Yeah. Because that’s the problem with this situation.
“Alrighty,” Gorby says, polishing off the last bite of hoagie and licking his thumb. “Main course time. Ready for my burger.”
“How was your hoagie appetizer?” Katherine asks politely.
“Hit the spot. Portable charcuterie, I call it.”
Gorby hands me a cold burger he’s stashed in a cupholder, and reluctantly, I unwrap it and place it into his “burger” hand, just as he instructed me to do before we even left the airport.
“That’s right,” Gorby says in an approving tone. “Nice and easy now. I gotcha, Big Carl.”
“Big Carl?” I can’t help but ask. Hoping he’s not referring to me.
He lifts the burger. “I name all my chows. Seems right to honor the animal that gave up its life.”
Katherine purses her lips and nods as though this makes complete sense.
Gorby burps.
Did I mention I’m seated in the middle?
Still. A ride is a ride, even if it is atypical.
I don’t know how Katherine managed to find the number of a long-haul trucking company. Or convince their dispatcher to send a truck to swing by the airport and pick up a couple of hitchhikers. Or how she even thought of a semitruck as an option in the first place. But then, I suppose after the twenty-four hours we’ve had, it might quite literally be our last option.
I’m grateful, if not exactly comfortable.
“I really can’t express enough, Gorby, how much we appreciate you giving us a lift to Chicago,” I say, accepting the half-eaten burger he hands me so he can fiddle with his navigation system.
“Ain’t nothing,” he says as he chews. “Your pretty little lady here caught my dispatcher just in time. Didn’t hurt me none to swing by the airport.”
Katherine sighs but doesn’t correct his assumption that she’s my pretty little lady. It’s not like her to hold her tongue, and I glance over, but her face is turned toward the window, hiding whatever she’s thinking or feeling from me. Though, I’m never sure I’m reading her right, even when she’s staring right at me.
Yet another piece of lettuce falls onto Gorby’s rather good-sized belly as he takes the burger back.
“Dang nabbit, and I just had this one dry-cleaned!” He picks the lettuce off his shirt with surprising dexterity, given his enormous fingers. “Though, better I take the brunt of the mess than Rebecca.”
I’m preoccupied with the fact that he gets his flannel dry-cleaned, so it takes me a moment to respond. “Rebecca?”
“Didn’t I mention? This here’s Rebecca,” he says, taking his hand off the wheel and patting the dash. He leaves it there for a moment longer than I feel comfortable, and I resist the urge to grab the wheel. “I love each and every one of her eighteen wheels as if they were my own.” He sighs. “We’ve been through thick and thin. Through thicker and thinner. Through thickest and—”
“And thinnest?” Katherine asks.
I shoot her a warning look, not wanting to offend what feels like our literal last option to get to Chicago. But Gorby either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind her sarcasm.
“That’s right, ma’am!” Gorby takes another bite and glances down at his shirt. He sees it’s all clear and, chewing, continues, “Becky and I been together for eight beautiful years. Coming up on a million miles together . . . Boy, isn’t that something? We’re gonna have to find something to do to celebrate! How about you two? How long you been together?”
“Not a million miles, right, Tom?” Katherine says, batting her eyelashes up at me.
“No, indeed,” I play right along. I glance at Gorby but not toward Katherine. “My girl here is no Rebecca.”
“Please tell me I was not just compared to a car,” Katherine says.
“No!” Gorby exclaims, affronted by the suggestion. “Rebecca here’s a big rig!”
I look back to Katherine. “She’s a big rig. You were just a big—”
I break off and grin when she narrows her eyes.
“So, what happened?” Gorby asks. “Why didn’t you two go the distance?”
He looks almost sad at our failed romance, though the effect is tempered a bit when he takes an enormous bite of burger.
“’Cuz, I gotta say,” he continues when neither of us replies. “The two of you together. You’ve got a real . . . what’s the word I’m lookin’ for?”
“Hostility? Animosity? Mutual loathing?” Katherine provides.
“Energy!” Gorby proclaims. “That’s the word I was thinkin’. Or was it synergy? You two kind of crackle. You know?”
I do know. I know all too well.
“Crackling’s not always a good thing,” I say quietly.
“On that, we agree,” Katherine says. “Left unchecked, a crackle can sometimes . . .” She makes a combustion motion with her hands.
Gorby takes his hand off the wheel, picks something out of his tooth, and frowns. “So, you ain’t romantic anymore. But you’re traveling together for Christmas? That makes about as much sense as a jar of little, tiny pickled onions.”
Katherine leans forward to look around me at Gorby. “Cocktail onions? You’re not a fan? They’re great in a Gibson.”
“Unnatural.” He shakes his head. “What happened to ’em to make them so small? They just ain’t right. But you two. You two seem right as—”
Katherine cuts in. “Tom’s with somebody else. Someone who suits him far better than I ever did.”
“Sheesh golly.” Gorby taps his fist on the steering wheel lightly, disappointed. “That just doesn’t seem right to me.”
Me neither, Gorby. Me neither.
The thought causes an immediate wave of guilt as I think of Lolo, who’s been a perfectly pleasant companion the past year, who’s patiently waited while I sort out the mess that is Katherine.
I just need to get back to her. See her face so I can forget all about Katherine’s.
Probably.
“So. You ain’t together. So, what’s in Chicago that you’re in such a rush to get to by Christmas?” Gorby asks thoughtfully as he crumples the burger wrapper into a ball and hands it to me. I accept it and give it to Katherine.
“Lolo,” Katherine says matter-of-factly as she leans forward to tuck the wrapper into the little trash bag Gorby has strapped to the passenger side glove compartment.
“That a truck?” Gorby asks.
Katherine lets out a laugh, and even I can’t hide my smile.
“Gorby, you are a treasure,” Katherine says. “No, Lolo is Tom’s fiancée. Almost fiancée.”
“Thomas!” Gorby leans back to give me an appraising look. “You getting married?”
“That’s the plan.” My voice sounds flat, even to my ears.
“What are we talking, Christmas morning proposal?” Gorby asks.
“Christmas Eve. Midnight.”
Shock has me whipping my head toward Katherine. “You know about . . .”
“The Walsh Christmas Eve tradition? Please. Of course I know.”
“How?”
Katherine shrugs. “I helped your mom digitize all of her photos last year. They went back like a billion generations. It was sort of hard to miss.”