Chapter Twelve
Luke
The cab door of the semi springs open.
A forceful breath shoots out of my mouth.
Good. The driver must be okay.
But as quickly as the relief comes, it fades as Cassidy ignores my instruction and stomps toward the scene.
Her insistence on getting closer to a burning, explosion-risk of a car is about to be my villain origin story.
“Stop.” I reconfigure the plan on the spot. “I was wrong. We should let him come to us. He knows what to do in these situations.”
The driver approaches. His scratchy yell competes with the wet brakes of rubberneckers trying to catch a look at the wreckage. “I called 911. They said it’d be ten to fifteen minutes. You’d be safer to stand back from the highway.”
Anger surges in my chest as he climbs back in his truck. “Safer. Good fucking joke, guy who creamed our car.”
Cassidy nods, chin trembling.
“Hey.” I squeeze her shoulders and run my palms up and down slowly, racking my brain for what to do. Or say. My instincts scream, Comfort her, jackass!
All that comes out of my mouth is, “We’re safe.”
The unsaid truth—we almost weren’t—hangs between us.
Residual terror works its way through my bloodstream. Jesus, what if she’d been in that car while I stormed off to get space? She would’ve been alone because I can’t handle a little eye contact. The thought sparks disgust and dread so strong I take a step back. If something happens to this girl on my watch, I’ll never be able to live with myself.
I release her arms, tugging my hair at the root until it hurts. Guilt rears like a monster in my gut. I should’ve switched with her as soon as she said she was uncomfortable. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have let you keep driving once the storm hit. I should have taken over and kept going.”
Cassidy tips her head back and a tiny whimper escapes her mouth. “This is my fault. I panicked and pulled over. And then I parked too close to the road.”
“No. At the very least, I should’ve helped you get to an exit so I could—”
“This is not your fault,” she cries, eyes wild. “Stop trying to shift the blame from where it belongs. I did this to us! And now we live on the side of the road in rural Missouri. This forest is our home now. We get to live with the snakes!”
I huff-grunt and shake my head. Irritating woman won’t let me suffer in peace. We glare at each other until our chests are rising and falling in sync.
Suddenly—with the speed of a semi crashing into a parked roadside vehicle—the flames engulfing our car amplify in a burst of light and noise, as if someone doused it in lighter fluid and threw a match.
I stare over Cassidy’s head in horror as the last reserves of my hope for turning this around die in my chest. “Must’ve reached the gas tank.”
She bursts into laughter. “Ohmygod.”
I gape at her. “What the hell is so funny?”
“Our car is on fire. Look at it, Luke. Our car. Is. On. Fire.” She doubles over, clutching her gut, her body shaking. “And I was worried about a little hail damage. It’s like stressing about split ends and someone comes along and chops your head off!”
Great. Now she’s having a nervous breakdown.
The car is almost a smoking memory by the time sirens wail in the distance. A fire truck finally swoops in, followed a minute later by a police officer. The fire squad surges into action, hosing the flickering remains.
It’s a blur of explaining, taking orders, and staying out of the way. The police officer calls three tow companies until she finally finds one with an available truck. As we wait, Cassidy paces a hole in the ground at the forest’s edge.
A tow truck eventually arrives twenty-five minutes later to tow the car we can no longer use to God only knows where.
I don’t know exactly how much time passes start to finish—about an hour, I suspect—but when the driver loads our demolished pulp of a car to the back of his vehicle and declares our likewise pulpy, destroyed belongings inaccessible, I fall into some kind of black fucking hole where time is the least of my problems.
No phone. No stuff. No wallet.
Cassidy’s voice hits a shrill note as she whips her attention between the tow truck driver and the wreckage. “You’re saying it’s all gone? We can’t even get inside to search around?”
I grimace. There is no inside when it comes to the car. Yet Cassidy is staring at it with unmistakable hope in her eyes, like it might have a secret door that’ll lead us to our perfectly intact belongings.
The driver, whose oil-smeared nametag reads Colto, adjusts his cap. “’Fraid not, Red. Unless—were you joking? If so, that’s a good one.” His shoulders rise and fall as he chuckles. “Anyway, sorry about y’all’s car. Reckon that puts a damper on your day.”
Cassidy flattens her hair. “Kidding…right. Totally. Thanks for loading it up.” She purses her lips for a second before casting sad doe-eyes my way and lowering her voice. “We’re so screwed.”
Panic is a cascade, starting in my head where I think about the vast and varied ways in which we’re fucked, flowing down my torso to wreak fresh havoc on my organs, and settling in my legs. “I’m going to figure this out.”
Cassidy sighs. “The semi barely took any damage. He drove off like it was no big deal, all in a day’s work. How’d ours get so damn ruined when all he had was a bent bumper?”
“Fire’ll do that,” Colto interjects. The potent smell of orange degreaser wafts off of him as he gestures broadly toward the highway. “Plus cars are made to crumple. Tin cans with wheels, really.”
Pretty sure cars are made for driving, but I keep my mouth shut.
Cassidy tilts her head his way, offering him a polite smile. “Thank you. Noted.”
The police officer struts our way, murmuring into her walkie-talkie. She lowers it as she comes to a stop in front of me. My weary reflection stares back at me from the lenses of her polarized sunglasses. “I’m about done here. Will you two be heading to the repair shop?”
If I didn’t feel defeat all the way to my marrow, the weak sound of my voice might’ve caught me off guard. “I’m not sure there’s anything for us there, since there’s nothing left to repair. Would either of you be able to call us a taxi? Or loan us a phone so I can make the call?”
“I’ll give you a ride into town,” Colto offers. “Where are you looking to go?”
Great question.
“How far are we from Kansas City?” I shove my hands in my pockets. No two pockets have ever been emptier. I might as well be naked.
“Twenty or so miles south of city limits.”
“Okay. We’ll take the ride, right?” I glance at Cassidy, who is watching this exchange with her arms stretched overhead, fingers twined.
She meets my eye and nods quickly.
I turn back to Colto. “Where’s your shop?”
“About five minutes from the heart of downtown. Plenty of car rental spots around, or we’ve got decent public transit if that’s more your speed.”
“Great, I think—”
“Oh!” Cassidy breaks into a jog, hijacking my attention. Colto’s head also turns to follow her.
She comes to a sudden stop and reaches for something in the overgrown grass.
“Pretzels!” She hoists a bag of Rold Golds in the air. “Our car didn’t survive, but these guys somehow did. Bag’s not even broken. Pretzels are the food of the apocalypse. Move over, Twinkies.”
Colto’s hearty laugh stretches on and on. “That your girl?”
“No.” It darts out of my mouth fast and hard. “Friend of mine.”
“Well, your friend is a smart cookie, keeping her eyes peeled for food. Good survival instincts. My truck is stocked with deer jerky for emergencies—you’ll see soon enough. I’m going to do a final check, make a call to the shop, and I’ll meet you two in the truck.”
I move toward Cassidy as he performs an inspection of the junk heap formerly known as car.
The deep wheeze of a passing semi makes us both flinch. She tears open the pretzel bag. “How are we going to survive without our stuff, Luke?”
Before I have a chance to answer, her gaze falls to the food in her hand.
“Oh, here. You need these more than I do. I had six of those donuts.” She thrusts the bag at me, and half the stash falls out.
“You had six tiny donuts about two hours ago. That’s hardly a feast. Eat the three remaining pretzels. The first thing we need to do is call our banks and figure out how to get new cards.”
She gasps. “The bank!” She twists at the waist to look at her ass and plunges her hand into her back pocket. “Yes! I’ve got my credit card. And my license. I stuck them there on the plane and forgot to put them back to my wallet.”
“That’s really good news. If you decide you want to board a plane in Kansas City, you’ll be able to with an ID.”
Her face falls. “What? What are you talking about?”
I shrug, squinting toward the skyline. “I mean, after this mess I assume that you’ll be looking for alternate ways to get to California.”
“Alternate ways?” She crosses her arms, and another pretzel falls out of the bag. “Are you getting on a plane?”
“No. The idea of it still—” I force my mouth shut and shake it off. I just watched our car get destroyed in a way that makes video games look realistic, yet somehow the thought of a plane still sends my pulse on a rampage. I can’t avoid it for long, and I’ll need to figure out how to cope, but not today. “No way am I getting back on a plane.”
She prods the grass with her shoe. “A same-day ticket to LAX is going to cost a fortune. Plus, I doubt the crew shortage or planes-that-aren’t-broken shortage fixed itself in a matter of hours. And with the weather these last two days, everything is a mess. That’s why I wanted a car in the first place.”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Sunday. Rehearsal and bachelorette events are Saturday, though.” She taps her chin. “Okay, let’s see. Obviously there are no Ubers that travel across the country. There’s got to be a cheap and efficient alternative. What about a Greyhound bus?”
I shudder. “I’ve been on one of those, and it was really uncomfortable. The bathroom was broken the whole time and the driver was erratic. Terrible experience.”
“Fine. What about a train? We can sleep this hellish nightmare off while we ride.”
I have no train experience to pull from. “That might work.”
She nods, enthusiasm building in her eyes. “Okay. Yes. This is a good idea. No more planes. No more cars. Better than a Greyhound. I say we go for it.”
We. I don’t even have a credit card.
The beginning of a headache twinges behind my eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose beneath where my glasses sit. “I can’t buy a train ticket until I get my bank stuff sorted out. And we don’t even know if there are trains that run from Kansas City to L.A.”
“Everything runs to L.A. I’ll buy your ticket. You can pay me back after you get everything fixed. Or you can Venmo me.”
“How? We don’t have phones to log on. I don’t even have Venmo, for that matter.”
“Who doesn’t have Venmo? How do you pay for drinks when you go out with friends?”
“Venmo is the least secure form of monetary— Never mind. The last time I went out for drinks was with Will around a year and a half ago, and I paid. If I want to drink in Raleigh, my boss Rogelio keeps a handle of Jim Beam in his desk, and our office fridge is always stocked with Coke.”
“Wow. Congrats on scoring a job with Don Draper. Anyway, I’m attached to the train idea.”
“Good. Then you should do it.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “We, Luke. We should.”
“I just told you; I don’t have any money.”
“And I told you I’d take care of it!”
I shake my head, too worn to censor myself. “Does that offend you or something? That I was trying to offer you an out?”
“An out? Of what?”
I throw one hand in the air. “Of this! Of the hell we’ve been living.”
She takes a step closer, crossing her arms. “I’m not just going to ditch you. I’ve got the money that can help us right now. Unless you want me to, then obviously I will leave you alone.”
Her words are like a record scratch. Leave me alone? She’s asking if I want to separate? “Wait, what—”
“Forget it. Let’s just go.” She turns toward the truck, and her bag spills out at least five more pretzels, littering the grass with twists.
I swipe the bag from her hand before she can litter any further.
She snatches it back and stalks off.
We reach the passenger’s side of the tow truck, and her head tilts up at the behemoth. Her shoulders roll back as she marches toward the door.
I move past her and grab the handle. When I yank it open, both sides of Colto’s speaker-phone conversation spill out.
“Need a boost?” I ask.
Cassidy’s smile is the fakest thing I’ve ever seen. “I’ve climbed into a truck before, thanks.”
Against my will, I imagine her climbing into a dude’s lifted pickup at some bullshit Asheville music festival. “I’m sure you have.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why are you being like this?”
“I’m not being anything,” I lie. Adrenaline barrels through my body as she dissects me with her gaze. “Weren’t you climbing in?” I make a shooing gesture with my arm. “Go ahead. Don’t want to keep our driver waiting.”
Her expression darkens, and she steps so close she has to tilt her head up to meet my eye. My gaze falls to that mouth she insists on running, and I grit my teeth. “I’ll get in when I’m good and ready. Got it?”
Heat licks the back of my neck. A powerful urge to smother her mouth with mine grabs me by the throat. The impulse is so abrupt I jerk backward. I cover the motion by grabbing the edge of the door. “Got it.”
Murmuring something that sounds like good under her breath, she finally climbs in. The second she’s safely in the cab, I slam the door shut.
A gust of wind slaps me in the face as I stand there for a beat, sucking in a breath.
Right.
I’m also getting in the truck.
I rip the door open again.
Colto is off the phone, singing a spirited rendition of “Ring of Fire” as he adjusts the rearview.
I eye the stretch of open bench seat beside Cassidy. Geometry was once my favorite subject, but as I calculate the area of this tattered leather square and take into account the dimensions of my body, I feel betrayed by math.
The three of us are sardining this shit.
She has her thighs pressed shut, leaving a healthy sliver of space between her and Colto. She doesn’t scoot any closer to him when I slide into place and close the door. Our legs and arms fall flush.
“Do you think you can drop us off at Union Station?” she asks Colto.
“’Course. Got yourself a plan, do you?”
As she answers, he reaches over her leg to an ancient-looking radio, further encroaching on her space. The pressure of her body against mine increases as she shifts. I almost whisper, It’s okay, do what you need to do, but she seems to already know that it is.
Dammit if I don’t like that she feels safe with me, at least for this.
“Could I borrow your phone?” I ask him. “I need to straighten things out.”
Colto rustles up an oil-smeared iPhone in a bulky case and forks it over.
“Thanks.” It’s in my hand a few seconds before the full weight of today’s fuckery settles over me.
Where to even start.
I spend a series of mind-numbing minutes on the phone with Legion Insurance, making sure I know what steps to follow to not somehow get sued by the rental company over the trashed Jetta.
All the while, Colto peppers Cassidy with irksome questions.
What’s your story?
Hey, you been on that So You Think You Can Dance show? My wife loves it.
Want some deer jerky?
Her answers are infused with all kinds of details. As Martha from Legion talks me through the paperwork I’ll need to fill out to properly report the accident, Cassidy speaks in hushed tones about moving from Westlake to Asheville two and a half years ago and how she’s on her way to an event back home.
He asks if she’s “hitched,” which elicits an awkward laugh and a breathy I’m dating myself.
My stomach turns over. Maybe I should’ve accepted Cassidy’s roadside pretzels when she offered them.
I call the bank next. The best they can do for me is mail a card to Sophie’s address unless I can swing by one of their satellite branches to confirm my identity in person and get a temporary card issued. They have four satellite options: Seattle, Miami, Dallas, and Denver. I have her mail one to Sophie’s house, because what the fuck else?
Car rental headquarters is now a call I don’t have to make, because Legion will contact them directly. Finally, I leave Rogelio a voicemail.
I thrust the phone into Cassidy’s lap, interrupting their spirited conversation about college football. “Your turn,” I insist.
“Thanks.” Her expression is wary and riddled with unanswered questions. “So did you want to take the train?”
I rub the tense spot above my eyebrows.
Want is irrelevant. What I want is to close my eyes and wake up on my shitty Bakersfield futon, with this cursed commute squarely behind me. I want to be able to control my own trip home and not be completely reliant on her.
What I’m getting remains to be seen.