Shame

“Polo.”
    “Give me the keys to your car,” Caleb said.
    He got up from the sofa, staggering for a moment on unsteady legs.
    “Look at you,” said Lola. “You’re ill.”
    “Give me the keys
now
.”
    “You’re too sick to do this alone.”
    He took a threatening step toward her.
    “Let me go with you.” She moved back, trying to keep her purse away from him.
    Caleb grabbed her by the arm. His hands were merciless. She squealed with pain as he wrenched the purse from her hands. He didn’t acknowledge her hurt. Seeing his face, Lola backed away from him.
    But it’s only fear for his family that’s showing, Lola told herself. “I can hide in the backseat of the car,” she said. “I can help you.”
    He turned the purse over and started emptying its contents.
    “You need me,” she said. “Not two hours ago you were out of your mind with fever. You’re still not thinking clearly. You couldn’t be. Or else you wouldn’t just be walking into his trap.”
    He found the keys.
    “You’d be thinking how to stop him once and for all. That’s how you can make your family safe. Not by sacrificing yourself.”
    He started to walk toward the door, but Lola stepped in his path. She spoke quickly before he could throw her out of the way. “We can talk things out in the car. Together we can come up with some kind of plan.”
    Caleb didn’t push her aside. He looked at Lola and she at him. His eyes frightened her. They looked into her and made her reconsider what she was trying to do. I’m not brave, Lola thought, and I’m not a brave. I am a Two-Spirit. And I’m very afraid.
    All I need to do is look away, she thought. That would say everything without her saying anything. As he passed by she could tell him Godspeed and God bless. And then, to make herself feelbetter, she could call the police. She could promise herself that somehow she’d get the goddamn cavalry out to help him.
    But that would be a lie, and she wasn’t good at lying to herself. Not now, not anymore. Oh, she’d tried telling herself lies for the longest time, but she had always known what was true and what wasn’t. Like now. She was afraid, and there was reason to be scared, but to deny Caleb would be like denying herself.
    “Okay,” he said.
    She steadied him, and he steadied her, as they walked out to her car. Before getting inside she said, “I have to go get something.”
    He sat there for a minute, wondering if he should turn the ignition, wondering if she just wanted him to drive away, and just when he’d decided that she did, Lola returned with a bag and an Indian blanket in hand. She opened the passenger door, put the seat forward, then went to the backseat and lay down.
    Caleb started the car. When he looked back in the rearview mirror she had all but disappeared under the blanket, but he could still hear her rustling through the bag.
    “What did you bring?”
    “My medicine bag. A Bible. Some clothes. Oh—and a gun.”

34

    L ET ME OUT. Lola practiced mouthing the words under her blanket. Lip-synching almost made them a reality. Lola knew that she only needed to say those three words and she’d be safe. But they were fifteen minutes into the drive and she still hadn’t said them.
    She heard a cough from the front seat that sounded as if it was covering a sob. Though he was physically sick and mentally tortured, Caleb was still trying to maintain a brave front. She knew without his saying anything that all he could think about was his children.
    “Maybe we should discuss a plan,” Lola said. Her words seemed to echo back at her, smothered by the blanket covering her.
    His hard tone overcompensated for his pain. “How’s this? Loan me your gun and I’ll kill him.”
    “The gun’s yours. I’ve always doubted I could pull the trigger anyway.”
    “That won’t be a problem for me.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “He’s not going to just let you shoot him,” Lola said. “He’ll be watching you, manipulating you.”
    And making sure no one’s helping you.
She could tell him that, make Caleb think her presence was jeopardizing his children, and he’d be the one to insist she leave the car. That way he would be making the decision. She could live with that, couldn’t she?
    But instead she said, “He might fix it so he knows you don’t have a weapon on you.”
    “I’ll use my hands, then.”
    Caleb’s voice was measured, even anticipatory. She shivered a little.
    “Don’t let