"Yes," Keysha interrupted. "I would like to come."
Three days after this, Keysha received a bus ticket from the Port Authority to Salt Lake City, Utah for the Wednesday after Christmas.
"A bus ticket," her mother Tami complained. "Can't they at least fly you there?"
They could, Keysha thought later, but authorities can't watch an airport like they can a bus terminal. Plus buses were cheaper. Plus it would be harder for a family member to follow her on a bus without being obvious. There were four stops on the way.
When she arrived in Salt Lake City, a stern, middle aged man with long sandy hair and a beard greeted her with a sign that read "Keisha Marie Johnson." On the trip she thought she felt her baby kick for the first time.
"You spelled my name wrong," she said demurely, with a sm
