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(Continued)
"When
you called me last night, you said you were taking the scenic
route to San Fran and you wrecked your car. You said somebody
stole your wallet and you asked me to send you some money to rent
another car. I told you I’d fly out and pick you up
instead."
Eddie
seems stunned, looking back to me. His eyes are wide. "I
called you?"
"How
the hell do you think I knew where you were?" I ask,
beginning to get exasperated. I want to get back in my air
conditioned car, but not while Eddie’s driving.
"When
did I call you?"
I
sigh. "Yesterday, Eddie." My words come out sounding
harder than I wanted them to. I see their sting register on
Eddie’s face. For now, he chooses to ignore my anger.
"How’d
you get here so fast?"
"I
just told you. I flew to Vegas."
"You’re
mad at me, Jen."
"I’m
not mad at you!" I snap.
"Then
why are you yelling?" He sounds like a very young, very
frightened child, one who’s just trying to do the right thing. I
immediately hate myself.
"Because
I’m hot," I say. "Because I’m sweaty. I’m tired,
Eddie. It’s a bad combination. I’m just cranky." That’s
part of the reason, yes.
Eddie
shrugs, looking at me as though he wants to help but isn’t sure
how. Eddie, who’s been stranded, beaten up, and has every reason
in the world to be pissed off. He’s not pissed off. He has all
these problems of his own and all he’s worried about is me. All
he wants to know is what he can do to make me feel better. He’s
realized that I’m not thrilled to be here. He wants to
apologize, but he’s not sure how, or for what. Without a word,
he swings his legs onto the floor board of the passenger side,
then slides into the seat.
"You’re
right," he says, his eyes silently begging my forgiveness.
"I don’t feel too well. Maybe you should drive."
I
nod and offer a smile, hoping it comes across as sincere as I want
it to. I get into the car and slide the seat forward from where
Eddie’s already adjusted it. I reach down to put the car into
gear but stop short. Out of the corner of my eye I see Eddie
looking at me. He’s still worried that I’m mad at him. On a
whim, I reach out and touch his cheek, the one that isn’t
bruised. Eddie goes very still, as though he’s afraid I’m
going to haul back and slap him. Instead, I lean over and lightly
kiss his forehead. As I return to my seat, Eddie closes his eyes.
He’s about to cry again. He pulls himself together though and
smiles at me. I don’t hate him. He knows that now. So he reaches
into the pocket of his suit coat and pulls out his sunglasses. He
puts them on, staring out the rolled down window.
I
put the car into gear and spin the tires as I floor the gas and
turn wheel. The car slides as it turns but I don’t care and
Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. It’s a move I learned from him,
something straight out of a stunt show. Thankfully, there are no
cars on the street. I hadn’t even looked to make sure I could
safely pull the move off.
I
drive out of Divinity faster than I drove in, leaving a cloud of
dust so thick I can’t see out of my rearview mirror. As we pass
the trailer court on the incoming side of town, I see a
hand-painted sign thanking me for visiting Divinity, Nevada and
telling me to come back soon.
I
hope I never do.
ANGELA P. MARKHAM hails from Virginia, where she works the graveyard shift for a major Internet provider. She has a Bachelor's degree in Interpersonal Communication and is working to complete two novels.
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