Chapter 44 #2
Marc kept me company even if he didn’t know it. I talked to him, told him stories I hadn’t yet gotten around to, asked him questions I would never get the answers to, and imagined I was in his arms when I fell asleep.
Hilary came and went three times a day, the doctor arrived for my twenty-four-week checkup, then again when I hit twenty-eight weeks.
I’d begun to feel the baby move shortly after my solitary began, and by week twenty-eight, was able to feel him from the outside.
I would sit for hours with my hand on my stomach, which was now so big it would have been impossible to hide that I was pregnant, and wait for my son to be active.
He was the size of an eggplant now, according to the doctor, and probably close to two pounds.
Even more importantly, he had reached the point where if he were born, he just might make it.
I talked to my son, wanting him to know the sound of my voice, and told him everything I knew about his father. How kind and loving he was, how much he wanted us to be a family. I cried. I prayed. I asked God to do something to save us but never really expected it.
My prayers were answered when I was thirty weeks along.
It happened shortly after sunset. I was lying in bed, talking to my baby when the click of the lock being disengaged cut through the silence.
The lamps were off, so I sat up and reached for the bedside table.
Light flooded the room just as the door was thrown open, and even though the brightness nearly blinded me, I recognized Marc immediately.
“We have to go.” He rushed into the room, yanked the dresser drawer open, and pulled out a few things at random. “Now, Ara. There isn’t much time.”
I shoved the covers off and dragged myself from bed, groaning at the pulling of ligaments when I moved.
Marc turned, clothes in his hand, and despite his urgency, froze at the sight of me.
I was wearing only a t-shirt, and he hadn’t seen me in ten weeks, and my body had changed so much in that time.
“Holy shit.” Marc rushed toward me, knelt, and put the hand not clutching my clothes on my stomach. “You’re so big.”
“The baby is so big,” I replied.
“Our baby,” Marc whispered.
He stayed like that for a few seconds, but as if remembering why he was here, shook his head and got to his feet. He thrust the clothes he’d taken from my dresser at me, forcing me to take them, then began hurrying around the room, picking things up at random.
“I have a car, but our window of opportunity is short, and we can’t be long.” He grabbed my shoes off the floor, then picked up a sweatshirt I’d discarded earlier that day. “We have to go, Ara!”
The last sentence was uttered with even more urgency than everything else he’d said, but it wasn’t enough to penetrate my shock. He had a car? We were leaving? It couldn’t be real.
“Where did you get a car?”
My sweatshirt, shoes, and a few items were in his arms when he hurried over. “I had help. A friend. He’s causing a distraction so we can get away, but we don’t have much time. We have to go.”
I was still confused.
“We’re leaving?”
Marc let out an exasperated breath, but tossed my things on the bed so he could take my hands.
“Listen very carefully, Ara. We can get out of here. I have a car and funds for gas, and if we leave now, we can be in Canada early tomorrow morning. We’ll be together and free, and the US government won’t be able to touch our baby. We’ll be safe, but we have to go. Now.”
Finally, reality set in. I was getting out of here. I was going to be with Marc. We could keep our baby.
I ripped my hands from his and got busy.
Marc talked as I got dressed. “I have a road atlas, which is going to suck, but we can’t risk using my cell phone.
As soon as they realize we’re both gone, they’ll put two and two together.
All we have to do is stay off main roads and get to Canada.
They’ll grant us asylum when you tell them you were being held here. ”
“What about you?” I asked as I pulled a sweatshirt over my head. “Will they let you stay?”
Marc exhaled. “That’s a little more questionable, but I think so.”
I sat on the edge of the bed so I could pull my shoes on. It was no easy feat since my stomach was now so big, but with a little maneuvering, I managed.
“You think so?” I asked. “What does that mean?”
“The stories I’ve read on the Internet about people seeking refuge in Canada are sketchy, but there have been some reports of entire families being granted entrance. Either way, we have to risk it. It’s not like we can stay here.”
He was right. Here we would be ripped apart, our baby stolen, and we would never see one another again. I wouldn’t let that happen.
I stood once my shoes were tied. “I’m ready.”
Instead of moving for the door, Marc pulled a small knife from his pocket. “There’s just one more thing we have to do before we go.”
He took my left hand and slid the blade under the wristband. It fell to the ground with a quiet but satisfying thud, and like a prisoner who’d just had handcuffs removed, I rubbed my wrist. It was a relief to have the thing gone.
I hadn’t left the room in ten weeks, and stepping over the threshold felt like getting out of prison.
Which was technically true. Marc locked the door behind us so it wouldn’t be obvious that I’d left, then led the way through the house, which was quiet and dark with the exception of a light in the kitchen.
There was supposed to be someone on duty at all times, and I briefly wondered where they were, but pushed the thought aside when we reached the front door and Marc shoved it open.
The night air was cool but welcoming since I hadn’t been outside in weeks. The snowdrifts had been huge at the time, but were now well on their way to melting, and the ground was slushy and wet. It squished under my shoes as Marc led me toward the road where a car sat waiting.
“Get in,” Marc said when we reached it.
He released my hand, waved to the passenger side, then hurried around the front while I climbed in.
The headlights were off even though the engine was on, and the interior was nice and toasty.
It was a relief because my thin sweatshirt hadn’t been enough to protect me from the frigid night air and I was chilled to the bone.
Marc slammed the door once he was behind the wheel.
“Are the roads clear?” I asked as he threw the car into drive.
“Yes,” he said, accelerating without flipping on the headlights. “I would have had you out earlier, but winter has been longer than usual, and I had to wait. They’re finally okay, though.”
Thank God.
It wasn’t until he started driving that I noticed the orange glow in the distance.
“What’s that?”
“The distraction,” was Marc’s reply.
I didn’t know what that meant until we got closer to the main building. It was only then that I realized the glow was coming from the other side, which was when it hit me what it was.
“It’s on fire,” I whispered, terrified by the thought.
The building was full of women and even some babies – although like Bette, most mothers were moved shortly after they gave birth. Were the people inside safe? Would they be able to get out? What had Marc been thinking?
“Don’t worry,” he said as we neared the building, “it’s the shed at the side. It’s far enough away from the main building that no one should be in danger.”
I turned in my seat as we passed the hotel, craning my neck.
The shed Marc was referring to was now visible, as were dozens of people.
Flames poured from the windows and doors of the small structure while soldiers rushed around, carrying buckets.
It even looked like some were tossing snow onto the flames, while others were dragging hoses toward the fire.
Everyone was so intent on putting it out that no one noticed the dark car driving away from the hotel.
I turned to face the front after a few seconds. “Your friend set the fire?”
“He did.” Marc glanced my way, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “He’s a good friend.”
“He must be.”
“His job gave him access to the cars, so he got me the keys and told me when to go. He even gave me his credit card so we could get gas.”
“But won’t that implicate him?”
“He’s going to say it was stolen.” Marc grinned, deepening the dimple in his left cheek. “He even ransacked his room to make it look like I’d broken in.”
“Wow.”
Marc sobered. “He’s risking a lot.”
“A lot,” I repeated.
I glanced back and watched the Stanley disappear, the lights shining from the rooms growing dimmer, then disappearing, then the orange glow fading until even that was out of sight. It was only then that I exhaled, pressed my hand to my stomach, and promised my son we would get him to safety.
It was also when I remembered Marc didn’t know it was a boy. Should I tell him?
I thought it through, but after only a few seconds, decided against it.
I hadn’t told him ten weeks ago because I knew it would be too hard for him to live with the knowledge if things went the way the Department of Fertility wanted them to.
That hadn’t changed. Not yet. I would wait until we were in Canada. Until we were safe.
We drove in silence for a bit, our progress slow since the lights were still off.
Once Marc thought we were far enough away from the hotel, though, he turned the headlights on.
They cut through the darkness, illuminating the roads, and allowing him to speed up, but not too much.
While the streets had cleared, they were still icy.
“How long did you say it would take?” I asked more to break the silence than anything.
“A little less than twelve hours.”
Half a day and we might be safe.
We traveled in tense silence, with Marc clutching the steering wheel like his life depended on it while he glanced in the rearview mirror every few seconds.
I wasn’t much better. Convinced someone was after us, I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder.
The road behind us was clear and dark, though, and there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t stay that way.
No one was going to check on me until breakfast and it was doubtful anyone would notice Marc was missing until he didn’t show up for his shift.
Still, I couldn’t relax. Couldn’t believe that it had been this easy to get away.
It wasn’t until we’d finally made it off the mountain that Marc said, “The atlas is at your feet. I know which way to head for now, but eventually, I’m going to need directions.”
I bent, groaning, and retrieved it from the floor.
The pages we needed were marked, and when I flipped on the overhead light and opened the atlas, I found our route traced in yellow highlighter.
I followed it from page to page, state to state, all the way to where Montana met the Canadian border.
It seemed like such a short distance on paper, but it was going to be long and stressful, and that there was a very good possibility someone would come after us.
My attention was pulled from the map when Marc took my hand. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I shoved the atlas between my seat and the door for the time being. “I’m in shock, I think. I didn’t really believe we could pull this off.”
“I never gave up,” he said, giving my hand a reassuring pump. “I just had to make sure the timing was right.”
“I – ” Too choked up for words, I had to swallow. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I never believed we wouldn’t be together,” he replied.
He looked away from the road, holding my gaze for a second before refocusing.
Once he had, he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
When he did it, I realized I’d been so shocked to see him and he’d been so rushed to get me out, that we hadn’t kissed before leaving my room.
It was an oversight I fixed by scooting over and pressing my lips to his.
“I love you,” I whispered before pulling away.
His voice was choked with emotion when he said, “I love you, too.”