heartbreak, infidelity, divorce, single parenthood, financial ruin, and the world hadn’t come to an end. Surely a dead battery was not going to finish her off.
Will it matter in five years? Her therapist’s favorite question popped into Crystal’s mind. For once, the answer was no. No, this stupid dead car she was forced to drive because her stupid attorney hadn’t milked enough spousal maintenance out of Derek would be nothing more than a bitter memory five years from now. She glanced at the crumpled pink receipt from the medical lab test on the console. Snatching it up, she stuffed it under the visor. Now, that was something that would matter in five years. It would matter forever.
She wished it wasn’t raining. If the sun was out, she’d abandon this piece-of-shit car, stride with her pageant runway walk over to Rain Shadow Lexus and slide right into the cushy leather interior of a brand-new car, one that shut its own lights off if the driver forgot. She’d sweet-talk the dealer into easy terms and drive off into the sunset.
Driving. She and Derek used to drive all over together. After they’d moved here to Comfort, a short distance from the magnificent Pacific Coast, they used to drive out to the edge of everything and explore the twisting, cliff-draped coastal highway to their hearts’ content. Sometimes they’d even pull off at a scenic vista and make love in the back of their minivan.
It was raining harder than ever now. She briefly considered prevailing on Lily for help, but dismissed the idea. She knew Lily would drop everything to help her. She’d wade through a flood if Crystal asked her to. Crystal didn’t want to ask. Lily had already been such a good friend to her, helping her out of one jam after another. It was high time Crystal started rescuing herself. And frankly, Crystal was tired of feeling like an idiot.
As she took out her cell phone, she held her breath. If this battery was dead, too, she’d shoot herself. She pictured herself slogging back into the school, a two-time loser, needing to use a phone.
“Work, please work,” she said, flipping it open.
The display leapt to glowing blue life, playing its happy little “Turn Me On” ditty. Finally, one thing went right today. Not only that, Crystal had, like the soul of competence and organization, clipped her auto club card to the visor. How smart of her.
She entered the toll-free number, then followed the prompts, submitting her membership number.
“We’re sorry,” said a soothing female voice. “That number is no longer valid. Please call our customer service department between 9:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m. eastern time to renew your membership.”
“Screw you,” Crystal muttered, pressing End. The phone’s clock told her it was well past 6:00 p.m. on the stupid East Coast.
Like everything else in their marriage, Derek had let the auto club membership expire and hadn’t bothered to tell her.
Swearing under her breath, she took out the sample package of Virginia Slims and the book of hotel matches. She put one of the ancient cigarettes between her lips and lit up. She gagged on the smoke, being an intermittent smoker at best, but lighting up was an act of defiance, a reaction to all the frustrations building inside her. For one moment, she could do something reckless, senseless, dangerous, and the only one to suffer the consequences would be her.
Calmed by the cigarette, Crystal pressed the button of her seat belt. It retracted with a snaky slither and she felt suddenly unburdened. Free.
Finally, she knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to kill him. She smiled, took another puff on the cigarette and flipped open her phone again. Her fingers remembered his number and dialed it by touch alone. She didn’t even have to look.
He answered on the first ring because she had programmed him to respond quickly. With three kids, you never knew what emergency might be going on.
“My car’s dead,” she said without preamble. “I need you to come back to the school and give me a jump.”
“Call the auto club,” he said easily. “I’m busy.”
She could hear his car radio playing a Talking Heads song in the background. “You let the auto club membership expire,” she said.
“No, you failed to renew it,” he said.
“I would have done so if you’d told me it expired.”
“Call a tow truck, then.”
“Fine. That’ll cost a hundred and fifty bucks. I’ll send you the bill.”