Come on, baby.
Once I get off this road and onto the highway, mayhem will be less likely, and I’ve got a decent lead.
Still, before long here he comes,
screaming up over a slight rise, bright lights on and blinding.
I pick up speed, but he’s right on my bumper and
and I don’t know what to do or how to quiet the loud percussion of my heart thudding in my veins.
Flashback
Dad’s driving.
It’s a strange car.
I’m in the backseat.
With a dog.
Dog?
No, puppy.
No, somewhere in between.
A young dog with a silky golden coat.
I’m scared.
Crying.
The dog whines at the lights in the rear window. Bright lights.
I plant my face into the dog’s shoulder.
“Boo,” I whisper.
Boo?
Dad cusses.
The car behind us honks.
Rides our bumper.
Starts to pass.
Dad swerves.
Slams on the brakes.
The other car goes sideways, trying to avoid us.
Crashes.
Dad laughs.
Real Time
A vehicle starts to pass.
Close. Too close.
We’re almost touching.
Only when I glance to my left it isn’t the hulk of a pickup.
It’s a car.
A familiar car.
Dad’s LeSabre.
And it isn’t Garrett behind the wheel.
“Dad?”
I say it out loud, but I don’t know why.
He can’t hear me.
Can he see me?
Surely he knows it’s me.
I honk once.
His head doesn’t turn.
I honk again, longer.
Still he stares straight ahead.
Pass already, would you?
Suddenly, he cuts me off.
I swerve.
Slam on the brakes.
Only this time it’s me who overcorrects.
Goes sideways.
Manages to avoid the ditch on my right.
Barely.
Skids left.
Manages to avoid the LeSabre’s rear bumper.
Barely.
The Focus hits the left-hand shoulder.
Sideways.
The Focus stops suddenly, slams my forehead against the steering wheel.
Brain spinning inside my skull, I reach for my phone—still there on the seat.
Hit the first number in memory. “Help me.”
Dark Out Here
Dark.
But where is here?
Cold out here.
Cold.
But where is here?
I open my eyes.
Work hard to remember.
Car.
In my car.
Stopped.
Something’s wrong.
Why am I sideways?
Ditch.
What ditch?
And why is my car tilted into it?
Most of all, why does my head hurt?
I reach up, touch the spot above my eyes that has swollen into an awful knot.
Oh my God.
I remember.
Dad.
Headlights appear.
Approach.
Quickly.
Slower.
What if it’s Dad?
Did he come back?
I should move my car.
I reach for the key.
The engine starts easily.
But the tires spin uselessly.
I think I need a tow truck.
The other car brakes to a stop.
It’s an old GTO with a new paint job.
Gabe hurries over, takes a good look at the position of the car.
Opens the passenger door.
Ariel. Are you okay?
Does anything feel broken?
Everything but bones.
Holy shit. Look at your head!
That Cracks Me Up
Not that anything’s funny.
Not my head.
Not that I’m not okay.
“I’m great. How are you?”
Lame humor. Guess I’m not dying.
You don’t look great.
What happened?
“Garrett was having
a little fun with me.
Except it wasn’t Garrett.
Turned out it was my dad.”
Garrett? Your dad?
What are you talking about?
Wait. Let’s get you out of there.
Can you unbuckle your seat belt?
I fumble, but manage it,
and Gabe tugs me gently
across the seat and out
the door. He sits me
next to the car, wraps
me in the warmth
of his jacket to fight
the cold, and possible
shock. Uses a flashlight
to assess potential injuries.
“Hey. How did you know
to come looking for me?”
You called. Asked for help.
I didn’t know you were out here, though. I was on my way to your house, and to tell you the truth, I was preparing myself to kick your dad’s ass. He studies my face closer. Looks like I should’ve gotten there sooner. Bastard. Listen.
We should probably take you into the ER. You could have a concussion.
“Nope. Huh-uh. I’ve had
a shitty enough day. Not
going to deal with doctors, too. Anyway, what would
they do for a concussion?
Keep me warm and make
me rest, right? I can do
that anywhere.”
Ariel, I really think— “No hospital! Other than
a headache, I feel okay.
I could probably even drive.”
Yeah, Except
The Focus can’t go anywhere, and even if it could, Gabe
isn’t about to let me behind the wheel.
Take care of your car tomorrow.
I’ll drive you wherever you want.
Can you stand up okay?
He helps me to my feet and into the GTO, carefully, tenderly, as if I might shatter. Maybe I will.
“Will you take me to Monica’s?
She’s probably worried about me.
That’s where I was going when . . .”
I give him the lowdown,
at least what I can remember.
Everything’s a little foggy.
Your dad did this? Ran you off the road? On purpose?
He could’ve killed you.
“I think that’s what he had
in mind.” The words exit