Chapter 24
twenty-four
. . .
Penelope Betrays Feminism
WARREN
No matter how she may be feeling about me in the moment, when my sister calls, I answer.
My phone sits on the counter of my extended-stay hotel room as I debate what my next move is. I haven’t called Halston, Marley, or even Oliver, who surprisingly texted me asking if I was okay.
Not one of them.
But when Marley’s name lights up the screen, my hand moves before I can think.
“Marley?” I answer.
“Where are you?”
“My hotel.”
“Okay. Are you sober?”
Usually. “Yes.”
“Can you drive?” It sounds like she’s out of breath.
I’m already standing. “What happened?”
Marley inhales sharply, like she’s running. “Halston’s car died.”
“Where?” My heart hammers in my chest, and I grab my keys.
“I’m sending you her location.”
“Is she safe?”
“She says she is. Pulled into a closed farm stand off some exit in Virginia.”
Virginia.
The word hits hard enough that I close my eyes.
She ran. Again. And I’m the one who caused it.
“I think her phone is dead,” Marley says. “She asked me to come get her, not you.”
The sentence stings.
“Do you want me to go?” I ask carefully.
Silence.
When Marley speaks again, her voice is rough. “Yes.”
I immediately move toward the door.
“But listen to me,” she says.
“I’m listening.”
“She didn’t ask for you. I don’t know if she’s going to be upset when you get there.”
“I know,” I say as I reach my truck.
“You need to fix the mess you made.”
I pause. “I know,” I say. I have a lot to fix.
She huffs. “Don’t lecture her on driving.”
I chuckle. “Marley, you should know me better by now. How many times have I run?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, “Please make sure she’s safe. Ask before doing anything else.” Her voice is shaking, and for a second, she reminds me of the girl she was as a kid.
“I understand.”
My phone pings with Halston’s location, and I pull it up as I turn the key in my ignition.
The rain comes down heavily as I get out of Baltimore. The passenger seat contains a small bag of gummy worms, a bottle of water, a phone charger, a blanket, two reflective triangles, a flashlight, and an unopened bag of tissues I picked up at the store.
The navigation blares through the speakers as a high-pitched ringing echoes in my ears.
Continue straight.
When I finally get there, the rain is still pouring down, and all I can see is her car.
I keep both hands on the wheel as I come to a stop and breathe deeply for a few moments, preparing myself.
When I’m ready, I text Marley that I’m here and Halston is safe, then text Oliver. Then, I open the door.
Cold hits my face, and water immediately runs beneath the collar of my shirt. I stand there for a few moments before closing the door.
She sits there, her gaze fixed on mine.
Eventually, her door opens.
Halston sits there for a moment, deciding whether she really wants to be around me before stepping into the rain.
Her arms cross over her chest. “Absolutely not.” Her voice is shaking.
“Halston—” But I stop, unsure what else to say.
She laughs once. “I didn’t call you.”
“I know.”
Her expression shifts, and she wipes rain from her cheek. “I called Marley.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I—” I don’t really know what to say to that, either. Because I wanted to be. Because you needed help. “Marley sent me.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. Anger flickers again. “Of course.”
“Halston. I came because she asked me to come and because you were alone here in a dead car with a dead phone. Not because I wanted to control you. Not because I wanted to force you to listen to me.”
Her eyes narrow.
“I’m not here to make this mean something it doesn’t or force anything on you. I’m not expecting to be rewarded. I’m here because you needed someone.”
The rain falls down the side of my face.
She looks away.
My hands are empty, and there are ten things I need to do: check the engine, call a tow truck, get her warm…
She needs her phone charged.
She needs to be told how sorry I am.
I need to tell her I love her.
I breathe in and out.
“What do you need?” I ask.
She laughs without humor. “A new personality and a working fuel gauge.”
I look at Penelope. “Did it do the exact same thing?”
She nods once.
“Would you like me to look at it? Or do you want me to call a tow truck?”
Her eyes close.
“I don’t want you to fix it.”
I nod. “Okay.” My heart beats faster.
“I mean, not the car. Not me, not any of it.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” she asks, her head tilting.
My lips press together. “No,” I say honestly. “Not really. But I understand enough to know that I shouldn’t do anything you don’t ask me to do.”
She stares at me again and then nods. “Tow truck.”
Relief floods through me. “Okay.”
“And it’s not going back to Baltimore.”
I keep my face still despite being ecstatic at the news. “Where would you like it to go?”
She looks at her car.
For the first time since I arrived, the anger drains enough for her grief to show clearly.
“Junkyard. Mechanic. Whatever people do with cars that suck.”
I bite my cheek. “Okay.”
She wipes her cheek. “I’m not driving her back.”
“No, you’re not.” It’s the one thing I’ll put my foot down on.
“She has a really bad attitude.” Halston pouts.
“She really does.”
“I want her gone.” The words are quiet.
For a second, we stand in the rain, her car in front of us. And while it’s easy to hate it, that old, unreliable piece of metal carried her away from Grant.
Away from me, too.
“I’ll call the tow,” I say.
She nods. “Please.”
I take out my phone and call. I keep it brief, my phone slippery against my ear. Roadside. Dead vehicle. Tow it to a nearby salvage yard if possible. Absolutely not back to Baltimore. Yes, the owner is present; yes, we can wait.
When I hang up, I tell her, “Forty-five minutes.”
She closes her eyes. “Of course.”
“Do you want to wait in the truck?”
Her eyes open.
“You can sit alone. I can wait outside or in your car, if you want. The heat works, and there’s water, gummy worms, a blanket, and a charger.”
Her mouth trembles. “Roadside grief catering.”
I smile.
Rain continues to pour down. She shivers once—a small, involuntary movement—and every instinct I have rises at the sight.
“Blanket?” I ask.
Her jaw sets, but she nods.
I open the passenger door.
It takes a second for her to move, but when she does, she climbs into the seat, wrapping the blanket around her body.
I stand outside until she opens the door to yell, “Standing there is really weird, Warren. Get in the car.”
The truck is warm and full of things that aren’t ready to be said. Rain hammers on the roof, and Halston shovels gummy worms into her mouth.
“You look relieved,” she mumbles.
“Yeah?”
She nods.
“I am.”
“Control yourself.”
I smile.
When the tow truck finally turns into the lot, Halston sits up straighter. The driver is a man in his fifties with a soaked cap, a kind face, and the resigned posture of someone who has seen plenty today.
He tests the battery and the starter, giving Halston one last choice. “I can tow it to the shop, but honestly, from what you’re telling me and what I’m seeing, you may be putting money into a car that’s had its last good day.”
She nods. “I don’t want it towed to a shop. She’s a liar.”
He blinks.
“I can take it to the salvage yard, yes.”
“Great.”
The driver looks at me, and I look at Halston.
Her lips press together before she walks around to the back of the car. She pops open the trunk and looks at her things.
“You need your stuff out?”
She nods.
“Do you want help emptying it?”
She looks into the car, then nods. “Yes.”
We begin with the obvious things. A hoodie, a reusable grocery bag, a water bottle, a pair of boots, about five lip glosses.
I carry what she hands me to the truck and place everything in the back.
Then, she reaches into the passenger side of the car and goes still.
I stop on my way back to her.
She pulls out a small white box.
Wedding white.
Halston stares at it. “I forgot these were here,” she says.
Her voice is far away.
I don’t move.
She takes out a card, watching the rain soak it.
“What do you want to do with them?” I ask softly, watching as she turns the invitation over in her hands.
She laughs softly. “I don’t know.”
I wait.
She lowers the card. “I think I kept them because throwing them away felt dramatic at the time.” Her mouth twists. “Which is kind of hilarious now.”
I almost smile.
She flips through the stack. “I was going to write notes to everyone at the wedding. Can you imagine? I thought if I didn’t make a big deal of it, the wedding stuff would go away.” She sighs. “I mean, Marley and Oliver took care of a lot of it. So it did sort of disappear for me, I guess.”
I step closer.
“I want to leave them,” she says suddenly. “With his other things.”
“His other things?”
Halston flips open the glove compartment, revealing fabric swatches and a tasting menu.
She throws the box of invitations into the front seat.
Next, she grabs her keys, removes a small H keychain from the ring, and tosses it onto the seat.
The tow driver clears his throat beside his truck.
Halston looks over. “I’m done.”
He nods, and she closes the door.
She rests her hand on the hood. “You were a terrible car,” she says.
The tow driver pretends not to hear.
“You lied about gas, which was insanely rude. You smelled like crayons in August, which was weird, and the cup holder personally attacked me multiple times.” Her voice trembles. “But you got me through a lot.”
A crack of thunder shakes the ground.
Halston takes a step back as the driver hooks Penelope up to his truck.
I stand beside her as the rain pours around us, watching her car get loaded. When the tow truck pulls away with Penelope, Halston keeps watching.
Eventually, the road is empty.
“I thought I would feel stupid,” she says after a moment.
“Do you?”
“A little.” She exhales. “But mostly I feel lighter.”
I nod.
She looks toward my truck. Toward the bags of things we saved. The pieces of herself that belonged to her.
Then she looks at me.
“I want to go home.”
The word sits between us in the rain.
“How would you like to get there?” I ask.
Her gaze holds mine. She knows what I’m asking.
Halston looks toward the road. Toward the dark, wet stretch of land between here and Baltimore.
Then back at me.
“I want you to take me home, Warren.”