Everett picked me up the following morning at seven. And then we were on the road without any fanfare, logging the miles to our first destination, a destination that Everett kept quiet on.
Silence existed in the space between the driver’s seat and mine and it didn’t bother me. Small talk was useless. There was enough talk in my head to keep up on.
Everett turned on the music at some point. I didn’t know who was singing, not that that was surprising. I didn’t keep up on bands, ever. My world was a quiet place.
A few hours into the drive, Everett turned the Jeep off the interstate. There was a large monument just off the interstate and that’s where the vehicle ended up, parked right off the road in a small parking lot directly in front of the monument.
I climbed out and stared up at it against the sun. And then I looked at Everett.
“World’s Tallest Thermometer,” he said, answering my question. I looked back at the monument. “It won’t register your temperature.”
I looked at him again. “What are you talking about?”
“Ten below zero,” he said, hands tucked in the pocket of his black jeans.
“You’re an a*shole.” I gritted my teeth. And then I gestured wildly at him. “Well it will probably register yours. Aren’t you hot, wearing all black all the time, in California of all places?”
Everett walked up next to me. “I don’t know, am I?”
I rolled my eyes. Nine in the morning and I was already annoyed. “We came all the way here to look at this?”
“Well, it’s on the way, and I need to fuel up.” Everett turned around and walked back to the car. I stared at the monument again before climbing into the vehicle.
“If this is how the rest of the trip is going to be, you can bring me back home now.”
“There’s only one World’s Tallest Thermometer, Parker,” he said blandly, driving down the street to the nearby gas station.
“What’s next, World’s Tallest Toothpick?”
“I don’t know where that is,” he replied, putting the car in park.
I sat back in the seat, fuming. “Well I don’t need to travel to meet the world’s biggest a*shole.”
“I knew you were obsessively practical in your thinking. That saves us a stop!” Everett grinned, climbing out of the car. He slung an arm over my shoulder when I left the car. “Thanks for looking out for this trip, Parker.”
I shrugged him off with a grunt and looked over my shoulder. Just down the road stood the thermometer, still in sight. It made me think of Everett’s words to me again. I knew I was cold. But no one had ever cared enough to point it out.
Not that Everett cared. He didn’t. He couldn’t. I was a shell. Hard on the outside, empty on the inside.