I look again at Jasper, still collapsed over his steering wheel. He’s got a temper, that’s for sure. But he’s desperate to find Cassie, that much is real. No one is that good of an actor. And in that moment I have two totally incompatible thoughts. Something terrible will happen if you go with him. Something worse will happen if you do not.
“He’s just worried about our friend,” I say to the baby-lady, and that does feel absolutely true. Still, I don’t meet her eyes. “We’re looking for her.” Was it a mistake to say even that much? Does your mother know where you are? This nice woman might call the police herself. People like her do that—they get involved. “I mean, our friend isn’t missing missing. She’s at some camp in Maine. She just needs us to come pick her up, and now the car …”
“Okay.” The woman eyes me with a mix of concern and sympathy. Then she steps forward and rests her fingertips against my shoulder. I’ve been there, the look says. No judgments. But I do know you’re lying. “As long as you’re sure.”
“I am.” I nod too much. “Definitely.”
Suddenly, Jasper pounds hard on the steering wheel. Once, twice, three times, like he’s trying to rip it off. Then he rests his head back down against his hands. If you are trying to change my low opinion of you, I think, you are not doing yourself any favors.
“Hey, maybe Doug can help with your car. Keep the stress level down for everyone’s sake,” she says. “In the meantime, why don’t you go inside and see if they have a mechanic here?”
When I look over at Jasper again, he’s staring at me, jaw flexed, nostrils flared. A temper, there’s no doubt about that.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll go inside and ask about a mechanic.”
I turn toward the Freshmart, and the baby-lady opens her car door and ducks her head inside. I can only hear bits and pieces—“Help them … won’t start … Come on, honey.” As I walk away, her husband says something back. I can’t make it out, but he sounds annoyed. Like he doesn’t want to help us. And one look again at Jasper, angry and panting, who in their right mind would?
“Everything okay out there?” the man at the counter almost shouts as I step inside. He tugs on a small white baseball cap like he’s about to spring into action and zoom to the rescue. But that’s all he does: put on the cap. He doesn’t even come out from behind the counter.
“Our car won’t start. Can you take a look at it?”
He sucks in some air through clenched teeth. “I could try my mechanic, Jimmy,” he says, but doubtfully. Checks his watch. “But it’s past nine thirty. He’s already playing cards for sure. House could be on fire and Jimmy would burn along with it if he’s in the middle of a game. He’ll never even notice the phone.”
“And you can’t, maybe, fix it yourself?”
“Afraid it’s gas only at night.” He sounds a little defensive. “I’m a decent owner, but a lousy mechanic.” He holds up a trembling hand to demonstrate—arthritis, Parkinson’s maybe—but I get the sense he’d be a bad mechanic regardless. “Jimmy comes in at the crack of dawn, though. And there’s a motel a stretch down the road. Maybe those nice folks out there could give you kids a lift?”
A motel? Cassie said hurry, come now. She’s scared they, whoever they are, are going to hurt her. We can’t wait until tomorrow. We can’t wait at all.
“No, no, you don’t understand,” I say. Like anything will suddenly make this man able to do something he can’t. “We have to get where we’re going right now.”
“Well, there’s a car rental place next town over.” He frowns as he looks down at his watch again. “But I doubt they’d be open at this hour either.”
And we’re not old enough to rent a car anyway. I look out toward Jasper’s Jeep. The hood is up now and a man, the baby-lady’s husband he must be, is bent over it. He’s even bigger than Jasper, and with his full beard and cool plaid shirt hanging over his worn jeans, he’s an actual hipster, not an accidental one.
“Looks like maybe you won’t need that mechanic after all.”
When I get back outside, the baby-lady’s husband is still bent over our car. Jasper’s arms are crossed tight as he stands next to him, watching so intently that it looks like something in his head might pop. When Jasper sees me coming, he takes a couple of steps away from the car and waves me over.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” he says, when we’re somewhat alone. My own arms are crossed now. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you and I definitely shouldn’t have grabbed your arm. I just—I’m sorry.” He rubs a hand over his head, looks away. Confused, worried, sad. Jasper is still all those things, but the anger is gone. “This whole thing has got me—” When he turns back to me, his eyes are glassy. “You know, I think I’m actually in love with her. I didn’t realize that until right now. I’ve never been in love with anyone before. If something happens to her—”