The Rules for Breaking (7 page)

Rules for disappearing
by Witness Protection prisoner #18A7R04M:

You can only disappear successfully if you know who you need to disappear from.

New rule by Anna Boyd:

Disappearing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

place is beautiful. The barge ride scared me, but it was worth it to get to the other side. We’re on a meandering dirt road that weaves through a thick forest of trees where a thousand shades of green are on display. And there’s a ton of wildlife. Deer, squirrels, and rabbits stop eating and stare at the car as we drive by. There’s even a particularly nasty-looking snake stretched out across the road, I guess taking a nap or something, and it seems in no big hurry to slither out of our way.

As we drive, little pockets open up in the woods where a field or small pond hides.

Ethan and his dad are in heaven, based on the expressions on their faces. They’re looking at the deer with a different kind of appreciation than mine, which concerns me a bit. Maybe there’s a hog problem here to keep them busy and the sweet little deer alive.

“Won’t be long now.” Ethan’s grin is a mile wide.

Dad visibly relaxed once we disembarked from the barge. The forest thins out and some cabins come into sight up ahead.

“How many people own a piece of this camp?” Dad asks.

Mr. Landry had explained most of it when we first got in the car. He said this was a private hunting camp and the island was owned by the members.

“Twenty-two including us.”

Mr. Landry called the caretaker who looks after the place and arranged for him to deliver some food. He lives in the town we passed about thirty minutes ago. He also verified we’d be the only ones here since hunting season ended a few weeks back.

We pull into a campground area and there are about fifteen cabins all clustered together. A few are bigger and nicer than our house back in Natchitoches while others are nothing more than a house trailer with an attached porch.

Ethan points to a modest-looking camp, not big, but cute. The exterior walls are covered in old-looking bluish gray boards that are varied in width, making an unorganized but nice pattern. A porch stretches across the front, and black shutters frame the windows. Matching rockers stand guard by the door. “It’s that one.”

We can’t get out of the car fast enough. Ethan starts unloading bags and only struggles physically with mine.

“Why is your duffel so big?” Emma squeals. “He told me a small bag for a few days. Mom!”

I grab my bag and haul it inside before she can say anything else. The inside is what I think a camp would look like: an old black stove thing with a chimney and mismatched furniture that looks really worn in and cozy. A small staircase anchored against the back wall.

Teeny runs upstairs and back down again before I can figure out where to set my bag.

“There are bunk beds upstairs! I call top bunk!”

Mrs. Landry walks through the place then assigns rooms. “Anna, Elena, and Emma can have the room with bunk beds at the top of the stairs to the left. Richard, you can take the one on the right. We’ll stay in the room down here. Ethan you get the couch.”

Emma is not happy when she discovers there is no cell phone reception on this island. Mr. Landry must have known and mentioned this to Agent Williams before we left, since he was given a satellite phone to be used for an emergency. Other than that we are cut off.

It’s going to be a long couple of days.

Teeny must be thinking the same thing when she asks, “How long do you think we’re going to be here?”

I watch her for signs of that sad little girl that defined her for the better part of the year. She seems to be handling this fairly well, so I don’t lie.

“I don’t know. Agent Williams seems to think this will all be wrapped up in a few days. We could survive a month if we had to with the stash of groceries down there, though.”

Teeny climbs up to the top bunk. “I don’t want to be around when Emma figures that out.”

It’s midmorning by the time I make it downstairs. Teeny puts on a strong front while she’s awake but she woke up screaming last night. It took a while to get her back to sleep and then I was wired. Emma evicted Ethan from the couch and he ended up on the floor in a sleeping bag.

“Did you catch up on some sleep?” Ethan asks me.

We’re in the main living area where Ethan and his dad are checking to make sure the guns they brought are loaded before putting them into a cabinet. Emma picks up a rifle and starts opening and closing parts and lots of other things I don’t understand. I’ve heard she’s as good of a shot as Ethan.

I nod and rub my eyes. Teeny’s in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, looking fresh and alert and completely normal, like last night didn’t happen.

While the guys go outside to chop some firewood, Mrs. Landry decides to teach Teeny and me how to bake, since there isn’t much else to do.

I should be peeved over the obvious gender stereotypes in play here, but chopping wood looks hard so I’m going to leave them to it.

It was actually fun at first. Mrs. Landry is like my old kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Wilcox—she has the same sugary sweet voice and explains everything like we’re five years old—so it’s not surprising when she starts in with the corny cupcake jokes.

“Why did the cupcake crash his car?” she asks.

I glance at Emma who rolls her eyes, but not in her normal bitchy way. She’s giggly and answers her mother with an exaggerated
“Why?”

Mrs. Landry waits a moment for dramatic effect and answers, “Because he was baked.”

Emma, Teeny, and I laugh, and that is the only push Mrs. Landry needs to keep the jokes rolling.

“Why did the cupcake major in restaurant management?”

We all groan in anticipation of the answer.

“Why?” Teeny asks.

“It wanted to be a Hostess.”

And they only get cornier.

Emma moves closer to me and whispers, “Dad got her this culinary joke-a-day calendar and we’ve been subjected to cooking humor ever since. Who knew there were so many jokes about a cupcake?”

We have a really nice afternoon and I’m glad to see Emma loosen up.

But watching Mrs. Landry and Emma makes me think about Mom and how this could have easily been a scene from our kitchen back in Scottsdale. Or maybe it’s the hope of a scene we may have in the future in Natchitoches. Teeny must have been thinking the same thing, because she got quiet and wasn’t interested in learning how to make roses out of icing.

By early afternoon, we’d made two cakes, twenty-four cupcakes, and three pies.

I’m cleaning up after our baking extravaganza when I feel a tug on the back on my shirt.

“Want to sneak out of here for a little while?”

It’s Ethan, wearing a devilish smile, and one I won’t even try to resist. Glancing around the kitchen, I know I should stay and finish the dishes, but I’m not losing this opportunity to be alone with him.

“Lead the way.”

With my hand in his, we bolt from the camp and dash down the gravel road. Winding around a few of the other camps, we stop in front of a rather large one.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“It’s a surprise.”

Not letting go of my hand, we make our way to the back of the house and up a set of stairs that leads to a balcony. I’m shocked when I make it to the top.

There’s an old-timey black potbelly stove with a roaring fire inside next to a hammock loaded with pillows and blankets. It’s colder here than I thought it would be, so the fire is a nice surprise.

I dive into the hammock without thinking twice and Ethan, after putting his jacket on the floor, isn’t far behind me. It takes some moving around and a little readjusting before we’re all cuddled up just right.

“How did you know this is exactly what I needed?” I say.

“Because this is what I needed, too.”

And then he kisses me. We’re close, very close, since our bodies have settled into the center. The blankets and fire have made it warm and toasty and the slight sway of the hammock mimics the rhythm of our bodies moving against each other.

His hands slip under the edge of my T-shirt and his calloused fingertips burn a trail up my back.

Ethan buries his head in the crook of my neck and mumbles something I can’t understand, then he’s back to kissing me in my favorite spot just behind my ear.

He moves over me until I’m pinned beneath him, his forearms framing my face and bracing his weight. The hammock closes in around us and it’s like we’re in our own safe little cocoon.

“I would give anything to stay just like this for the foreseeable future,” he says with that dimpled grin.

“Me, too.” I feel desperate. And anxious. But hopeful. And that is a new and wonderful feeling. “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a really long time.”

We stay in the hammock for longer than we probably should and only move to get out when Ethan mentions he doesn’t want our dads, armed with shotguns, to find us here like this.

We hold hands walking back to the cabin and I hate to think how miserable it would have been to leave Natchitoches without him.

“Well, there you are. I was about to send out a search party.” Mrs. Landry gives Ethan an arched eyebrow and a look that means they will be discussing this later. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”

I can feel the blush that races across my cheeks.

“We didn’t leave the campground,” Ethan answers back, his tone a little stronger than I’ve ever heard him use to his mother.

“Just the same. Don’t leave without telling someone where you are going and taking some protection with you.”

Oh God! My face is on fire.

Ethan pulls a handgun out of his coat pocket and drops it on the table. “I know better than to walk around without a gun.”

Guns. She was talking about a gun…not the
other
kind of protection. I hope it isn’t obvious my mind went straight to the gutter. It didn’t occur to me to take a gun. Ethan is definitely more prepared for this than I am. And now that I think about it, even when the men chop wood, they’re armed. And I’ve noticed that Dad and Mr. Landry took turns staying up last night. When Teeny started screaming in her sleep, Dad was in our room, armed and dressed, before I was fully awake. It’s so quiet here, it’s hard to remember that we may be in danger.

Mrs. Landry gives Ethan some chores and scoots him out of the kitchen. I turn to the sink and realize all the dishes are clean and drying on the rack. Guilt swallows me up instantly.

“It’s okay. I knocked them out.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Landry. We didn’t want anyone to worry.”

She puts an arm around me and pulls me in close. “I’d be worried about you even if you were sitting right in front of me and I had a shotgun pointed at the door. I just hate that this is happening to you. And Ethan.” She moves a stray piece of hair out of my face. “I understand the need to spend some time alone. Just be smart about it, okay?”

I duck my head so she won’t see the tears forming in my eyes. It’s been so long since a mother figure has worried about me. Or hugged me so tight. Pearl’s done a good job filling in the holes, but she likes to come off gruff. I miss my mother.

By morning of day three, Agent Williams calls the satellite phone with some great news. They’ve found Daniel Sanders and he’s in custody. He warns us that we’ll be here a little longer since they are hoping to catch Thomas before we come home.

We’re so relieved by this news that another few days seems like no big deal.

Well, to everyone except Emma.

Mr. Landry and Dad both use the phone to check in back home. Dad asks for a little more time off of work and Mr. Landry talks to Will’s dad, who is his partner in the farm. Luckily for him, this is the slow time of year; crops won’t be planted for a few weeks so it’s not a bad time for him to be gone. Ethan, Emma, Teeny, and I will have a ridiculous amount of schoolwork to make up, but if it means we get to stay in Natchitoches, it will be worth it.

Ethan is wrestling with the clothes in the laundry room when I poke my head back in.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Mom assigned me dirty clothes duty today.” He holds up one of Emma’s bras. “Sister or not, this is uncomfortable.”