stairs so many nights. They could have peeled back the shingles, the polite Mississippi veneer, and looked inside that house, and they’d have seen all the right pieces to their puzzle. So you tell me whose fault that was. Mine? And mine again when he decided that the way it began wasn’t enough anymore, and he had to start bringing—
She heard the radio show abruptly cut off, and there came the click of the tape deck as it automatically reversed from one side to the other, then the show resumed after a few dead moments. On tape. Dillon was listening to this on tape.
He opened up after a while, growing friendlier with neutral small talk. She learned that he was a sporting goods salesman with a four-state territory. He spoke of how team sports built strong character in young men. Dillon asked what she did.
“I’ve worked mostly in day care centers the past few years.”
“Is that right.” He seemed intrigued. “Then we’re in the same business, really. Developing young minds and bodies. Although it’s my opinion that day care’s no substitute for a stable home.”
“Hey,” she said flatly, “what is?”
“I’d never turn my three over to day care. No offense.”
“None taken.” Allison biting back the urge to ask why, if his children’s home life was really that important, he’d taken a job that sent him out on the road.
Route 93 unfurled beneath them, mile after desolate mile, past moonlit boulders the size of mountains. Their path had been cut through by wind and rain and dynamite. In the shadow of these hulks and spires, civilization was sparse. She could count the towns on one hand so far, sprouting in the flat clefts where the earth leveled out enough for a few streets, some foundations, a church, a saloon.
Another lay just ahead, heralded by a sign: Coyote Ridge, population 423. Another blink-and-you-miss-it small town, one exit and a dusting of lights in the near distance, and then it was all behind them in another five heartbeats.
“Do you always dress like that?” Dillon asked.
Allison frowned, startled. She’d changed back in the truck stop bathroom, today’s earlier sundress too cool for the desert night. Jeans now, and a midriff top, both comfortably snug; the faded old denim jacket lay across her lap. She held it tighter.
“No,” she said, as if this were any of his business, “but the petticoats and bonnet don’t travel as well.”
“It sends a message. You should be careful of a thing like that.” She could feel his hard stare in the night.
“Then let me make this message clear: You’re making me very uncomfortable. Could you stop it, please.”
“I’m responsible for you now,” he went on. “What’s it been, an hour and a half, more or less? All this time and responsibility and I’ve been wondering what’s going to happen to you, if you keep telegraphing yourself this way, this way you—” His breath sounded ragged. “You could be hurt. You could be very seriously hurt, and, and … no one would know, no one would, would … come .”
“Stop the car and let me out. Now. Right now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t have anybody to protect you.”
“The ones who were in charge of that did a pretty lousy job of it, so I’ve done fine on my own.” She tensed, glancing at the speedometer, saw they were doing seventy. She could never jump, not at this speed. Besides, the remaining core of her life was in the backseat. “Now stop this fucking car so I can get out.”
“Watch your language.” With a sigh of disgust he stabbed one finger at the tape player to shut it off. By dashboard light the rigid curves of his face gleamed with moist heat; a glow reflected from his glasses, turning the lenses to molten disks. “My children ride in this car. I will not have it profaned.”
One silent mile, most of another. Allison had pressed herself against the passenger door. Couldn’t read him, couldn’t decide on his intentions. He’d made no attempt
She heard the radio show abruptly cut off, and there came the click of the tape deck as it automatically reversed from one side to the other, then the show resumed after a few dead moments. On tape. Dillon was listening to this on tape.
He opened up after a while, growing friendlier with neutral small talk. She learned that he was a sporting goods salesman with a four-state territory. He spoke of how team sports built strong character in young men. Dillon asked what she did.
“I’ve worked mostly in day care centers the past few years.”
“Is that right.” He seemed intrigued. “Then we’re in the same business, really. Developing young minds and bodies. Although it’s my opinion that day care’s no substitute for a stable home.”
“Hey,” she said flatly, “what is?”
“I’d never turn my three over to day care. No offense.”
“None taken.” Allison biting back the urge to ask why, if his children’s home life was really that important, he’d taken a job that sent him out on the road.
Route 93 unfurled beneath them, mile after desolate mile, past moonlit boulders the size of mountains. Their path had been cut through by wind and rain and dynamite. In the shadow of these hulks and spires, civilization was sparse. She could count the towns on one hand so far, sprouting in the flat clefts where the earth leveled out enough for a few streets, some foundations, a church, a saloon.
Another lay just ahead, heralded by a sign: Coyote Ridge, population 423. Another blink-and-you-miss-it small town, one exit and a dusting of lights in the near distance, and then it was all behind them in another five heartbeats.
“Do you always dress like that?” Dillon asked.
Allison frowned, startled. She’d changed back in the truck stop bathroom, today’s earlier sundress too cool for the desert night. Jeans now, and a midriff top, both comfortably snug; the faded old denim jacket lay across her lap. She held it tighter.
“No,” she said, as if this were any of his business, “but the petticoats and bonnet don’t travel as well.”
“It sends a message. You should be careful of a thing like that.” She could feel his hard stare in the night.
“Then let me make this message clear: You’re making me very uncomfortable. Could you stop it, please.”
“I’m responsible for you now,” he went on. “What’s it been, an hour and a half, more or less? All this time and responsibility and I’ve been wondering what’s going to happen to you, if you keep telegraphing yourself this way, this way you—” His breath sounded ragged. “You could be hurt. You could be very seriously hurt, and, and … no one would know, no one would, would … come .”
“Stop the car and let me out. Now. Right now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t have anybody to protect you.”
“The ones who were in charge of that did a pretty lousy job of it, so I’ve done fine on my own.” She tensed, glancing at the speedometer, saw they were doing seventy. She could never jump, not at this speed. Besides, the remaining core of her life was in the backseat. “Now stop this fucking car so I can get out.”
“Watch your language.” With a sigh of disgust he stabbed one finger at the tape player to shut it off. By dashboard light the rigid curves of his face gleamed with moist heat; a glow reflected from his glasses, turning the lenses to molten disks. “My children ride in this car. I will not have it profaned.”
One silent mile, most of another. Allison had pressed herself against the passenger door. Couldn’t read him, couldn’t decide on his intentions. He’d made no attempt
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