“Did you find what you were looking for?” May greets me as I return to the corner. She must have been concerned that I might run or get lost. I don’t like that she has me on her mind. Play it cool, Jane.
“No, but I found mittens and stuff for my mom and dad.”
I open the bag and show her the mittens and hat.
“Those are cute-you got them at Dowden’s?”
I look down at the white paper bag and notice the little Dowden’s logo on it. Damn it, Jane. You want to blow this. That’s becoming clear.
“I didn’t like what Lila’s had. It all smelled of mothballs.”
The attendant smiles and says, “I’m not much of a vintage gal myself. You know, Dowden’s isn’t on the list, Jane.”
“Can that be our secret?” I say, with the deftness of a lifetime liar at the peak of her game. “I wasn’t thinking about that when I went in; it was just close by and I wanted to get back here in time.” I pause for a minute, searching her face, which is unreadable.
“I’m not a substance abuser, you know,” I add in a rush. “That’s not my bag; you could check my records. Really. I know it’s important not to be late, too.”
She smiles, nods, and winks at me.
We make small talk after that and exchange our family Christmas rituals. She’s from a don’t-open-presents-until-morning family and we are a blow-your-brains-out-before-morning family, so we didn’t have a lot in common. I lie, of course, and say we are also never-before-morning present openers. Blah blah blah.
Before I get on the bus, I give her an impromptu hug, which she returns. It makes her feel special and, hopefully, that will seal her silence. She likes me now and we have a secret; she’ll never turn me in, right?
It’s only five after one when the bus pulls out of Powder River. I sit in the back, which looks weird because I’m one of only three people on the bus. Be normal, Jane. Just do normal things.
My heart starts to pound fast, my lungs seize up a bit, and I wonder if the woman five rows ahead of me can hear it and if she suspects why I’m here. Nobody knows about the Plan, I tell myself. I’m just a girl flying home to New Jersey. I’m not from Life House. How could they tell? I look myself up and down. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all.
The bus rolls through town and then hits the highway to the airport. I see a rabbit dash across the snow, and I wonder how big the world must seem through those eyes. Or if the landscape is seriously abbreviated because he’s so low to the ground. Or maybe the rabbit can’t see very far at all and therefore nothing matters. I’ll never know; I can’t look it up at home. My mind races a million miles per hour. I am driving myself bonkers, so I close my eyes, steady my breath, and imagine the deep, blue-black horizon I’ll be seeing through the airplane window. Slowly, I feel a sense of relief and quiet wash through me. I am so close now, I tell myself over and over.
Twenty minutes more and we are at the airport. It’s one fifty-eight, two minutes ahead of schedule. My heartbeat slows. My mind clears. I can taste oblivion.
I walk off the bus with determination and more confidence than I’ve felt in years. It is a kind of euphoria, and I remind myself to ignore its siren-it is not a feeling I can hold on to. It only exists because I am preparing to execute the Plan. Nothing more complicated than that-don’t let your mind play tricks on you, Jane. I felt this feeling before my first “incident.” Don’t believe for a second this is a feeling you can sustain. This is your body trying to trick your mind into giving up the Plan.