They can’t keep driving for much longer with their car damaged like this. There are dents and almost ever window is just broken glass and Justin knows their car is too much of a give away to keep it. But with Olivia hurt he seriously doubts she could walk for more than half a mile without rest.
They’re on the back road to his house now, and briefly Justin considers the chance his parents have heard about his new…profession. Where will their loyalty lie? And for a split second, when he is most aware of the loveliness next to him, he wonders what his mom would have thought of Olivia in another time or place. But he’ll never know, not in this lifetime. He has no intention of making his parents aware of their visit. He couldn’t bare it. And with the time they’re making, if everything goes according to plan, they won’t have to see his parents at all.
“How’s your leg, Liv?” He asks, keeping his eyes on the road but letting one hand off the wheel to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
She sighs against him, nuzzling his neck, “It’s better, I think. The bleeding stopped, for the most part.”
Justin sighs in relief, though his shirt wrapped around her thigh is burgundy with her blood.
“Are you going to be able to tell me what to do to fix it?” He questions, a little nervous that he’ll be in charge of caring for her wound.
She laughs, soft and rich. “You’ve just got to clean and stitch it, I think you’ll be okay. Can you sew?”
It’s strange, almost insulting, to Justin that she has to ask, after all the things they’ve been through she should know by now, right? But as he answers on autopilot, that yes, he can sew, it dawns on him that whether or not he could sew would never been a point of interest for Olivia with the way their relationship has developed. And as Olivia half nods her head as her eyes flutter closed, Justin can’t help the faint sense of loss he feels when he realizes just how many little things he doesn’t know about her.
A quarter mile down the road from Justin’s house a bouncing ride and a jolting stop wakes Olivia and she lifts her head groggily. They’re parked off the road; tall grass and cattails are the only markers of the riverbank, hidden in the darkness.
“Are we here?” she asks, turning her head slowly from left to right in search of a house.
“No, Liv, not yet. We’ve got to get rid of the car, first.”
He’s been thinking about it for a while now, and it doesn’t make sense to keep the car anymore, and they can’t leave it parked in his driveway once they make it to his house if they expect it to stay a safe haven, and in the next few days everyone in the nation will know what their car looks like. Justin exits the car, jogging the distance to the passenger side door to help Olivia out. It’s better than they both expected when she puts her injured leg down and finds she can rest some weight on it.
“You can stand!” Justin exclaims, pleasantly surprised, and a little weight lifts off his chest.
Olivia nods, though still grips Justin’s bicep tightly. “I shouldn’t put too much pressure on it, though. It might start bleeding again.”
Justin presses a kiss to the top of her head and pushes a stray bit of hair behind her ear. “Hold tight,” he says and makes his way to the trunk of the car.
He pulls out three black duffle bags, each filled to the brim with new, green bills, and sets them in the damp grass at Olivia’s feet. His tommy gun seems to stare at him from the back seat, but something tells him he won’t be needing it anymore. He picks up Olivia’s father’s pistol, tucking it in the back of his pants before shifting their car into neutral and pushing until it moves on its own. Once it starts rolling it’s like an avalanche, gaining speed quickly as it rolls down the grassy hill. When it hits the surface it’s surprisingly quiet, only the subtle glub glub of water filling the coach until the car disappears under the Mississippi murk.
They walk the rest of the way to his house, Olivia’s arm around Justin’s shoulder, occasionally hopping, hobbling down the empty street. They only stop once, while Justin stashes two of the duffle bags in the brush somewhere, and carries the last one on his shoulder. By the time they make it to Justin’s house it’s well past midnight and the darkness around them is so deep the porch light seems more like a lighthouse. Together, they stand at the foot of the driveway for what feels like hours. For Justin, it’s a silent thank you to God that they’ve made it this far, that they’re finally at a safe place. For Olivia, she’s content just observing the home where her love grew into the man he’s become.
His house is a small, whitewashed rambler set far back on the property with a neat front yard and a seemingly endless back yard. On either side there are trees and not another house in sight. It’s modest and country and completely what Olivia thought Justin’s house would be. For Justin it seems strange to be bringing her home, as if he was taking her to meet his parents, not because they’ve got no where else to go and the woman he loves has a hole in her thigh.
They totter towards the kitchen door; the lock has always been a little flimsy and Justin knows with the right finesse opening it is simple. The door swings open, creaking like old homes do, but in this heightened sense of silence it sounds more like a bomb. The kitchen is deserted, thankfully, and Justin guides Olivia carefully to a seat at the kitchen table. He pulls a chair out, which grinds painfully loud against the wood of the floor. She sighs when she sits down, holding her wounded leg out straight.
"I'll be right back, okay?" Justin promises. "What exactly do I need?"
Olivia looks at her leg as she counts his materials off on her fingers. "rubbing alcohol, a needle and thread, bandages if you can find them, clean rags if you can't."
Justin nods, solemnly before he presses a kiss to the crown of her head and quietly exits the room in search of supplies.
Olivia’s eyes follow him as he leaves, but she's alone now and she takes her time observing where he grew up. There's a red teapot on the stove that looks old and loved, and a few dirty dishes in the sink. There are pictures on the wall, Justin in every one, smiling, laughing, hugging, loving, and Olivia feels like the people in those frames are another world away from where she and Justin are now. She sighs, wondering for the second time today if this life is what she really wants for herself.
Justin returns with what he's managed to scrounge up. There's rubbing alcohol and a sewing kit in his arms, but bandages are nowhere to be found. He sets the supplies down at her feet before opening a kitchen drawer and pulling a few rags out from it and filling a small bowl with warm water. He crouches in front of her, then, and slowly rolls up her dress, exposing more and more of her milky white flesh. She shudders when his knuckles graze the inside of her thigh as he inspects her injury, and Justin fights the urge to walk his fingers up to where her legs meet. His eyes lock with hers and he is surprised to find them a little dilated, his eyebrows raise and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she shrugs.
His dress shirt is hard to remove. The blood from the gunshot has long since dried and Olivia whimpers as he peels it away, especially as he reaches closer to her wound. Once Olivia is free of the shirt they're both finally able to inspect the damage. The shot is a through and through on the outside of her thigh, and luckily – beyond lucky – missed her femoral artery. Justin can see both the exit and entry wounds without lifting her thigh from where it was resting on the chair. Justin grabs a rag and dunks it in the small bowl of warm water he got from the sink and begins washing away the brownish-red dried blood from her thigh. Silence descends again, only the trickling of water sounding through the room. The hardest part was next, Justin knew. He took a clean rag and held it about an inch below where the bullet entered Olivia’s thigh. With his other hand he took the bottle of rubbing alcohol and drizzles a bit over her wound. Olivia hisses, jolting forward to grip onto Justin’s shoulders as he pours more.
It’s the worst feeling she’d ever had. Worse than the bullet itself. The rubbing alcohol lingers and reawakens the pain from the first shot all over again. But when the pain ebbs away, and the bright white spots in her vision disappear, her eyes focus on Justin. His face a pale, white sheet of worry, and he puts the alcohol down to dab the excess wetness from the entry wound.
He can’t handle seeing her like this, he thinks, and he especially hates to be the one causing her this pain. So he distracts her.
"I used to sit here and eat my breakfast." Justin remarks, almost randomly, folding the rag formulaically before positioning it under the exit wound and going to work on Olivia again.
He pours as he talks. "I would be wide awake so early on the weekends, before my mom and dad were even close to getting up, and I’d get so bored waiting for them. So I would creep out of my room and try to make myself breakfast.” Olivia gasps as he dabs the shot dry, but Justin continues his story in hushed whispers and consoling strokes on her unwounded thigh. “Most of the time I'd just have cereal or something easy, but one time I tried to fry myself an egg and almost burned the house down."
And he’s done, no more rubbing alcohol, and the worst is over.
Olivia stares at Justin, observing him in what seems like critical air before attempting to stifle her laughter with her fist. "doesn't seem like much has changed then, has it?" she asks.
"What?" Justin asks indignantly, "I can cook!" he half yells half whispers threading the needle and burning the tip with a lighter he pulls from his pocket.
Olivia's laughter continues as he starts to stitch, growing more and more hysterical each time she glances down at him.
For the first time since they left the bank in Kentucky, Justin's heart feels as light as it did when he first laid eyes on her back at their university. He’s chuckling to himself as he stitches when he feels her hands, which had still been resting on his shoulders squeeze roughly drawing his attention back to her face.
“Justin,” she whispers, her skin paler than it was before, like they’re back to square one again and she just got shot. She shakes her head and juts her chin behind him.
He turns quickly, expecting that the police have discovered their hide out, but instead he finds his mother, an old shotgun clutched in her hands and looking as if she’s seen a ghost.
Justin gasps when he sees her; this was not part of the plan. A million thoughts fly through his mind; there are guns on the counter and thousands of dollars stuffed in a bag by the kitchen door, but mostly, sheepishly, the thought that he finds he’s most worried about is the fact that his mother’s first sight of him after four years is in between the legs of a woman with her dress around her hips.
“Mom!” he gasps, surprised. And like a light has been switched on she drops the gun to the floor with a clatter and rushes towards him, hugging him like she hasn’t seen him in years. Because she hasn’t.
Olivia watches on like the stranger to this house she is, watches as Justin’s mother cups his cheeks and looks at him in the way only a mother can, checking for scrapes or bruises, or better yet, bullet holes. It’s heartwarming and if Olivia had the time to wrack her brain, it’s something she has always wanted to see. But when Justin’s mother stops her fussing and sets her eyes onto Olivia she feels only one thing – nervousness. A small breeze brushes past her calves and Olivia realizes how unbecoming it must look, besides the obvious dishevelment of Olivia’s person, for her dress raised far, far too high to even pretend to be ladylike.
Justin watches his mom apprehensively, observing as her eyes dart from the two pistols resting on her kitchen counter to Olivia’s damaged thigh, to the large black duffle bag by the kitchen door, and then back to Olivia, only this time resting on her face. For a split second Justin thinks his mother may not be happy with what she’s put together in her brain, but when she rushes forward to Olivia he knows they’ll be okay.
“Goodness, Justin, what on earth?”
It’s not a question Justin feels like, or ever planned on explaining to his mother, and coupled with the stress he’s sure Olivia is feeling, the truth is the last thing on his mind.
His response tumbles from his mouth, swallowing words he doesn’t want to say, eventually stuttering out, “There was an accident, Mom.”
Lynn nods and steels herself as she begins sewing where Justin left off, ordering him from behind her back to go into the spare bathroom where she keeps an extra first aid kit.
Justin leaves and Olivia is left with his mom, who’s currently on her knees sewing a gun shot wound Olivia acquired from robbing a bank with her son. Justin never showed a picture of his family to Olivia, but it would be impossible to miss that this woman is his mother. Her eyes, nose, mouth, hair, they’re just like Justin’s and Olivia finds herself blinking back tears. It’s a terribly confusing moment; guilt, fierce, burning, guilt bubbles up Olivia’s stomach. She would have gotten along with his mother, she’s sure, and it’s beyond obvious she cares deeply for her son. Yet, Olivia knows this is the first and last time she’ll ever speak to his mother, the last time Justin will see his mother. And it’s her fault.
Justin’s mom smiles kindly as she sews, her eyes lingering on the tears gathered in the corner of Olivia’s eyes when she speaks. “I know it must sting, I’m sorry, but I’m almost done. What’s your name, dear?” she asks, “That boy can be so rude sometimes, I’m Lynn.”
Olivia answers quietly, almost timid.
“So, how did you and Justin meet?” Lynn asks systematically cutting the string and starting on the next one.
Olivia is surprised, shocked even, that Lynn has no desire to question why they’ve shown up at her home at nearly two in the morning with only two pistols, a black, unspeakable duffle bag and the clothes on their back, looking like they were just hit by a brick wall. She supposes she’s been quiet for too long because Lynn is crouched still, though the stitches are done, looking expectantly at Olivia waiting for an answer.
“In college.” Olivia blurts, clumsily, “We met in college.”
“Mmm, that’s right,” Lynn concedes, “I remember hearing about you, once.”
Olivia’s throat goes dry, Justin had talked to his mom about her?
“About me.” Olivia questions, though it sounds more like a conformation.
“Yep, about you.” Lynn confirms casually as she washes the bowl out and tosses the used, bloodstained rags into the trash.
Olivia is about to ask Lynn what exactly Justin spoke to her about, but just as she gets the courage to Justin comes sweeping back into the kitchen. Lynn turns to him and smiles, nodding her head towards Olivia. “I’ll let you bandage her up.”
This is all very bizarre, Justin thinks. Two separate parts of his life converging, becoming one, even for a short time, is confusing and makes him feel unbalanced. Like when a river finally hits the sea and salt and fresh water mix together. He knows he’s been standing still too long, staring blankly into space, so he moves forward and crouches at Olivia’s feet.
“Are you feeling okay?” Justin asks, slowly wrapping her thigh in white, gauzy bandages.
Olivia nods, a little frightened to actually say anything, because all she really wants to know is why Justin mentioned her to his mother all those years ago.
Justin holds her gaze as he finishes dressing her wound, “You sure?”
She nods again, taking a deep shuddering breath. “Yeah, I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
Justin can relate to that. They’ve been awake for about twenty hours, but the early morning of yesterday feels nothing less than a million hours ago.
“You can sleep in the guest room,” Lynn interjects, busying herself with the coffee maker as she speaks.
“Come on,” Justin says, slipping her arm over his shoulders and helping her to the guest bedroom. As they limp past the kitchen Olivia’s eyes meet Lynn’s and she sighs a ‘thank you’ though she knows those words aren’t anywhere close to what she would need to say to fully express her gratitude.
The bedroom is cool and a little stuffy, like no one had been inside for a while. The walls are painted a loud, lively teal but when Justin helps Olivia to the bed it feels impossibly soft and even while sitting up Olivia fights to keep her eyes open.
“I like your house.” Olivia confesses quietly, as if even voicing the complement implies she wishes she could take it back, wishes that they weren’t bank robbers anymore, that they weren’t what they had made themselves to be. “And your mom,” Olivia continues, gazing up at Justin who is standing between her parted legs, “she’s lovely.”
Justin smiles in agreement running his fingers through her hair, over her crown and down her back. He doesn’t have to say anything else, Olivia can see the light in his eyes when she talks about his mom and she knows he agrees. “It’s so nice of her to let us stay…especially if she knew…” Olivia trails off as the memory of their car chase, still raw and unfiltered hangs in the air.
“Shh,” Justin hushes, “My mom is nice, but I can promise you she won’t be happy if you worry yourself over this and can’t get to sleep.”
He pulls back the comforter and slips Olivia’s heels off her feet and it takes the gentle kiss he places on her lips for her to realize he’s not getting in bed with her. She opens her mouth to ask him why, but as soon as her head hits the pillow she falls asleep.
Justin makes his way back out to kitchen to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and his mom sitting at the table, mug cupped between her palms. Their eyes meet and Justin realizes she knows everything. And really? He shouldn’t be so surprised.
Lynn doesn’t need someone to tell her what’s going on here. She heard for weeks through the gossip around town that there was a duo of bank robbers working their way down the eastern United States. It was only a matter of time they hit Tennessee. She read the stories. Of bloodthirsty, tough, coldblooded, and even the occasional romanticized versions of these robbers, a young couple with the world at their feet. Time went on and descriptions filtered through the newspapers. Descriptions, quotes, demeanor, Lynn followed it all. It only took four articles for her to know for sure – that this couple, this duo of bank robbers, were none other than her son and his girlfriend. She could have called the authorities, let them know whom they were facing, but she couldn’t do it. Twice she held the receiver to her ear, her fingers poised at the turn dial, but after two numbers she couldn’t do it. He was her son, after all. Her only son.
He strides towards to her, silent on his feet, avoiding every creaky floorboard as if he walked them only yesterday. Lynn hands him a cup of steaming black coffee as he sits across from her, facing the now open kitchen window just in case.
“Olivia was shot.” Lynn says, states – it’s not a question – and it was silly for Justin to think they wouldn’t talk about this.
“She was.” Justin answers, trying his best to speak to her like a man, and not her son.
“By a police officer.” Lynn says, with no hint of a questioning lilt in her voice.
Justin winces, knowing the less his mom finds out the better, but he can’t lie, so he just nods his head, avoiding her eyes as he takes a sip of coffee. It burns his tongue as it goes down.
Lynn makes a noise in her throat, like she’s trying to swallow what Justin has confirmed. She may have known what they were up to for weeks, but hearing it straight from her son is something she could never prepare for. It’s hard for her to form words but she wants to know more.
“You’re all over the TV, Justin,” Lynn adds, in a weird mix between grief and the natural reprimanding tone mothers so easily fall into, “They’ve been mentioning you since the bank in Ohio.”
This isn’t news to Justin, but it still makes him frown. It shouldn’t have come to such a surprise to him, he isn’t a child, but he really never considered the affect his actions would have on his mother. He watches as she shifts in her seat like she wants to say something but already knows the answer and understands it will only bring her pain.
“You won’t come back from this, will you?” Again, it’s like a statement that comes from Lynn, not a question.
She reaches across the table palm up and Justin can see the tears in her eyes when he grips her hand in both of his. He pulls her hand forward, pressing his cheek into her palm, begging God to let him remember this moment forever, and he shakes his head no.
Like a tidal wave, Lynn understands this is the last time she will see her son. His life now has two options, escape or death, and neither includes her. She starts to cry in earnest, then, wiping angrily at each tear as it slips down her face.
“Momma, don’t cry, it’ll be okay,” Justin begs, attempting to soothe her with his promise, though he’s not quite positive it will be.
The clock keeps ticking, minutes still pass, the sun continues to rise, but for Justin and his mother time stops. When Lynn’s tears have stopped flowing she squeezes Justin’s hand before releasing it and taking a long gulp of her coffee. She smiles, and Justin can tell it’s a little forced, but he can’t really expect anything better.
“Is Olivia asleep?” She asks, breaking the silence, changing the subject.
Justin nods, though the small smile on his face at the mention of her name is impossible to hide.
“She’s beautiful, Justin.” Lynn says, and even though she’s stern Justin sees the way she approves, the way that if this was any other situation she would be gushing about her.
Justin nods, agreeing, but watches as Lynn purses her lips as her eyes fall onto the guns laying untouched on the kitchen counter.
“Is that why you never brought her home? Why you never asked her?” Lynn asks, finally acknowledging the weapons.
“The day I was going to propose…well, she proposed a different idea before I got the chance. The next day we picked a bank, just a little one in some small Wisconsin town…and it was amazing.” Justin’s eyes flash, a focused, intense excitement brewing in them as he speaks, lifting his hands in the air, spreading his fingers wide, “Mom, imagine the most afraid, exhilarated, powerful you’ve ever felt, and then multiply it by ten. By 100. That’s how it felt. After the first one we knew – I knew – there would be more.”
Justin pauses, it was hard to explain why he didn’t propose to Olivia after that. He was never ashamed of Olivia, he never second-guessed whether or not he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but there was so much going on.
Lynn clears her throat again, staring hard at Justin, waiting for him to go on.
“And with more banks,” Justin continues, “came more danger, more risk…and I didn’t want to bring you guys into it.”
Lynn brushes invisible crumbs off the kitchen counter, seemingly wiping away remnants of their conversation. Justin understood loud and clear, no more bank talk. “When you called me that day, Justin, when you told me you were going to ask her to marry you, you sounded determined that it was what you wanted.”
“It was – it is.”
“You love her?”
“Of course I love her.”
“And this is what you want for your life with her?”
Justin hesitates. If someone were to ask him who wanted this more, who had the most stakes in this, it’d be Olivia. He isn’t saying he didn’t decide that this was a good idea, that they aren’t equal parts guilty. But their goal? Their reasons behind the robberies? Those are all for Olivia’s dad.
“Any life with her is what I want.” Justin answers fiercely, his words tumbling from his mouth before he can really process them. It startles him, the way he spoke so definitely about Olivia and the life they’ve created out of wielding guns and robbing banks.
“You won’t have a life if you try any more, Justin. I didn’t want to tell you before, with Olivia in the room, but you were on the news last night. They figured out Olivia’s whole name and they have an accurate picture, now.”
Flashes of their bank robbery in Cincinnati are all Justin can think about. How they wasted precious seconds talking to that little boy, how Olivia told him her real name. It’s the only way the police could have found any information on them, and it’s their own fault. His heart begins to pound, making his limbs feel numb, and he can’t hear anything but the rush of blood in his ears.
“Those cops that were chasing you tonight…” Lynn continues, and Justin finally understands just how much his mother knows about what has been going on – how much the rest of the country knows. “Justin, they’re dead,” she gasps out, as if just saying it physically hurts her. “They’re dead and police everywhere are outraged, they said they’re going to shoot to kill. Sweetheart, I’m begging you, if you want to live, if you want Olivia to live, if you want to stay together, don’t try any more, okay? Just get out while you can.”
Justin can hear the tears in her voice again, see them building in her eyes and he’s never felt more sorry. He grips her hand again, his head hanging down, avoiding her gaze and he feels his own eyes burning. Tears come, bubbling up with guilt and sorrow and a little fear.
Lynn rubs his hand soothingly, the way she used to when he was a child, but he can still hear her sniffling and guilt burns in his chest.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Lynn whispers, “You should get some rest, take a nap for a few hours. You should probably leave before your dad wakes up.”
Justin lifts his head, his nerves have calmed but his eyes are ringed red with exhaustion and remorse.
“What are you going to tell him?” Justin asks, sounding more like a child than he has in twenty years.
Lynn sighs, “I’m not sure…nothing, maybe. That someone stole our truck?”
Justin’s brows furrow, “Someone stole your truck? When?”
Lynn almost laughs then, this man, this fugitive, this bank robber, her son, can still manage to be so easily confused. “Oh, sometime this morning.”
Justin’s mouth opens, ready to ask another question but he shuts it just as quickly, finally understanding what his mother is saying.
“Momma, we can’t take your truck…” They’ve done enough, Justin thinks. They’ve caused enough suffering.
“How else do you think you’ll be able to get away?” Lynn asks, a little surprised at the lack of planning her son had when he showed up in her kitchen hours ago.
Justin says nothing. He had been so panicked about Olivia’s health he hadn’t considered how they were going to get away. Gratitude floods through him as flashes of how this could have ended if not for his mother’s generosity flicker behind his eyes.
“Go lay down, Justin.” Lynn says, falling so easily into her mothering role. “You’re going to need your rest.”
----
It’s well past six o’clock when Justin and Olivia pack what’s left of their things into the truck. Lynn stands on the front step, watching as Justin throws the small duffel bag she gave them filled with new clothes and extra ammunition into the back seat. Olivia is next to her, waiting patiently for Justin to finish.
She turns to Lynn, feeling much better with her leg bandaged and a few hours of restful sleep. “Thank you,” she says, though words won’t ever be able to express how much Lynn has done for her.
“Your son is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Olivia confesses, blurts even, and a rosy blush graces her cheeks at her own lack of tact.
Lynn chuckles and pulls Olivia into a hug, kissing her cheek sweetly before holding her out at arms length. “Me too, darling, me too.”
Olivia forces a watery smile as she wipes angrily at her tears, “I’m sorry it has to be this way. I never meant to take hi-”
Lynn shushes her and pulls her into another hug, tears filling her own eyes.
“I just want you to know that I won’t ever take him for granted,” Olivia whispers, her chin still tucked over Lynn’s shoulder.
“I believe you,” Lynn answers, giving Olivia a final squeeze.
“Come on, Liv,” Justin calls gently, holding the passenger side door open for her.
Once she’s settled in the car Justin closes the door and makes his way back to his mother for the final time.
“Momma,” He sighs, almost cries, and engulfing her into a tight hug.
Lynn hugs back, squeezing tight but they don’t have to say anything. They couldn’t if they tried.
“Okay,” Lynn gasps, holding Justin by the shoulders, eye level with him as she stands on the front step, “you need to go.”
Justin nods, looking at his feet. In a split second he pulls her into another bone crushing hug. “I love you.” He says, smelling the lavender scent in her hair he will always equate with his mother and home.
“I love you too, Justin.” She’s crying in earnest, now. Her left arm wrapped tightly around her middle, her right still around Justin’s shoulders. “But you’ve got to go!” She orders, patting his shoulder roughly, “Go!”
Justin walks to the truck, taking one last long look at his mother by the door and the house he once called home. They were leaving behind a lot today. Justin is almost positive this is the last time he’ll see his mother, the last time they’ll be in Tennessee. The car he and Olivia bought with the first bit of money they ever acquired was rusting somewhere deep in the Mississippi River and the duffel they carried to the house was still sitting by the kitchen door. He and Olivia had discussed it and it was the least they could do. Olivia worried it was almost insulting, but Justin had promised her his parents were practical people, and at least this way they could replace the truck.
The next bank they have planned is in Montgomery, Alabama and Justin wonders as he drives if he should explain to Olivia just how infamous they really are now. He glances at her, she looks better than last night, but nowhere near her normal self, and he can’t bare it. At least that’s what he tells himself as he pulls off to the side of the road to retrieve the two bags he stashed the night before. But when he climbs back into the cab and drapes his arm over her shoulders, pulling her into the middle seat so they’re pressed side by side, there is a more urgent question nagging at the back of his mind. An idea, a hope, a dream. As they make their way onto the southbound highway Justin ponders whether or not it’s worth trying the last two banks at all, and more importantly what exactly, would Olivia say if he gave her another option.
