22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mia screams as the back of the Wrangler swings around before I can bring us to a complete stop.
We land in our lane but facing the wrong way. I have a death grip on the wheel.
“Get off the road.” Gabe’s voice is tight.
“I don’t know—”
“Now, Barrows,” he snaps.
I press the clutch, restart the engine, and roll us to the shoulder. Something isn’t right with the car, a rasping sound that’s loud even over the crunch of dirt beneath the tires before we stop again.
“Is everyone okay? Is anyone hurt?” Gabe asks after we’ve sat in shocked silence for a moment.
“I’m fine,” I say, “but what just happened?”
Gabe flies out of the Jeep, cursing again. I turn to look at Mia but she only meets me with wide eyes, her mouth half-open.
I cut the engine. It takes a few tries to unfasten the seatbelt. I’m not sure I want to get out, but I force myself to open the door and climb down.
I walk to where Gabe stands at the passenger tire, his hand shoved in his hair, his eyes unfocused. When I look at the tire, I realize why. The part of the Jeep that goes over the wheel is pressed down into the tire. The dent is huge, and it’s not until I step closer that I realize there’s something glistening on the black paint. Is it oil? Should we be worried about something catching fire?
Mia cries out and my head shoots up. She’s standing by my door, but she’s staring across the freeway.
“You hit a deer,” Gabe says. He sounds dazed as his gaze follows Mia’s.
I swallow. “Where did it come from?”
Mia looks like she wants to puke. That’s exactly the feeling in my stomach. “It must have run at us from Gabe’s side.”
Gabe crosses the road to check on the deer. I can’t see much of it, thankfully, but Gabe gives it a gentle nudge with his shoe, shakes his head, and walks back. “Dead,” he says.
I know it’s good that it’s not suffering, but I don’t feel any better.
He goes to the damaged wheel well and crouches to study it, both hands tangled in his hair now.
I don’t know what to do. I take a half-step toward him. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. I’ll figure out how to pay for this. My mom’s boyfriend owns a body shop, and I think he’ll give me a deal.”
He looks up at me, his eyes finally focusing. “How is he going to fix it out here?”
“I meant when we get back. I know you probably want it fixed right away, but please, can it wait until we’re done with the trip? I know he’ll do it as soon as we get home. He’ll let me work out payments.”
He turns back toward the damage without answering. I glance over my shoulder at Mia for help, but she’s still staring at the deer, her hands pressed to her cheeks.
I’m beginning to feel frustrated with Gabe. I don’t know how I could have avoided the deer, and he has to know I’ll keep my word. But I don’t want to tick him off any further, so I do a thing I hate and play the pity card. “Please, Gabe? Can it wait until we meet my dad?”
He surges to his feet, and I scramble up after him. “You don’t get it. We can’t go anywhere. Not Adobe. Not San Diego. It’s undrivable.”
“I know that’s a huge dent, but—”
“It’s undrivable . See where it’s scraping the tire? There’s no way to get it out of the way without the right tools. And that steam is the radiator. It’s probably cracked.”
“Call roadside assistance,” Mia says, her voice shaky.
Gabe glances at her and nods. “Can you get the card from the glove compartment?”
She looks glad for a reason to turn her back on the deer, and I realize that’s why he asked her to get it, to distract her. She hurries to the passenger side, returning with a small, laminated card. “I can’t find your phone.”
“It was in the cupholder.”
She shakes her head. “Not there. It must have flown out of the Jeep.”
Gabe’s mouth thins into a tight seam. We spread out to look for it.
“Got it,” Mia calls a few minutes later from fifty yards down the road and jogs over to return it to Gabe.
He makes the call and gives the operator his member info and directions, trying to be as specific as possible about our location.
He ends the call and looks at Mia, not me. “The closest authorized body shop is ten miles ahead. My contract covers the towing, but no repairs because this isn’t a warranty issue. And it’s going to be at least an hour before the tow truck gets here.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
He tenses then sighs and turns to me. “I know that. I will eventually not be mad, but I can’t talk myself out of this right now.” He starts toward the driver’s side and pauses when he realizes we’ve stayed put. “Might as well sit while we wait.” Then he climbs in and slams his door.
Mia and I don’t discuss it, but we both climb into the back seat. I pull out my phone and text Leila. I promised to keep her updated on what David Lombard is like.
Glitch: car trouble. Will keep you posted.
She texts back a “wow” face emoji and prayer hands.
“Your phone okay?” I ask Gabe.
"It works, but…" He turns it toward me. The screen is shattered.
“I’ll pay for that too.”
He shakes his head and turns away.
My savings are shrinking by the second.
I put in my earbuds to watch more of Leila’s YouTube video while we wait.
“Hey,” Mia says loud enough for me to hear.
I pull out an earbud. “Yeah?”
“What do you know about this sperm donor guy?”
I remove the other earbud too, relieved that she’s coming out of her mood. Good news never feels real until I share it with her. “Leila showed me the actual profile our parents used to pick him. Want to see?”
She nods. I pull up the picture and hand it over. “Guess the physical stats are no surprise. Green eyes, brown hair. Tall. Smart. Except he’s probably bad at math.” She nudges my shoulder with hers. It means I’m sorry , and I accept the apology with a nudge back.
“It’s weird to have all this info now.”
“So what does your . . . Leila think of him?”
I shake my head. “She hasn’t met him. It’s not a big deal to her because she has Tom.”
Mia considers this, her eyebrows crinkling as she thinks. “If it turned out my parents used a sperm donor, I’d want to meet him. She really doesn’t care?”
“She wanted to meet him. He just doesn’t want to meet any of us, but that doesn’t seem to bother her.”
“Hold up.” Mia turns sideways in the seat so she’s facing me. “He doesn’t want to meet you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then why are we going to San Diego?” Her voice is tight, like she’s holding back a few words that would start funding her parents’ next vacation.
“Does he get to decide that?” I ask. “Does he get to decide he’s going to make a bunch of kids and never look back, even if they have a thousand questions rooted in their DNA?”
“Yes! Look at the paper.” She nods at the screen. “Donor QUW97Z. There’s a reason they don’t give you his name or any other info. And now Leila is telling you that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. Leave it alone. Let’s go home.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re going home to your dad. You know who you are. You know who you come from. You know where you fit. I don’t know any of that, have never known any of that.” I shake my phone at her. “This guy does. He can fill in the blanks. And the universe conspired to put him where I can get to him in the exact window of time that’s open to me to try. So we’re going, Mia.”
She flings her door open and jumps out. “Not since you wrecked my brother’s car, we’re not.”
The crack of her door slam feels as sharp as the sting of her words.
In less than an hour, we’ll be pulling into a repair shop. She knows I’ll make it right with the Jeep.
Mia has everything. Why doesn’t she want me to at least get some answers?
The tow truck finally comes. The driver, a short man with sun-roughened skin, examines the damage so he can note it on his paperwork. His name patch says “Randy.” He sucks his teeth. “Deer hit you exactly wrong, poor thing. Got you good. Couldn’t have avoided that.”
I jerk my head toward Gabe. “I couldn’t have?”
“Nah. Fast buggers. Think they’d evolve by now to know cars’ll get ‘em, but nope. Happens a lot on this road. Just not usually this much damage. Crap luck.”
“All mine,” Gabe mutters as Randy sets to work securing the tow hook.
It’s true, I realize. Every bad thing that’s happened on this trip has happened to Gabe. His wallet, the Jeep, his phone. Even though Randy said it’s not my fault, I feel worse than ever. Lower than dirt.
I don’t know how to make any of this right, but as Gabe walks past to watch Randy work, I touch his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He looks down at my hand and I let it slide off. He shakes his head. “Probably karma,” he murmurs, and keeps walking.
We squeeze into the tow truck when Randy says we’re ready. I’m dreading the drive to town. We’ve already marinated in enough awkward silence to pickle my soul, but Randy fills the spaces with stories about the crazy customers he’s towed over the years. His main criteria for crazy seems to be people who choose to live in LA.
When we get to the repair shop, Mia and I trail into the office after Gabe, and Randy waves us toward the chairs. “Can’t work on it today but I can give you an estimate.”
“You’re the repair guy too?” I ask.
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the name painted on the wall. Boss Auto Body Repair. “I’m Boss. I got one guy works for me, but we closed almost an hour ago, so I did the tow myself.”
“Thank you,” Gabe says.
“Sure.” It’s a tired grunt from Randy.
“How long do you think it will take to fix it?” I ask.
“Don’t know until I get it up on the lift. Fill this out while I take a closer look.”
A handful of uncomfortable-looking gray chairs ring the waiting room. We take a seat, Gabe putting the max number of empty chairs between us while he scribbles answers on the work order.
I hate to just sit, but I don’t know what to do. I stare at the blank TV screen. Slowly, it sinks in that no matter what the damage is, Randy can’t do anything about it today. That means we have a whole new problem on our hands. We need somewhere to stay tonight.
Trying to solve it feels better than waiting for Randy’s bad news, so I pull out my phone and google local motels, filtering for the cheapest. Even that price sounds way out of reach with the Jeep repair hanging over my head.
When Randy walks in, all three of us stand. It reminds me of every medical drama I’ve ever seen, the family surging to their feet when a surgeon appears to deliver a verdict. Appropriate, since my chest is so tight it seems like surgical removal would be the only way to loosen the anxiety that’s pressing in on it.
“How’s it look?” Gabe asks.
“Let me run some numbers.” Gabe and I both go to the counter to wait.
My fingers desperately want to drum the counter, a tap-tap-tap of worry. I slide them into my pockets instead and run my own numbers in my head. I had $2,378 in my bank account. I’ve spent $600 between gas, motels, and food. I’ll need at least $250 in gas to get home. That leaves $1,500. It’s a big dent in the Jeep, but it’s still just a dent. If the repair estimate is $1,300 or less, we can car camp at KOAs, skip snacks, and eat only from fast food value menus, and I can get us to San Diego and home. Maybe this will be okay.
Randy looks up from his monitor. “All right, good news is I can fix it, bad news is that in addition to the body work, your radiator busted. Altogether, it’ll cost you about $2,000, and it’ll take me a couple days to order the radiator in.”
My stomach drops and I grab the counter’s edge.
He notices and his eyes soften. “Tell you what, I can get you out of here for $1,700.”
I know it’s a kindness, but it doesn’t matter. It’s still a catastrophic number.
This trip is over.