Chapter 2 #2
I have no idea what I should do, and no one to ask. Well, except him. We’re sharing a meal. Sharing meals is a thing friends do, right?
Glancing over at him, I ask, “What would you do?”
He doesn’t answer but keeps chewing as steady as a metronome, and I take it as wisdom, a sign, or maybe proof I’m desperate enough to find meaning in a stranger’s silence.
Worst case, I’ll end up stuck there for three months, in the prettiest season, in a place that might turn out to be pretty nice too.
I can live with that.
“Yeah, you’re right. I should go for it. Do you think they’re still answering phones this late? It’s already eight.” I look up at him again, and he takes a sip of his water in answer. “Right. I can only try.”
Pressing the call button, I’m already mourning the rest of my burger going cold in front of me. Priorities, I guess.
A man’s voice answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Uh, hi! Yeah, hi. So, um… I saw this… apartment? Online? Yours? Maybe? I mean, the one you’re renting? Is it still… like… available?”
Smooth Lennon. Queen of first impressions.
“Sure? You’re interested?”
“I am! But I’d need to, um, stay there… like, right now.”
“Right now?” He clears his throat. “Okay, I mean, yeah, we could do that. I’d need a deposit, of course, but you could see it first, if you want. I’m here for the next half hour.”
I wince. “I probably won’t make it in less than two.”
“That will be too late for me, sorry. But we could meet up tomorrow morning?”
“Okay.”
What did I expect? Miracles at eight o’clock?
“Do you know of any hotels around you that might have a room for the night?”
“It’s high season. I don’t think you’ll find anything on this short notice. Did you look online?”
“Yes. Nothing.”
“Thought so.”
“Okay…” I blow out a shaky breath, “… I can make do with another night in the car, it’s fine. Is there a parking lot outside the building where I could park until morning?”
At least then I’ll be close and already where I need to be.
A heavy sigh crackles through the speaker. “Listen, I’d wait for you, but I can’t. I have to pick my daughter up from her grandparents.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I get it.”
There is a pause, and then he asks, “You’d really sleep in your car?”
“It’s fine,” I say too brightly. “I’ve managed it the last few nights.”
Great, Lenny. Now he’s wondering if you smell like a hamster cage, which you probably do.
I sneak a quick sniff under my arm, and when I glance sideways, Scruffy Guy is watching me, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Was that a smirk?
“Please don’t make me regret this,” the landlord mutters. “Okay, listen. At the entry to the complex, there’s a big rock on the side, and behind it is a smaller one. I’ll leave a key underneath it for you.”
My heart stumbles. “What?”
“You’ll get in, at least have somewhere safe to sleep. There’s a mattress, nothing else, but it’s better than a car seat. Tomorrow we’ll sort out the payment and paperwork.”
“That’s…” my throat tightens, forcing me to swallow hard, “… way too kind of you.”
Which, apparently, is all it takes to almost make me cry now.
“It sounds like you could use some help.”
“You have no idea.”
“Do you have the address?”
“Yes.” I nod into the phone like an idiot, even though he can’t see me.
“Good. There are only three floors and six apartments in the building. You take the elevator to the second floor. Yours is the apartment on the left across the elevator.”
“That’s… amazing. Thank you.”
“Looking forward to meeting you. Wait, what’s your name?”
“Lennon,” I whisper, smiling through the burn in my eyes. “My name’s Lennon.”
“Great. I’m Derek. See you tomorrow then, Lennon.”
When the line clicks off, I set the phone on the counter. Tears prickle hot, and for the first time in days, they’re not from grief. I’ve been braced for three thousand miles, the next bad thing, next closed door, or next reason to keep driving.
I think about my mother saying that the world is made of small acts of kindness, mostly invisible, and that the trick is to stay awake enough to notice them.
I didn’t believe it when she said it. I’m starting to.
To keep from collapsing into a sobbing puddle, I grab the rest of my burger and take another bite. Grease runs down my wrist, and I do a little wiggle in my seat.
This is actual serotonin, brought to you by cheese and the promise of four walls that aren’t my car.
Scruffy huffs from beside me, and I cut him a glance before asking, “You think he’ll do it? Leave the key? Or am I gonna end up sleeping in my car anyway?” I laugh weakly. “Would be exactly my luck.”
His eyes drag over me before his brows pull together as if he’s actually worried.
“It’s fine.” I wave a hand, brushing off both his concern and the squeeze in my chest. “I’m at rock bottom. I can’t sink deeper.”
He raps his knuckles twice against the wooden counter.
I blink at him, then let out a startled laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually have a sense of humor.”
He breathes out through his nose, but I count it as a win.
Weirdly enough, after talking to two people tonight, three if you count the waitress, the emptiness inside me doesn’t feel quite as sharp, but the exhaustion does, so we finish our burgers in silence.
When the waitress drops off the check, Scruffy stops me from digging in my purse with a hand on my arm, and before I can argue, he tosses a few crumpled bills onto the counter.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Of course, he stands instead of answering, so I do the same, hugging my purse like a shield.
“I have to, uh, use the restroom real quick. Wash my hands.” I clear my throat.
“Thanks. It was… nice meeting you. If you’re ever in Vernonia and want to share another meal, maybe with a better burger, come by.
Looks like I’ll be there for at least three months.
” My wave is as wobbly as my voice, and before I can make it worse, I slip into the bathroom.
After I thoroughly wash the burger grease from my hands, I splash cold water on my face until my skin tingles, trying to pull myself together for the next and hopefully last stretch of this journey.
When I exit the bathroom and come up to the diner entry, I’m surprised to find Scruffy waiting there.
“Oh.” I force a smile, feeling awkward. “You needed the bathroom too?”
He heads for the door, and I fall into step beside him. Outside, the night air is even colder and a lot darker than when I arrived, all shadows and yellow floodlights, with trucks hulking in rows. Men smoke in front of them in clusters, their rowdy laughter carrying across the asphalt.
Creepy.
I didn’t notice them earlier, and the hair on my arms rises. This is exactly how women get kidnapped, isn’t it? Middle of nowhere, too many eyes, too much dark.
Scruffy walks beside me, not close enough to touch, but close enough to sense him. He never set off my creep radar tonight, not really, but my pulse is still beating faster the longer we walk.
He comes to a stop a few feet from my Beetle and jerks his chin toward it.
I hesitate for only a breath before unlocking it, and then he opens the door for me.
When I’m settled inside, he taps on the window and points at the lock.
The click echoes loudly in my ears when I press it down.
Scruffy nods, looking satisfied, then heads off toward the row of trucks.
I guess I was right. He is a trucker.
I keep watching him, returning the favor of making sure he makes it to his truck safely. His shadow stretches and shrinks under the floodlights, but eventually, the dark swallows him.
Resting my forehead against the steering wheel, I breathe out a long breath.
By pure dumb luck, I stumbled into something close to safety.
A stranger who decided to look out for me instead of… not.
A landlord who hides keys under rocks for strangers.
Maybe that’s not luck. Maybe Oregonians are just nice?
I straighten and curl my hands around the wheel.
Time to find out.
For the first half hour, it’s black road and headlights, nothing but asphalt humming under my tires, but the exhaustion closes in with every mile, and my eyelids drag again.
Nope, not going to happen.
I roll the window down, letting the night air slap my face, and it helps for a second, then not at all. So I crank up the music, and “Unwritten” by Natasha Beddingfield comes on, Tessa’s and my song. Our anthem.
Point taken, universe.
I’m on the right path, even if I can’t see it.
The first chords hit, and I’m already yelling along in my more-than-bad singing voice.
In my head, I can see us in our early twenties, in a too-small dorm, jumping on our crappy couch, screaming the words at the top of our lungs until the RA banged on the door and threatened to write us up.
We’d just laughed harder, turned it down for all of thirty seconds, then cranked it right back up.