window.
âYou okay?â he asked, and adjusted a backpack on his shoulder. Oh. I got it. He was a road dude, somebody who walked for a living, hitching when possible. Homeless by choice, maybe, instead of circumstance. A guy in search of adventure.
Well, heâd sure as hell found it this time.
âFine. Iâm fine,â I croaked, and dragged lank, oily hair back from my face. âYouâre okay? I didnât hit you? No tire tracks on you or anything?â
He shook his head. An earring glinted. I tried to remember which ear meant he was gay, and then doubted myself; the earring thing might be an urban legend. I concluded it was either bullshit or the glint was in the heterosexual ear, because he smiled at me in a warmly nonacademic way.
âSo, can you believe this weather? Some crazy stuff going on,â he said. I could imagine . . . a cloud levitating with the speed of a freight train, straight up,then blowing apart like God himself had smashed it to pieces. Plus Delilah roaring along at top speed and spinning out like NASCAR roadkill. Not something you see every day, even if you are a road dude. âThought we were really in for it.â
I hoped the we was a generic kind of thing, not a hello-Iâll-be-your-stalker-this-evening warning sign. âGee, bad weather? I didnât notice.â
He hitched the backpack again, as if it were giving him some trouble, and nodded as he straightened up. âWell, be careful. Too nice a car to end up in some ditch. Not to mention too nice a lady.â
Gallant, but he was a genuine guyâheâd put the car first. Somehow, that won me over. I wasnât getting any weird vibes from him, and even the company of some dude smoking grass and getting as one with nature might be better than talking to my car on a hell-drive like this. He even had a nice smile.
I looked at him in Oversight, just to be sure, but there was nothing special about him, nothing dark, nothing bright, nothing but plain old Joe Normal. I opened the passenger door and said, âNeed a ride?â
He stopped walking away and looked at me. He had really dark eyes, but dark in a warm, earthy kind of way. If he were a season, heâd be fall.
âMaybe,â he said. âPackâs getting kind of heavy. Whatâs the price?â
âNothing.â
His eyebrows twitched like he thought about raising them. âNothingâs for nothing.â
âPleasure of your company.â
â That can be taken a couple of ways,â he said, and shrugged off the pack. It fit into the backseat like asecond passenger. He didnât need as much leg room as Paul. âNot that Iâm complaining or anything.â
I felt strongly that that should offend me. âYou really think I look like a chick whoâd pick up some skanky guy on the side of the road?â
âNo,â he said with a sly, Zen-like calm. âAnd just for clarification, I take exception to the skanky. I have had a bath.â
I waited until heâd strapped himself in safely before Delilah rolled again. Sunlight flickered through trees, tiger-striping the road. A gentle west-to-east breeze rustled leaves. I hadnât closed my window, and the smooth, cool scented air blew my hair back from my face. It felt good on my flushed skin.
âNot skanky,â I agreed finally. âRough?â
âYou think I look rough?â
âMaybe a little grubby.â
âIâll accept grubby.â
When I looked over, he chuckled. I laughed, caught the edge of my hysteria, and blamed it on exhaustion and fear. I caught my breath and wiped my face.
He said, âMy nameâs David, by the way.â
âJoanne.â
âHow long have you been on the road?â
âIsnât that my line?â I asked him. âI think itâs been about thirty-six hours, but Iâm really not too sure anymore.â
âAny sleep?â
âNot so
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