Chapter 26

“Wish me luck,” I say lightly. I wish I were feeling lucky, in fact I’m as nervous as a cat.

So far I haven’t done anything illegal. Just farting around making a fake driver’s license on the system doesn’t count, I tell myself, not so long as that’s all I do.

Now I’m about to embark on my life of crime. Damn, I’ve never done anything illegal before. Well, a few tokes of weed, a couple of experiments with coke, some underage drinking, but none of that really counts, everybody does it. Hell, these days most of that doesn’t even disqualify you from being President, not even when you admit it right out there in public.

But this shit’s serious. I’m going to take my fake driver’s license and try to get a real birth certificate with it. Never mind disbarment, they send you to jail for that.

Is that what’ll happen to me? Am I going to wind up in for Christ’s sake Guantanamo with all those “enemy combatants,” rotting for years while they think up new and creative ways to keep me for just about ever?

Well, fuck it, I’m going to do it anyway. It’s for Hugo. Jimmy. No, Hugo, let’s keep “Jimmy” for outsiders.

I stop to gas up at the first station I see; I’m not going anywhere near the other place again. I even detour several blocks to avoid passing it when I get to town. But my trip is uneventful, and I find the post office and go buy a money order in happy anonymity.

To fill it out I supercautiously go back to the car and privacy. I know it’s silly, but why risk people looking over your shoulder? I’m still not illegal, but it’s getting close. I paste on the stamps and walk over to the mailbox and now the deed is done; I’m a lawbreaker.

It’s all a little anticlimactic; I don’t feel any different. In fact, I guess I’m not; all I’m thinking about now is that I’d better get a shopping done, we’re running low on stuff again.

I wonder how Hugo’s doing. It’s the first time he’s been all by himself up there. But he’ll be OK, he’s come a long way. A really phenomenally long way, given that it’s been less than two full months.

Two goddamned eventful months, I think. It would’ve been pretty hard to even imagine two months ago that I’d meet a real caveman, much less fall in love with him.

And dammit, I’m in really deep, too.

Oh, screw it for now, let’s get to the store.

First the bank; the post office needed cash, I’m running short. I take out three hundred—no, make it six hundred, let’s pay cash for the groceries, too—and head on, picking another store than the one where I took Hugo. I remember about the meat and choose carefully; the selections aren’t so good here, but I think I do all right.

I’m halfway home when the delayed reaction strikes me and I have to pull off. I’m actually shaking, it’s a real panic attack. Jesus, what have I done? What was I thinking? My career’s in the toilet, in one day I’ve turned from upholder of the law to breaker of it, I’ve committed a real felony, what’s happened to me? Is there any way I can get the damn mailing back?

It takes me several minutes to calm back down and quit quivering like a lump of jello. Even then I run it all back through my head again. Finding him, starting to teach him, turning from teacher to lover, the whole nine yards.

Smelling him.

“Judge, I’m so sorry, it’s just that he smelled so good,” I imagine myself saying.

Is that part of terrorist recruiting? Get somebody who smells good to women?

Oh, bullshit, some rational part of my brain finally tells me. I think about the spearcast, the sling. About Danny’s three-day check. About his clothes, his spear-bag, the aurochs and the mammoth, all of it. About Hugo himself. Mostly about Hugo.

I’m sure. You done good, girl, I tell myself. You done what had to be done.

A cop drives by, eying me curiously. If I wait here any longer, he might turn around and come back to check on me. Hugo’s not with me, I’m OK, but I don’t need what I don’t need. I start the car again and head home.

Home to Hugo.

I can’t wait to get there.