these few seconds, I have disconnected, lost an understanding of time and place—certainly lost a sense of urgency; somewhere out there are marshals and Bovaros and bullets. “You’re all right, girl,” I say, returning myself to the moment.
I need to look out the window again and make sure the marshal is safely distanced, but I can’t stop staring at Melody, the way she is trying to read my eyes, the look on her face that shows a sign of hope that the punishment she’d anticipated will not be forthcoming.
“You’re not going to kill me, are you.”
Her brave statement chops the connection, frees me up. “Please. If I’d come here to kill you, you’d be fighting rigor mortis and I’d be halfway to Brooklyn.” Truth: If anyone else had come here to kill you. “You think that fed they got protecting you is gonna step in and save the day?”
I pull out my cigarettes and stare at them, realize my addiction is out of control; it takes everything I’ve got to shove them back in my jacket.
“Sean’s a good guy,” she says.
“Yeah? Then go have tea and crumpets with him. But don’t trust the man with your life. He’s not a good marshal.” She wipes her eyebrows and forehead. “I think what you really meant is he’s the good guy, the way you see me as the bad guy… but I’m going to convince you that I’m actually the better one.”
She holds her ground, is tougher than anyone I ever had to bang around; I find it really distracting. “I think you’re underestimating the situation you’re in right now,” she says.
I’ve really got to look out the window again, but I’m playing this hand out, willing to take a real risk if it means leaving an impression on Melody.
“Look,” I say, “I’ve watched a lot of feds over the course of my life. They’ve lingered around our homes and neighborhoods like unwanted relatives, like party crashers, and I can tell you this guy they assigned to you is distracted, completely uninvolved in your case.” I hold out my arms to put myself on display. “Obviously.”
“I trust him.”
I walk right up to her. “C’mon, you feel safe right now?”
She looks into my eyes, then drops her head halfway down, then finally all the way to the floor. She shakes her head slowly. “No.”
I let it sink in, allow a moment to pass before I slide toward the door and say, “Get a good night’s rest. I’m coming back for you in the morning. I just wanted to let you know I was here—and that you’ll need to leave with me. I’ll explain tomorrow, but please understand: I’m your only chance.”
One last look out the window—he’s still on the beach, but starting to move—and the doorknob is in my gloved hand.
“Wait!” Melody gets to her feet. “What do you mean?”
“What confused you, Melody?”
She looks at me like she just got unexpected results from a pregnancy test. Her eyes are locked on my face and her lips are moving slowly, like she’s repeating something to herself; it occurs to me that it’s probably been who knows how many years since someone has called her by her real name. It’s like I flipped a switch.
Finally, she says, “Where, uh… where exactly do you think you’re taking me tomorrow?”
I can’t tell if she’s trying to pry information to leak to the marshal. At this point I just want her to consider what I’m offering, to think about why I’m here, why I’m letting her go. To want to know more in the morning, to ask me why I’m her only chance.
“A road trip,” I say. “Melody, listen—I want you to believe me on one important thing, okay? I am not going to hurt you. But you have to come with me in the morning, and we’ll have to move very quickly.”
She catches me off guard with her response. “Ludicrous. What about Sean? What on earth would I tell him?”
“Nothing. Just have breakfast with the guy and tell him everything is fine. Don’t worry. I’ll come and find you. I’ll explain it all later.”
“You seriously don’t think he’ll find out about you? Please.”
I wave her toward the window, flip up a slat of the blinds for her to look out. “Are you telling me that guy is gonna be your hero?” We both watch as he picks up a handful of shells or stones and chucks them into the Chesapeake, one at a time.