my mouth without conscious
thought. I can’t quite believe he’d hurt me, but what he did was definitely deliberate.
Deliberate
De
Dad
li
has
be
many
rate.
faults
but
Oh
he
my
isn’t
serious
capable
God.
of
homicide.
My
dad
But now
tried
his words
to
come back
kill
to me.
me.
I
Did he?
should
Maybe.
have
Maybe not.
killed
Maybe
the
it was
bitch
an accident
when
after all.
I
had
So
the
why
chance.
didn’t
he stop?
No.
No way.
I Jerk the Door Open
Lean out as far as I can
before my stomach empties
itself of what little I’ve eaten today. Gut clenching and
releasing, I heave and heave.
Finally, the nausea subsides
and I chance sitting up again, shaky and, I’m sure, pale.
“Sorry. I think I managed to miss your new leather seat, though.”
Don’t apologize! But thanks for avoiding the seat. I’ll go put a note on your car. Do you have your phone, or did you leave it in the Focus?
Phone? I called Gabe, at least he says I did. . . . “I think it’s on the seat, or maybe the floor. Can you grab it and both my backpacks, please?”
Most of my earthly possessions are inside them. I’ll have to go back for what’s left. But then what?
Because whatever Dad did
or didn’t do tonight, he’s gone.
He’ll vanish like he did before with one notable exception.
He Left Me Behind
Just like I always worried
he would when I was little.
Now, at least, I’m old enough
to take care of myself. Maybe.
Gabe returns, tosses my stuff
onto the backseat. All but my phone.
That, he hands to me. You can call the cops on the way to town.
My head begins a slow right—
left motion. “Can’t call the cops.”
Run into the alfalfa fields. Hide.
No police ever. Programming.
But Gabe’s having none of it.
Why not? You can’t let that bastard get away with this, Ariel. Who knows what he might do next?
He’s right. I’m wrong. As usual.
“But he’s still my dad, Gabe.
If I call the cops and they catch him, he’ll probably go to jail.”
Which is exactly where he belongs.
Look, either you call 9-1-1 or I will.
He Starts the Car
But waits for me to dial, and I realize he’s totally serious about me doing this, so I comply.
“Hello? I’ve been in an accident.”
The cop on duty asks
if I’m injured, and do I require an ambulance, but when I tell him I’m mostly okay, he informs me that
this isn’t really an emergency.
“What if I told you someone purposely cut me off?”
He inquires if anyone else saw what happened,
and when I say no,
he invites me to come in and file a police report, but without witnesses
it’s my word
versus the other guy’s.
Now he asks a series
of questions designed, I think, to shift the blame onto my shoulders.
He sounds like he thinks I’m making it all up.
Have you been drinking tonight?
“Nope.”
Are you sure another car was involved?
“Positive.”
Could this be a domestic dispute?
“In a manner of speaking.”
Were you fighting with your boyfriend?
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
But you know the other driver?
“Yes.”
Okay, who was it then?
Damn. Mistake. Can’t say.
Hello? Are you still there?
“Uh-huh.”
So, who cut you off?
“Never mind.”
I Hang Up
Gabe shoots me
a what just happened?
kind of look.
I shrug.
“He said I need a witness.”
It strikes me I might have an unreliable one, if I actually want one, not that Garrett would be likely to testify even if he did see Dad rocket by.
“Can we just go now, please?”
They really won’t do something about this?
“Apparently not.
But I don’t really care.
The last thing I want right now is to confront Dad, with or without the police involved.”
As Gabe eases the GTO
onto the highway, I realize how true that is. And . . .
I’m crying. Damn.
“I can’t believe any of this.”
Gabe Reaches Across
The console, takes my hand.
I’m grateful for his touch. Remember suddenly his touch is no longer mine.
I knew your dad was irrational.
The look in his eyes when he went after your mother . . .
And just now, when I saw your face, I realized he was abusive.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
“Abusive?” Does running
me off the road count
as abuse? “What do you mean?”
I mean, I don’t think that mark on your cheek came from your steering wheel. It looks like a fresh handprint.
Beneath both forming bruises, my face ignites embarrassment.
“It’s nothing. He was upset.”
Upset? You’re kidding, right?
You can’t possibly be defending him.
Ariel, that man is dangerous.
It’s true. He is. Maybe even
psychopathic. But then again, “You’re dangerous, too.”