she was attached to the damn thing. By the time I spotted the exit, I breathed a sigh of relief. Once I was on the highway, things would go a lot more smoothly.
Or so I thought. The window to view the sides didn’t help at all. How the heck did truck drivers see out those things? I craned my neck to see beyond the lane to make sure I didn’t run someone off the road. The first hints of traffic loomed on the highway, and I needed to make progress before I got caught in it.
I didn’t even have to cuss out any drivers to get on thehighway. Everyone kindly got out of the way. I could’ve gotten into one of the left lanes, but why bother tempting fate?
The drive to the toll road went well. Of course, every time someone honked near me I wanted to bare my teeth at them. Not only was I a first-time dump truck driver, but I was an anxious one.
I made it to the toll booth in the second lane just like the guard told me to do. I whipped out a few dollar bills, but when I reached the booth, the werewolf, a man who appeared to be in his late forties, just smacked his lips and gestured for me to roll through.
“Good luck,” was all he said.
“Uh-huh.” I had a feeling I’d need it.
The Atlantic City Expressway eventually got me to my turnoff to the Garden State Parkway. This route was familiar to me, since I’d taken it numerous times to get home from my various little shopping trips. From here, I’d ride past smaller towns and patches of forest. My speed was a steady fifty-five, since I had trouble shifting up to the next gear. Why hurry anyway? I had all day to make the trip, and a faster speed wouldn’t keep me from driving through the day into the night. According to the directions, I had about 550 miles. If my math was right, driving at the speed limit would get me to my destination by the end of the day. Easy peasy.
My confidence faltered when I noticed a car following close behind me. The black SUV looked a bit beat-up, with a scratched front fender. My first thought was, Thorn? But he’d been in the dark red rental SUV when he’d left to take my father home. His SUV at home was black, but the outside was in immaculate condition. Don’t get me started on the inside .
At first I expected the SUV to pass me, like everyone else, but it simply matched my speed.
Suspicious, I slowed down a bit. Why not go Cindy-Speed-Limit to see if they passed me with a frown?
But they just slowed down even more.
Shit.
I reached for my phone but stopped. Who could I call? My brother? He might be busy helping his wife give birth. If I called Thorn for help, I was opening a can of worms.
Of course, I could approach this a different way. I picked up the phone and dialed Thorn’s cell.
“Hello.” It was a woman’s soft voice.
Crap. “Is Thorn there, please?”
A slight pause. Out of all the voices in South Toms River, I knew Erica Holden’s right away. If all stuck-up bitches had a particular type of voice, then Erica would be their poster child.
“What do you want? He’s busy.” Her normally chipper voice now had an edge to it. If I was in front of her I would’ve cowered at her dominance.
“I need to check on my father. Thorn delivered him to a healer.”
“I see.”
She didn’t speak for some time. I knew she wasn’t moving or checking with Thorn. It was just her way of being spiteful and making me wait.
Finally, I found my voice. “Can I speak with him, please? Unless you know if my father’s okay?” I tried to be nice. I really did. My grandmother would be proud I didn’t tell Erica what I really thought of her.
“Thorn.” Erica yelled the word and then dropped the phone on a hard surface. Most likely a table. The jarring noise reverberated against my eardrum and almost made me jerk the steering wheel to the left.
“Damn it all the hell,” I hissed.
Of course, that was when Thorn picked up the phone.
“Nat?”
“Hey, Thorn. Is my father okay?”
“We’re at the healers right now.
Or so I thought. The window to view the sides didn’t help at all. How the heck did truck drivers see out those things? I craned my neck to see beyond the lane to make sure I didn’t run someone off the road. The first hints of traffic loomed on the highway, and I needed to make progress before I got caught in it.
I didn’t even have to cuss out any drivers to get on thehighway. Everyone kindly got out of the way. I could’ve gotten into one of the left lanes, but why bother tempting fate?
The drive to the toll road went well. Of course, every time someone honked near me I wanted to bare my teeth at them. Not only was I a first-time dump truck driver, but I was an anxious one.
I made it to the toll booth in the second lane just like the guard told me to do. I whipped out a few dollar bills, but when I reached the booth, the werewolf, a man who appeared to be in his late forties, just smacked his lips and gestured for me to roll through.
“Good luck,” was all he said.
“Uh-huh.” I had a feeling I’d need it.
The Atlantic City Expressway eventually got me to my turnoff to the Garden State Parkway. This route was familiar to me, since I’d taken it numerous times to get home from my various little shopping trips. From here, I’d ride past smaller towns and patches of forest. My speed was a steady fifty-five, since I had trouble shifting up to the next gear. Why hurry anyway? I had all day to make the trip, and a faster speed wouldn’t keep me from driving through the day into the night. According to the directions, I had about 550 miles. If my math was right, driving at the speed limit would get me to my destination by the end of the day. Easy peasy.
My confidence faltered when I noticed a car following close behind me. The black SUV looked a bit beat-up, with a scratched front fender. My first thought was, Thorn? But he’d been in the dark red rental SUV when he’d left to take my father home. His SUV at home was black, but the outside was in immaculate condition. Don’t get me started on the inside .
At first I expected the SUV to pass me, like everyone else, but it simply matched my speed.
Suspicious, I slowed down a bit. Why not go Cindy-Speed-Limit to see if they passed me with a frown?
But they just slowed down even more.
Shit.
I reached for my phone but stopped. Who could I call? My brother? He might be busy helping his wife give birth. If I called Thorn for help, I was opening a can of worms.
Of course, I could approach this a different way. I picked up the phone and dialed Thorn’s cell.
“Hello.” It was a woman’s soft voice.
Crap. “Is Thorn there, please?”
A slight pause. Out of all the voices in South Toms River, I knew Erica Holden’s right away. If all stuck-up bitches had a particular type of voice, then Erica would be their poster child.
“What do you want? He’s busy.” Her normally chipper voice now had an edge to it. If I was in front of her I would’ve cowered at her dominance.
“I need to check on my father. Thorn delivered him to a healer.”
“I see.”
She didn’t speak for some time. I knew she wasn’t moving or checking with Thorn. It was just her way of being spiteful and making me wait.
Finally, I found my voice. “Can I speak with him, please? Unless you know if my father’s okay?” I tried to be nice. I really did. My grandmother would be proud I didn’t tell Erica what I really thought of her.
“Thorn.” Erica yelled the word and then dropped the phone on a hard surface. Most likely a table. The jarring noise reverberated against my eardrum and almost made me jerk the steering wheel to the left.
“Damn it all the hell,” I hissed.
Of course, that was when Thorn picked up the phone.
“Nat?”
“Hey, Thorn. Is my father okay?”
“We’re at the healers right now.
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