The Hardest Thing

marine.
    I climbed into the bed, put my arms around him and felt that fine, slim body pressing against me as he woke. “Hey, Dan.” He sounded happy and relaxed, as if we were on holiday. “What time is it?” He pushed the hair out of his eyes.

    “About four in the afternoon. Time to get up, Sleeping Beauty.”
    He wriggled his butt against me. “Not yet.”
    “’Fraid so, Jody. C’mon.” I pulled the covers back and sat up. “Things to do.”
    “Oh.” He looked around. “I remember.” He put his hand to his forehead, felt the bump where he’d walked into that tree. “Shit.”
    “Are you hungry?”
    “Yeah.” He sounded depressed.
    “Okay.” There were some canned goods in the cabin, and plenty of water. I could rustle up something and call it breakfast.
    “Are we safe?”
    “For now.”
    “What happened?”
    “What do you remember?”
    He got out of bed and went to the door. “Jesus. We’re in the woods.”
    “Very good.”
    “The motel. That guy. You…”
    “Yeah.”
    “Not a dream then.” He rubbed his face. “It’s not fair. The bad stuff never is.”
    “Franks and beans okay?”
    He pulled a face, then smiled. “If you’re cooking it, it’s fine.”
    After a bit of fiddling I lit the stove, opened a can, got busy. Under different circumstances, this would be my idea of the perfect holiday—simple pleasures, nobody to bother us, fresh air, silence. Relocate me several hundred miles to the west—up in Washington State or
Wisconsin or somewhere—and I’d be happy. Here in the White Mountains, our security was compromised.
    I needed more information.
    “Here you go.” I put the pan on the cabin steps and handed him a spoon. We passed it between us, mouthful after mouthful, chewing in silence. When Jody had scooped up the last of the beans, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and kissed me on the mouth.
    “That was good.”
    “Thanks.”
    “What now?”
    “Talk.”
    “Yeah.” He sighed, slumping forward. “Thought as much.”
    “Is there anything you need to tell me, Jody? Any details you’ve forgotten about?”
    “What kind of thing?”
    “Like—I don’t know.” Like why Julian Marshall the Second is trying to kill you. “Stuff you don’t understand. Things people might have said.” I didn’t point out that I’ve been trained in interrogation techniques. Jody’s not that up on current affairs or recent history. Not sure the words “Abu Ghraib” mean much to him.
    “There’s a lot I don’t understand.” He looked sideways at me, gauging my reaction.
    “Let’s take it one piece at a time.”
    “I don’t know how anyone knew we were in that motel.”
    “Okay.”
    “And I don’t know why we haven’t gone to the police.”
    “Don’t you?”

    He stared out at the trees. “Was that a rat?”
    “That was a chipmunk.”
    “Cute. Never seen one of…”
    “Anything else?”
    “No. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
    “The truth, Jody. The whole truth.”
    If at this point he’d put his hand on my leg and started licking his lips to distract me, I might have walked away and left him, even after everything we’d been through. If he’s using sex to distract me, to lie to me—well, he’s done a damn good job so far. But now the game has changed. If he’s worth anything at all, he’ll know it.
    He said nothing, stared out into the trees.
    After a minute he said, “I fucking hate the countryside.”
    I nodded.
    “I want to go home.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “But I don’t have a home, do I?”
    Silence again, then he looked me right in the eyes. “Ask me some questions.”
    “Okay. Who knew we were booked into the Starlight Motel in Lincoln, New Hampshire?”
    “The guy on the desk.”
    “Sure.”
    “The waitress.”
    “Maybe. Did we tell her?”
    “Can’t remember.”
    “Who else?”
    He paused, then nodded. “Ferrari.”
    “Exactly. Ferrari.”
    “Shit.”

    “And why haven’t we gone to the police, Jody?”
    “Because you killed that guy?”
    “Maybe, maybe not. But that’s not the reason, is it?”
    “Because you’re afraid of the police.”
    “Not particularly. But in this case…” I nodded my head. “Maybe.”
    “What have you done?”
    “Me? Nothing much. Illegal firearms, I guess. The rest I can explain. I’m one of the good guys.”
    “Good for you.”
    “And you, Jody? Are you one of the good guys?”
    His shoulders heaved up and down, and he put a hand over his face. I gave him a