“Can I have the key to the bathroom?”
He pushed the keys across the counter, then looked back down at his magazine. I browsed the shelves, then made my way outside around the back of the store, where a sign pointed to the restrooms. A laundry room for truckers was beside the washrooms. I pulled out the slots, checked for spare change under the machines—sometimes you get lucky, but nothing today. In the garbage can, I found a few cans and a pizza box with a couple of crusts. My stomach growled, but I left the box and went into the bathroom, used the toilet, and washed my hands. I glanced in the mirror. My eyes looked big, scared. The fluorescent light above my head was humming loudly, the bathroom seeming suddenly cold and empty.
I turned my face so I could see the bruise on my jaw. The makeup was smeared. I rubbed at it with my finger, spread it smooth. I stepped back, staring at my reflection. I tried to narrow my eyes and squared my shoulders, pulling my hat down hard, making myself look tougher, more like Dani. It didn’t work.
I returned the key and walked back to the truck.
“What did you find?” Dani said through her window.
“Just one guy at the counter—he’s reading a girlie magazine.”
She nodded.
“Now what?” I said.
“Courtney, you go talk to him.”
“Shit, why me?” Courtney said.
Dani gave her a look. Courtney heaved a sigh, undid the top button of her shirt, and got out of the truck.
“I’m going too,” I said.
“No. Stay in the truck, Jess.”
“But I’m hungry!”
“Jesus Christ.” Dani bitched all the time about my “hollow leg,” but she still gave me extra helpings.
I followed Courtney into the store. She leaned over the counter and began talking to the guy, who immediately put down his magazine and turned to face her. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Dani pull the truck around to the pump. Quickly, I walked down the aisles and shoved chocolate bars and snacks into my pockets. Courtney glanced out the window once in a while, waiting for the signal. I was also keeping an eye on Dani. Finally she lifted her hat and wiped her brow.
I left the store and jumped in the truck. Courtney took the pen the guy was holding out, wrote something down on a piece of paper. He was smiling big. She made like she was checking the pocket of her jeans shorts, then shook her head and nodded at the truck.
Now she was heading back to us, walking slow, letting her hips sway. I could see the guy inside staring at her, riveted. She got in the truck, made it look like she was reaching for her purse, then slammed the door behind her. Dani pounded the accelerator. The truck fishtailed onto the road, swerving on the dusty, dry edge. I watched behind as the guy ran out of the gas station, his hand on a phone, already calling the police. Our license plate was covered in dried mud, but my heart was still pounding. If we were caught, we’d be brought back to Littlefield and the cops would have questions—lots of questions.
I turned around and pulled out my chocolate bars. We ate, silent in the dark.
“Remember when Dad used to buy us Caramilk bars every Christmas?” Courtney’s voice was small, the memory big.
I chewed slower now, my eyes filling with tears. It had been years since Dad had brought us chocolate bars, not since our mom had died.
It had only been three days since I’d killed him.
CHAPTER TWO
LITTLEFIELD
THREE DAYS EARLIER
Dad had been gone a month this time, working in Alberta on the oil rigs. Before that job he mostly worked construction around town and on the ranch where we lived. Littlefield was a small town near the Alberta border and it didn’t have a lot of jobs—mainly farming or logging since the mill had closed down—so a lot of men worked in Calgary, a couple of hours away. Dad said he’d make better money in Alberta, and maybe he did, but we never saw any of it. He worked three weeks in and one week out. He’d stop at a couple of bars on the way home from the rigs, then usually didn’t quit drinking until it was time for his next shift.
I was sure this time things would be different, though. My fifteenth birthday was coming up and he’d told me he’d bring me something special. I’d been thinking about it all week.
“He’s not bringing you diddly-squat,” Dani had said that morning.
“He promised,” I said.
“So?”
I didn’t look at her, just shoved another spoonful of scrambled eggs into my mouth. Across the table Courtney was practicing some chords on her guitar, scribbling into a little notebook. She gave me a smile.
“I’ll write you a song,” she said. “For your birthday.”
“That’d be cool.” I smiled back at her.
“Jess, I just don’t want you to be disappointed,” Dani said from the other end of the table.