Steve’s headlights, but I don’t see his or anyone’s. It’s full dark, and I move from memory, one foot after the other through scrub brush.
At the highway I tuck my hair in my collar, hoping I pass as a guy. I walk along the shoulder, cars and trucks whipping by. A group in a van comes honking next to me. I wave them on.
Off the highway I pass the county fairgrounds. My shirt is sopping and my mouth is dry. A sign by a driveway reads “Blue Creek Care Home.” I read it more than once. Mrs. Daly’s place, Jeni said.
In town the bars and restaurants are busy, loud talk and laughs spilling out. Pickups cruise. Friday night. I move through like a ghost. A thirsty ghost.
Farther along Main, everything’s shut. I pass auto fix-its, a nail salon, a TV repair shop. My legs ache and still I’m miles away. I think about calling him.
He’d tell me
no
. He’d have to say that.
A minimart lights the next block. I don’t have a cent, but I make it my goal.
The clerk is hard-faced with pencil brows.
“All I need is a cup,” I say. “Water’s free, right?”
She shakes her head. “They’d charge us for inventory.”
I point toward the drinks machine. Row after row of cups.
“Nobody ever messes up and has to take a second one?”
“Nothing here is free,” the clerk says.
I put out my hand. “The key to the bathroom.”
She smirks. “Bathroom’s for customers only.”
I lean on the counter. “Please. I just want something to drink.”
She checks the closed-circuit. “Move along, hon.”
“Don’t call me
hon.
”
The door opens with a cheery ring.
The clerk looks past. “Yes,
sir
. How can I help you?”
I stand there out of ideas.
The guy walks up. “Angelyn, hey. I thought that was you.”
Nathan Daly.
I stare at him.
“Thirty bucks gas,” he says, handing over a couple of twenties.
“Where’d you get that money?” I ask.
Nathan shrugs. “Working. I’m in town delivering wood.”
I swallow dry. “Feel like doing me a favor?”
He smiles widely. “Name it.”
Nathan pumps gas while I chug a soda next to the truck.
Fluorescent lights thrum above us. Moths flutter.
I run a hand over the primered hood. “Yours?”
“My dad’s,” Nathan says. “I’m driving it these days.”
“Nice,” I say. Nodding.
“I saw you in town,” he says.
“You followed me here?”
Nathan glances up. “Well, I needed gas.”
I nod again, mechanically.
He sets the nozzle back. “You all right, Angelyn?”
I hoist the near-empty soda. “I owe you for this.”
“No problem.”
“The thing is, there’s something more.”
We drive in and out of cloud cover, a full moon behind it.
Nathan looks over. “I wish you’d say where we’re going.”
“Where
I’m
going. Left turn coming up.”
He swings onto the road that runs by our old grade school.
“You promised not to ask,” I remind him.
“Okay. I won’t ask about
that.
”
I settle on the patched seat. “Good.”
“But why are you out by yourself?”
“Nathan.”
“It’s a different question.”
We crest a hill and there’s Blue Creek Elementary.
“Remember that place?” he asks.
“Yeah. It was shitty there.”
“You would call me
retard
and such. You and your friends.”
“We weren’t the only ones,” I say.
“Angelyn, you didn’t start until I told about your stepdad.”
I tap a nail on the window. “Not that again.”
Nathan leans with the wheel like he’s steering a ship.
“There’s something I never got straight.”
“Watch the road, huh?”
He coasts to a Stop sign. “Which way?”
Left is town. Right is the country. I point right.
“Who do you know out here?” Nathan asks.
“No one you do.”
Forest on both sides. No light but the truck’s. No signs.
I look in all directions, trying to place us.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Nathan asks.
“Just drive, okay?”
We jump along the road. Dark miles.
The forest thins, cut by driveways. House lights beyond
At the highway I tuck my hair in my collar, hoping I pass as a guy. I walk along the shoulder, cars and trucks whipping by. A group in a van comes honking next to me. I wave them on.
Off the highway I pass the county fairgrounds. My shirt is sopping and my mouth is dry. A sign by a driveway reads “Blue Creek Care Home.” I read it more than once. Mrs. Daly’s place, Jeni said.
In town the bars and restaurants are busy, loud talk and laughs spilling out. Pickups cruise. Friday night. I move through like a ghost. A thirsty ghost.
Farther along Main, everything’s shut. I pass auto fix-its, a nail salon, a TV repair shop. My legs ache and still I’m miles away. I think about calling him.
He’d tell me
no
. He’d have to say that.
A minimart lights the next block. I don’t have a cent, but I make it my goal.
The clerk is hard-faced with pencil brows.
“All I need is a cup,” I say. “Water’s free, right?”
She shakes her head. “They’d charge us for inventory.”
I point toward the drinks machine. Row after row of cups.
“Nobody ever messes up and has to take a second one?”
“Nothing here is free,” the clerk says.
I put out my hand. “The key to the bathroom.”
She smirks. “Bathroom’s for customers only.”
I lean on the counter. “Please. I just want something to drink.”
She checks the closed-circuit. “Move along, hon.”
“Don’t call me
hon.
”
The door opens with a cheery ring.
The clerk looks past. “Yes,
sir
. How can I help you?”
I stand there out of ideas.
The guy walks up. “Angelyn, hey. I thought that was you.”
Nathan Daly.
I stare at him.
“Thirty bucks gas,” he says, handing over a couple of twenties.
“Where’d you get that money?” I ask.
Nathan shrugs. “Working. I’m in town delivering wood.”
I swallow dry. “Feel like doing me a favor?”
He smiles widely. “Name it.”
Nathan pumps gas while I chug a soda next to the truck.
Fluorescent lights thrum above us. Moths flutter.
I run a hand over the primered hood. “Yours?”
“My dad’s,” Nathan says. “I’m driving it these days.”
“Nice,” I say. Nodding.
“I saw you in town,” he says.
“You followed me here?”
Nathan glances up. “Well, I needed gas.”
I nod again, mechanically.
He sets the nozzle back. “You all right, Angelyn?”
I hoist the near-empty soda. “I owe you for this.”
“No problem.”
“The thing is, there’s something more.”
We drive in and out of cloud cover, a full moon behind it.
Nathan looks over. “I wish you’d say where we’re going.”
“Where
I’m
going. Left turn coming up.”
He swings onto the road that runs by our old grade school.
“You promised not to ask,” I remind him.
“Okay. I won’t ask about
that.
”
I settle on the patched seat. “Good.”
“But why are you out by yourself?”
“Nathan.”
“It’s a different question.”
We crest a hill and there’s Blue Creek Elementary.
“Remember that place?” he asks.
“Yeah. It was shitty there.”
“You would call me
retard
and such. You and your friends.”
“We weren’t the only ones,” I say.
“Angelyn, you didn’t start until I told about your stepdad.”
I tap a nail on the window. “Not that again.”
Nathan leans with the wheel like he’s steering a ship.
“There’s something I never got straight.”
“Watch the road, huh?”
He coasts to a Stop sign. “Which way?”
Left is town. Right is the country. I point right.
“Who do you know out here?” Nathan asks.
“No one you do.”
Forest on both sides. No light but the truck’s. No signs.
I look in all directions, trying to place us.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Nathan asks.
“Just drive, okay?”
We jump along the road. Dark miles.
The forest thins, cut by driveways. House lights beyond
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