Everything that matters is stuffed in two sacks in the back of the Jeep. Changes of clothes, my mother’s quilt, Auntie’s knitting needles, the Superman figure Arn was carving, Ethan’s comic book, any spare food and water. It’s amazing how items that used to mean the world to me I tossed without a thought. It’s easy to know what matters when what you really love is stripped from you.

The Jeep jerks and Ethan and I rock back and forth and nearly knock heads. Lying pressed together like this, it’s hard to see his face, but I feel his hand tighten around my arm. I give him a squeeze, but that’s all I can offer. My stomach’s in knots. Questions run in my mind till I’m dizzy with them. What will we have to do to free my family? How will we pull it off? What happens if I can’t get back to Ethan? Our whole plan’s paper-thin and it all hinges on Clay. Clay who I didn’t trust, who I’m not sure I do. As the sun pokes through the holes in the canvas blanket, I wonder if this will be my last day breathing free air.

We rock to a stop, gravel crunching under the tries. I hear the guard holler down. We’re here.

Clay shouts a friendly hello and the gates creak open. For him, there’s no identifying himself, no weapons confiscation. He’s a good ally to have. If only I knew for sure he was our ally.

Insides the gates, I feel the weight of what we’re doing pressing down on me until I can barely breathe. I focus on listening and trying not to move.

“Stay here. I’ll be back after dark,” Clay whispers from somewhere above.

I want to answer, but the Jeep rocks as he jumps out. He’s gone.

Three hours goes slow when you’re cramped in the back of a Jeep, trying not to make a sound.

Darkness falls. The light filtering through the canvas is a dusky gray. Ethan’s fallen asleep on my arm and I can’t feel my fingers. Every few minutes male voices shout, guns fire. Waiting makes me crazy. Where the hell is Clay? I’m about to slip up the canvas and attempt a peak when there’s a hand at my back.

“Don’t move,” the voice whispers.

We’re done for.

The canvas slips back and there’s Clay, washed and dressed in clean jeans and a fresh button-down shirt. The pearl snaps on his breast pockets wink in the twilight. I feel the rivers of sweat on my face and neck. I’m a hot mess. It doesn’t matter what I look like. Clay thinks I’m a bender, and besides, after tonight, I’ll never see him again.

As I untangle myself from Ethan, I glower at Clay’s sparkling appearance. “Nice to see you had time to get a change of clothes. Did you have a bath? A massage?” I wipe the sweat from my brow.

“Shh,” he puts a finger to his lips and then holds up a bandanna, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat and a brown coat. “You’ll be hot, but least you’ll be covered.”