Chapter 12
NORA
Konstantin's knees touch the dashboard before I finish backing out of the residence garage.
In the passenger seat of my hatchback, he wears the navy cardigan from the thrift store beneath a dark coat. Across his chest, the wooden buttons strain despite the seat being pushed as far back as the rails allow. Behind him, the security man has angled both legs toward the center.
"You may take the other car," Konstantin tells him.
"Then we fail the two-person vehicle rule," the guard replies.
"You're compromising the driver's ability to change gears."
"The car is automatic," I say.
Konstantin looks down at the narrow console between us. "That explains one of its problems."
I pull onto the drive before he can reorganize the transport plan. Two black vehicles follow us through the gates, their headlights keeping a respectful distance behind us rather than forming a funeral procession.
Beneath my coat, the thrift-store dress lies warm against my body. I wore it again because Konstantin watched the red skirt all the way from the shop to the car two nights ago, and his attention has remained there since I entered the garage tonight.
Inside my hatchback, old coffee near the hand brake mingles with peppermint gum and the pine air freshener Grandma tied to the mirror after declaring the car stale. Whenever I turn left, a faint clicking starts inside the vents. Konstantin notices on the first corner.
For six years, the car has carried me to early appointments, late grocery runs, and every Thursday visit I keep hidden from him.
In the trunk, a folding shovel lies beside one canvas bag Grandma claims is too good for groceries, while the passenger door still bears a pale scratch from the afternoon I misjudged a concrete post.
Nothing inside was chosen to impress him. Tonight he has to fit inside the life I already own.
"The axle needs inspection."
I keep my eyes on the road. "It had one before winter. My mechanic says the clicking is harmless."
"Who did the work?"
"You're not buying my mechanic."
Konstantin turns in the cramped passenger seat, one knee angled toward the dashboard. "I want to determine whether he's competent."
"This is why people hide service receipts from you."
The guard behind him coughs into one hand.
Beyond the city, the winter drive-in occupies an old fairground.
Where the grandstand once stood, a white screen floats above rows of plowed parking bays divided by low metal windbreaks.
Infrared heaters stain the snow beneath their frames with dull orange light, while the abandoned Ferris wheel keeps its dark circle against the sky.
Through my window, an attendant in a reflective coat checks our ticket and points me toward the fourth row before handing over a card with the radio frequency. Only then does his gaze catch on the first security vehicle behind us.
"They're with me," I say.
"All of them?"
"My husband worries."
Konstantin leans across the console. "Her axle clicks."
The attendant looks at me with immediate sympathy. "Fourth row. Bay twelve."
I drive on while Konstantin returns to his seat.
"You involved a stranger in a mechanical concern."
"He understands marriage."
At our bay, a rubber mat cleared of snow lies between waist-high windbreaks beneath the heater's power post. Speakers haven't hung from the windows here in years. Instead, the movie reaches each car through its radio, allowing engines to remain off under the heating frames.
With the screen centered above the windshield, I park. From the back seat, the guard unfolds himself, checks our bay, and joins the others two rows behind us. Their vehicles face opposite approaches, close enough for the men to reach us at a run without anyone standing beside my doors.
Konstantin watches them move. "They have the car under observation."
"They aren't watching inside it."
"They value their employment."
"Good." I take a grocery bag from behind my seat. Popcorn fills one container, with chocolate-covered pretzels packed beside two glass bottles of cola. A thermos of hot chocolate rests at the bottom under paper cups.
"You brought enough food for a rail journey," he says.
"The movie is three hours."
"Then the people responsible for it should be investigated."
"You have attended operas longer than this."
"Operas include an intermission."
Before I can answer, the screen brightens and music comes through the radio, carrying a studio logo across the snow beyond us. I pour hot chocolate, passing him the cup with fewer marshmallows because he claims not to like them.
He eats mine whenever I look toward the movie.
Tonight's feature is an old black-and-white thriller about a creature thawed below a research station, where the hero ignores every sensible warning while opening sealed doors. Konstantin lasts nine minutes before identifying the security failures.
"The outer gate has no camera."
"The creature lives under the ice."
"It still uses doors."
"Maybe it has authorization."
"Then the director should show the credential."
I turn the radio louder.
By the first attack, his left hand has settled against my nape. His thumb strokes the skin while his attention remains on the screen. The cardigan sleeve rests against my shoulder, soft where another person's repair runs along the cuff.
I like that he wore it.
Through the next scene, the thought stays with me alongside the heat of his palm. Movie light whitens the gray at his temples before leaving his eyes in shadow, while his body overwhelms the passenger seat and sends heat from one broad thigh through both our clothes.
I take a pretzel from the container, then hold it toward him.
He bites through the chocolate without taking his hand from my neck.
Salt remains on my fingertips. I put them into my mouth while looking at him.
Konstantin's gaze leaves the screen.
"The movie is over there," he says.
"You have criticized every scene."
"I'm still watching it."
"Then tell me what happened."
He looks toward the windshield. The creature is tearing through a steel hatch while the hero struggles with an emergency lever. "Poor access management."
I laugh into my cup.
Heat inside the car has fogged the upper edge of the windshield. Beyond it, other vehicles sit beneath orange frames with their radios tuned to the same screams, though nobody moves between the bays. Outside the heaters' reach, falling snow softens the fairground fences in the distance.
Tonight belongs entirely to us, three deliberately ordinary hours purchased with paper tickets and terrible cinema. No stranger is deciding our next move.
At the row beside us, a car door opens while someone retrieves another blanket. An attendant checks the heater two bays away before continuing down the line. The radio carried by Konstantin's detail remains silent behind us.
I stop locating every guard in the mirrors. My phone stays facedown under the grocery bag, leaving the movie to be terrible without competing against another message.
I set my cup in the holder. "The back seat has more room."
Konstantin looks over his shoulder at the narrow bench recently vacated by his guard. "That statement is inaccurate."
"More privacy, then."
His gaze returns to me, the complaint about space forgotten.
"Move," he says.
I open my door before he can come around the car. Cold air slips inside my coat, sharp with snow and engine exhaust from the farther rows. The heater warms my back as I take two steps along the rubber mat and then climb through the rear door.
Konstantin enters from the other side.
No extra space appears when he joins me. His shoulders fill most of the distance between the doors, with both knees pressed against the front seats. After folding his coat onto the cargo shelf, he looks at me.
"Satisfied?"
"Almost."
I pull his mouth to mine.
The kiss carries chocolate, coffee, and the cold air he brought inside with him. Konstantin's hand closes around my waist through the red wool, dragging me over his thigh until my knees settle on either side.
My head touches the roof.
He lowers me onto his lap. "Your car is badly designed."
"You're oversized."
"You were pleased by that last week."
"I remain open-minded."
His mouth covers mine before I finish smiling. He kisses me harder until amusement gives way to heat. One hand cradles my head while the other works my coat open.
I pull away to remove it. The wool catches at one wrist until he frees me, then drops the coat beside his. Movie light passes through the rear window, showing the red dress he chose fitted over my thighs.
"I wore this for you," I say.
"I know."
"You could pretend surprise."
"I watched you put it on."
My hand stops at the first button of his cardigan. "You were outside my room."
"The door was open."
"For three seconds."
"I use time well."
I open the wooden buttons until the white shirt shows between them. The cardigan falls away from his chest while I loosen his belt.
At my waist, his fingers find the tie and pull once, opening the wrap of the dress across my bare thigh. I chose no stockings, leaving only the black panties from the fitting room between his palm and my pussy.
"These survived the store," he says.
"Barely."
He strokes me through the fabric, pressing the damp silk between my folds. A low sound catches in his throat when my hips move against his hand.
The movie swells through the radio. Metal breaks on-screen, followed by a woman's scream that covers my first gasp when Konstantin slips his fingers past the edge.
"Quiet," he says.
"Turn the radio higher."
He does.
The volume fills the car while his fingertips circle my clit. I brace one hand against the roof, though the position gives me no useful leverage. His other hand moves under the dress to hold my ass, pulling me harder against the heel of his palm.
The unfinished heat from the fitting room returns with humiliating speed. My body remembers exactly where he stopped, as if the two days between have been one extended interruption.