Morris, and all I know how to do now is run. Straight down into a ditch and up the other side into the parking lot of a shuttered Kmart, running, running, my nervous system on fire. I’m going to keep running all the way to California. I’ll change my name and start a new life.
This is the sunniest prospect I’ve had in ages.
I don’t pause to catch my breath until I’m on the other side of the Kmart, November air solidifying into ice cubes in my lungs. I’m so thankful for the big, empty building shielding me from all my problems. One of the drivers who honked at me is undoubtedly on the phone with a 911 operator. The situation will be eagerly described to an officer Who Has No Time For This Shit by ten bystanders, and everyone on the scene will deduce that I’m high on bath salts. They’ll call a tow truck while a cop chases me down with a Taser.
Frankencar’s still registered to poor, well-meaning Leon and he’s going to take the fall for me. I have to go back. I’m never going back.
My thighs are cold and chafed, so the buzzing in my pocket doesn’t catch my full attention until the fourth time it happens. It’s Nicholas, of course.
You’re VERY late. Where are you??
I’m out of your reach, Dr. Rose. I’m in no-man’s-land. Good luck trying to find me out here behind the decaying husk of a superstore.
That’s what I want to reply. But according to my phone it’s fifty-three degrees with RealFeel of forty-eight, and I’m not cut out for a life of consistent exercise. I’m so out of shape that I’m still wheezing, dreams of California dissolving into the wind. I’m going to get stabbed out here. I’m so glad I’m wearing real clothes instead of pajamas.
Save me, I reply instead. I whine it aloud, too.
From what?
You. Your mother. Frostbite.
I snap a picture of the parking lot and send it. Car broke down. I’m stranded.
His phone call cuts me off midsentence: I’ve got Dots candy in my coat pocket. I’m going to leave a trail like Hansel and
“Naomi?” He sounds afraid. “How far into town are you? What happened?”
“That car is crap!” I exclaim. “It tried to kill me.”
“I told you a million miles ago to change your oil and you said it was none of my business.” In his mind, he’s twirling through a field of I-Told-You-So’s. That’s his idea of heaven.
“Not that car. I traded it for Leon’s clunker. It’s a stick shift, Nicholas. I don’t know how to drive a fricking stick shift! Bad things happened and I left it in the middle of the road. Now I’m in a Kmart parking lot.” I kick a rock and squint up at the gray building, then a scattering of other dark buildings with empty parking lots along the same strip. I’m in a retail graveyard. “Maybe it’s a Toys R Us.”
“Jesus Christ.” I can hear cars whooshing by on his end of the line. He’s out on the sidewalk.
“Don’t let me die here. I want to be somewhere warm when I go.”
“Yeah, better ease into those warmer temperatures. It’ll get a lot hotter once you arrive at your destination.” I’m about to wail. “You need to tell me exactly where you are.”
I wring my hands. Nicholas is on the phone, which makes him feel close, so it’s okay to freak out now. He’s going to remain calm no matter what. We’ve always been balanced that way: when one of us loses it, the other can’t. Whoever didn’t call dibs on instant hysterics has no choice but to keep it together.
“The first stoplight when you get into town. I went off, uh, into a ditch. Not in the car, I mean. I left on foot.”
“Why did you leave your car?”
“I don’t know! It all happened so fast. Give me time to think of a better excuse.”
“I’ll be right there. Go back to the car.”
I don’t go back to the car, but I do tiptoe out from behind the building and stand at the side of the road. There are flashing lights—a police officer and a tow truck. Oh lord, I’m going to jail.
Someone spots me and points, and my instinct is to crouch down. There’s nothing to hide behind, so I’m crouching for no reason whatsoever. Forget jail. I’m getting a padded cell.
Out of habit, I’m scouring the road for a flash of gold Maserati, so when Nicholas steps out of a