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the second row of seats I could see what looked to be the neck of a guitar case. The urge to pull the case over the seats and into my arms was sudden and intense, as if cradling it would help me find my way, or at the very least, comfort me the way the instrument always had.
    “You goin’ somewhere?” I asked.
    “Out west.”
    “Out west? What is this, a John Wayne movie? There’s a lot that’s west of Boston. How far out west?” I asked.
    “Vegas,” he said, and turned down the strings.
    “Huh.” Vegas. That was quite the drive. I wondered how long it would take. I really had no clue. It was all the way across the country. Major road trip.
    “I’m headed that direction too,” I lied enthusiastically. He looked over at me, his eyebrows disappearing under the thick edge of his cap.
    “You’re headed to Vegas?”
    “Well, maybe not that far, you know, uh, just . . . west,” I hedged. I didn’t want him to think I wanted to tag along all the way to Vegas, although suddenly I thought I might. “Can I ride with you for a ways?”
    “Look, kid—”
    “Clyde?” I immediately interrupted. “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-one years old. I’m not jailbait or an escapee from prison or a mental institution. I’m not a member of the Klan, or even a Bible salesman, although I do believe in Jesus and am not ashamed to admit it, though I will keep my love for him to myself if you’ve got issues with that. I have some money to contribute to gas and food and whatever else we need. I just need a lift out . . . west.” I liked that he’d used “out west” first, because I was milking it for all it was worth now that I needed a destination.
    Clyde actually smiled. It was just a quick twist of his lips, but I guessed that was saying something. He didn’t seem like the smiley type.
    “You don’t have anything but the clothes on your back and that little purse, and your name isn’t Bonnie, so you’re obviously hiding or running, which means there’s trouble on your ass,” he objected. “And I sure as hell don’t want trouble.”
    “I’ve got money. And I can pick up what I need along the way. I packed light.” I shrugged my shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d need a suitcase in heaven.”
    Clyde choked and looked at me in disbelief. I didn’t blame him. I was joking, but I sounded crazy. I felt a little crazy. I continued talking.
    “And, for your information, my name really is Bonnie. But you don’t look much like a Clyde.”
    “Clyde’s my last name,” Clyde offered, somewhat hesitantly. “I’ve been called Clyde for so long now, I use it automatically.”
    “So your friends call you Clyde?”
    “Uh, yeah. My friends,” Clyde agreed with an edge to his voice that made me believe there was something there he didn’t want to discuss.
    “Well, my friends and family call me Bonnie. So you can too. Even if it is kinda funny.”
    “Bonnie and Clyde,” Clyde said under his breath.
    “Yep. Let’s just hope this little adventure has a better ending then theirs did.”
    Clyde didn’t respond. I didn’t know if he was going to let me ride along or not, but he hadn’t said no. The little voice in my head that sounded like Gran told me I had officially lost my marbles. When I stood on that bridge and let go, my mind obviously hadn’t been rescued with the rest of me. It must have tumbled down into the water below the bridge, leaving me a brainless zombie. So I leaned my forehead against the passenger side window, closed my eyes, and played dead.

 

     
     
    FINN CLYDE WASN’T a stupid man. In fact, he was brilliant. As a child he was fascinated by reoccurring themes in nature. Why do most flowers have five petals? Why are honeycombs shaped like hexagons? Why do numbers have corresponding colors? He was eight before he realized not everyone saw the colors.
    Numbers also had weight. When he multiplied them, the numbers swirled in his head like a blizzard in a child’s snow globe, the answers