“Not to mention the fact that I’m a minor,” she said.
He grimaced. “Even more reason for me to get you home safe. Where’s home?”
“You know where Main Street is?” He nodded. “Drive down Main Street and then take a left at the junior high.”
The car was beginning to warm up. As he pulled out of the hotel parking lot, she saw the streets were almost deserted. To get to Main Street he had to drive by the car, her car—no, not her car, never her car. It was there and gone in a flash of white, which seemed appropriate.
“That’s the car I was saving for,” she said. “We just drove past it.”
“How much do you need?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“That’s not too bad.”
“Might as well be a million.”
“How much do you have?”
“Right now? This minute?” She thought for a moment, subtracted the electricity bill, subtracted groceries. “A hundred and fifty.”
“That’s not much for a girl who works two jobs and lives at home.”
“Yeah, well,” she said. “I chip in.”
“Ah,” he said. “Would you like me not to ask any more questions about that?”
“Good instinct.” She flipped through his CDs. “So what’s your deal? Where do you live?”
“Outside Cleveland.”
“Vague.”
“I have a nice split-level house and a wife named Lisa.”
“Kids?”
“Not unless you count Kermit.”
“The frog?”
“The Havanese.”
“What’s a Havanese?”
“It’s the national dog of Cuba.”
“Little? Big?”
“Little. Fluffy.”
“Yappy?”
“Ours isn’t.”
“You don’t seem like a little-fluffy-dog guy.”
“What kind of dog guy do I seem like?”
Caro didn’t know much about dogs. “The dog-food-commercial kind. The ones that catch Frisbees.”
“Well, Kermit is great, but—yeah, that’s more my type,” he said. “Lisa has allergies, though.”
“How does she feel about you traveling so much?”
He shrugged. “She doesn’t love it. But she likes the money. It’s the way our life is, that’s all. So, does my answering all these questions mean I’m allowed to ask you some?”
“I’m just trying to get to know the stranger who’s driving me home,” she said. “There’s the junior high, up ahead.”
He turned. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. I’ll ask. You don’t have to answer. You live with your parents?”
“My mom.”
“What about your dad?”
“Have you ever heard the term sperm donor used in this context?”
“Got it. Your mom doesn’t work?”
She didn’t answer.
“Two jobs, plus high school,” he said. “Don’t you get tired?”
“I’m always tired,” she said. “Turn right up here.”
They drove in silence for a minute or two. Then he said, “I’m guessing your mother has some problems. I don’t know what kind. I suppose I don’t need to know.”
She didn’t answer.
“Mind if I get gas?” he said, and he flicked on his turn signal.
He pulled them into a SuperSpeedy, lit almost to daylight and busy even at this time of night. She sat in the warm cocoon of heated air while he filled the tank of his car. Then he leaned in. “I want a doughnut. You want anything?”
“A doughnut sounds good.”
He nodded and went inside. She watched as he stopped at the cash machine and then sank back into the plush of the car’s interior and pretended this was her life, that she was an adult and she was heading far away from the shabby little duplex instead of to it; this was her car. The man inside was her husband. He had a good job and she had a purse full of credit cards in good standing. When she looked out the window she saw a couple just like the one in her imagination, obviously coming back from a night out somewhere nicer than the hotel restaurant.
“Hello,” she said to them through the closed window. “My name is Lisa Mitchell. This is my husband, Chris, and our dog Kermit. He’s a Havanese. It’s the national dog of Cuba.”
The door to the convenience store opened and Chris came out carrying a box, so she shut up before he could see her talking to herself.
Back in the car, he took one doughnut out of the box and handed the rest to her. “All yours.”
“I don’t need charity doughnuts,” she said.
“Charity doughnuts, my ass. They only sold them by the dozen.” That was a lie but she let him get away with it. The doughnuts smelled amazing and Margot would eat them, because all she had to do was open the box.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
He started the car, and she expected him to put the car in gear and pull out, but instead he just sat and stared back into the SuperSpeedy. His brow was furrowed and his jaw was working slightly, as if he were poking at a sore tooth with his tongue.
“I’m not eighteen yet,” she said.