The time we spent together was more than I could have dreamed of. Thank you. I’ve accepted a transfer to San Diego and am leaving tomorrow. Stay safe. D.
Reading that made her feel sick all over again. She certainly couldn’t have a change of heart now. He was already gone.
“If the bus went past my house, I could rely on that each week instead of my mom,” Abby said.
“That’s okay, sweetie. I don’t mind. I’d offer to take you home, but I just have my motorcycle and one helmet. Your mom would probably flip out if you got a ride home on one. I know mine would have.”
“Well, she probably wouldn’t care, but I don’t want you to give me a ride home. She should be here soon. She texted me a little while ago. I just hope she didn’t forget.”
All the other kids had been picked up from art class and she and Abby had been waiting outside the studio for over half an hour. She didn’t want to look at her watch because she didn’t want Abby to feel she was getting impatient, but it had to be almost ten o’clock. Class on First Thursday Art Walk night always got out late and Abby usually stayed around to help her clean up the studio.
The two of them looked up as they heard the screeching tires of a car rounding the corner. As it pulled up to the curb in front of them, it almost clipped a parked car. A thumping beat echoed through the tinted windows.
“Thanks for waiting, Mackenzie.” Abby gave her a cheery smile.
“No problem. See you next week.”
Music blared loudly from inside the vehicle when Abby opened the door and climbed in. Without looking, her mother pulled the car into a tight U-turn and almost hit an oncoming car. The other driver laid on his horn and Abby’s mother gave him the finger. As they sped off, Mackenzie saw her tilt back a can of beer.
Without thinking, Mackenzie jumped on her motorcycle and followed them. If she had thought it through, maybe she would have called the police to have them handle it. She would’ve memorized the license plate number, made note of the street and direction they were driving, and called it in as a drunk driver. Then she would have gone home and climbed into bed. Or taken a bath first.
But she didn’t, and because of that one decision, everything in her life changed.
Thankfully, Abby’s mother was a slow drunk driver. Mackenzie was able to keep up with her and only once, while going over the West Seattle bridge, did she get really worried. The woman never crossed the center line, but she came close. Mackenzie followed them for miles and at every turn, every passing car, she said a silent prayer.
When they pulled into a driveway in a rundown neighborhood, Mackenzie drove by slowly. Thank God they arrived home safely. She knew she’d have to confront the mother at some point, but tonight she just wanted to go home. When Abby climbed out of the car, she waved at Mackenzie.
She knew I was following her. Sweet girl.
Flipping up her helmet’s visor, Mackenzie blew her a kiss and drove off.
As she left the neighborhood, she realized she had no idea where she was. She had been so focused on following Abby, she hadn’t paid attention to all the streets they had turned down. Now she was in a seedy, dilapidated part of town that she’d never been to, without any sense of how to get back. She had a vague idea where the bridge was from here and headed in that direction.
Junker cars littered the front lawns of many of the unkempt houses. Weeds grew from broken sidewalks, neon lights of adult businesses flashed on almost every block, along with a few used car lots and pawn shops. She made it onto a main thoroughfare and hoped it led back to the bridge.
At the first stoplight, a group of teenage boys loitered on the corner. There must’ve been about seven or eight of them, she guessed as she came to a halt. At this time of night, they couldn’t be trading Pokemon cards.
Keep looking straight ahead. Just ignore them.
“Hey, it’s a chick on a bike,” she heard one of them call. She felt them all turn to look at her. Someone whistled.
“Wanna ride me, baby?” another one yelled.
“I’ll give you something huge to feel between your legs.”