Free Fortune's Daughter by Alice Hoffman Page B

Jessup said. “I really do. But what the hell do you expect me to do about it?”
    She didn’t have an answer.
    â€œI’m not going to be somebody’s father.”
    If he were anyone but Jessup, Rae would have sworn he was about to cry.
    â€œHere I am in the middle of some sort of crisis and you come and tell me you’re pregnant.”
    She knew it for sure now, he was crying. She was glad the lights were out and she didn’t have to see it. She wasn’t angry with him any more, just tired.
    â€œWe don’t have to talk about it now,” Rae told him. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” She put her arms around him and pretended not to know he was crying.
    â€œIt’s not like I don’t miss you,” Jessup told her. “I don’t want to, but there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.”
    She held him until he fell asleep, and then she moved back to her side of the bed. Long after midnight, when she was finally able to sleep, Rae dreamed that she left Jessup in bed and went to the window. She opened it wider and climbed outside. She dropped down two stories, and her feet landed in the sand with a thud. Right away, even though it was dark, she saw the pawprints and she followed the tracks far into the desert. The sand was the color of moonlight and the cactus grew eight feet high. All she had to do was sit down, and the coyote came right over to her, curled up by her feet, and put its head in her lap.
    It didn’t seem to matter if the coyote was her pet, or if she’d been captured. When she reached down she could feel its heart beating against its ribs, and she felt elated to be so close to something so wild. She stayed in the desert all night, and by morning she had learned all of the coyote’s secrets: she knew which cactus were rich with hidden water, and how to follow a path along sharp, bone-colored rocks. She knew how to stand so still on the top of a high ridge that rabbits ran right past you, and hawks mistook you for stone and tried to light on your shoulders. At last she knew the moment when the night was so pure, you could fight it all you wanted and still—sooner or later—you’d throw back your head and howl.
    When she got back to the motel she climbed up the railing, then crouched on the window ledge. Everyone in the Holiday Inn was asleep, covered by white sheets, dreaming of home. There was sand all along the window ledge and it spilled onto the wall-to-wall carpeting. Once Jessup turned in his sleep, and Rae held her breath. But even though he opened his eyes briefly, he didn’t see her at the window, and he never heard her climb down onto the carpet, where she slept curled up at the very edge of the room.
    When Rae woke up it was dawn, and she knew that she had to get out. She needed fresh air, and breakfast, and a change of clothes. Jessup didn’t wake up when she ran the shower; he didn’t hear the window close, he didn’t hear the door. She would think about losing him later, but this morning all she wanted was to get across the desert before noon. She left the motel room exactly as it had been before she arrived. The air conditioner was still on; the pipes in the walls made a murmuring sound; in the bathroom there were a bottle of tequila, a package of disposable razors, a plastic container of Dixie cups. Only two things were missing when Rae left: the car keys were no longer on top of the night table, and out in the parking lot the space where Jessup had left the Oldsmobile the night before was empty. By the time Jessup woke up the asphalt in the parking lot was already beginning to sizzle. By noon it would reach a hundred and fifteen degrees. But by then Rae was already out on the freeway, and with all the windows in the Oldsmobile rolled down, the only thing she could feel was a perfect arc of wind.

PART TWO

O N THE NIGHT LILA GAVE birth to her daughter she had already walked up two flights