitcase—get one of those from Goodwill too in case he sewed tracking devices into all of theirs. Leave her cell phone there. Change her appearance as much as you can as soon as you leave the house in case he has posters made for a missing person. Maybe pick up a wig for her at Goodwill too. And clothing that is unlike anything she’d normally wear. Don’t park in the driveway. A good camera might be able to pick up the license plate. Park around the block if you can. Leave quickly to put as much distance between you and Chicago before he gets home. Bring her back here. But then don’t change your routine. Call or text her as you normally would so that he sees you’re trying to get in touch with her. Maybe even ask if she’s okay or if your dad has done something—but only if it’s a question you’d ordinarily ask. And send photos when you get to New Zealand if that’s something you’d do.
She looks over at me, stunned.
Sierra: You’ve put a lot of thought into this. Why? You don’t even know her.
Me: I think of what would have happened to my mom. What would have happened to ME, if she hadn’t had the courage to leave. If a complete stranger hadn’t intervened when he saw her in trouble.
Her eyes become glassy. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I’ll leave tonight.”
Me: Don’t thank me yet. The job is only temporary and a huge favor from my boss. She’s sympathetic and confessed that her own sister was once in a similar situation. But technically, if the IRS came snooping around, the school would get in trouble for offering room and board in lieu of wages, which isn’t exactly allowed. But I get the feeling she’ll let Tara stay until we can figure something else out. One more thing. If you think your dad tracks your phone, leave it here so you can’t be placed in Chicago when she goes missing.
Sierra: I have my own plan, but I’m going to leave it here anyway, just in case. Better to be safe than sorry. What did Beth and Blake say about all this? It’s pretty hard core, Ellie.
Me: Only three people know about this. You, me, and Candance—she’s the president of the Deaf school. Nobody else can know. From my research, I learned that the more people who know, even if they are trusted, the greater chance of slip-ups and repercussions. This has to stay between the three of us and your mom. It’s the only way it will work.
She wipes tears from her eyes. Then she breaks down sobbing. I scoot next to her and wrap her in a hug. I don’t know if she’s terrified of what her father will do if they get caught, or relieved that there’s a plan to get her mother away from him. She cries on my shoulder, her body shaking. Finally, she stills and goes back to her phone.
Sierra: Do you really think this will work? And if it does, how can I in good conscience leave her here alone to go to NZ?
Me: She won’t be alone. She’ll have me. And she’ll have you. We’ll get her a new phone so the two of you can be in constant contact.
I get a wad of cash out of my purse and hand it over.
Me: Use this. Not any credit cards. Not even for gas along the way. Your dad could trace your cards and find out where you used them and piece it together. You can’t leave any breadcrumbs for him to find. If you have any belongings still at your house from your childhood, leave them. No matter how sentimental they are. If he notices anything but her clothes missing, it could point to you. The last thing we want is for him to come after you as well.
She holds the money in her hand, staring at it in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me.”
Me: This is what you do for family.
Another tear escapes her eye. “I love you, Ellie.” She pulls me in for a hug. I let her hug me long and hard. Then I teach her how to say the words in ASL.