Chapter Thirteen
Gavino
We had to check out early, so we rushed around in the morning, going down to the buffet, then rushing back to clean up, pack up, and hit the road.
But we finally managed to make it to the tractor-trailer yard before noon.
“So, um, if Ira asks, who am I going to say you are? Because he’s my dad’s boss, so…”
“How much about your personal life does Ira know?”
“I mean, not much. Not anymore.”
“Then say we’re together. If he asks about where I’ve been, say I was out of the country on business.”
I could have been her friend. Her roommate. I didn’t need to pretend to be her boyfriend.
I damn sure didn’t need to put my arm around her as we walked toward the office with the excuse of needing to ‘sell it.’
But that’s what I did.
She’d been tense at first, her spine stiff. But when my hand tightened a bit on her hip, she melted.
“Nugget!” a man in a baseball cap and a tucked-in polo greeted her, looking a mix of surprised and pleased.
My lips curved up, because I could guess where that nickname came from.
“Hey, Ira.”
“Glad to see you again so soon. Though I hate why.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said. Ira’s gaze slid to me, his brow lifting. “Oh, sorry. Ira, this is my boyfriend, Gav. Gav, this is my dad’s boss.”
“Nice to meet you,” I greeted him, offering my hand.
“You too. I hope you’re being good to our girl here.”
“He’s been great,” Caitlin insisted.
“So, you’re here to take the tractor.”
“Yeah. I mean, for right now. I was wondering if it would be okay if I left my car here in its place. It’s totally fine if that’s not all right. We will get a lift and tow it. So now press—”
“Nugget,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over her rambling. “Of course, it’s okay. It makes more sense to leave it here and pick it up on your way back to the city.”
“Thank you,” Caitlin said, exhaling hard, like it had been weighing on her all morning that he might say no.
“Don’t even mention it. Sorry, I have to get this,” he said when the phone rang. “You know where the tractor is.”
With that, we made our way back out, climbed into her crossover, then drove down the long rows of tractor-trailers.
“This is it?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’ll move it out of the way.”
“I can move it.”
“Wait. You can?” Caitlin asked, brows furrowing.
“Yeah.”
“I mean, anyone can. But you need a license to drive it.”
“I have a CDL.”
“What? Why?”
“Seemed like a smart idea when I started this whole scheme. When did you get your CDL?”
“My dad made me. He said I would need it if he ever passed away and I wanted his tractor.”
Hm.
I wondered if that was because he did have something wrong with him physically. Something he didn’t want to share because he had to know how anxious his daughter already was, how much she would spiral if she knew he was sick, that he was getting progressively worse.
I wasn’t going to bring that up to Caitlin again. She was already stressing about every little fucking thing that happened each day. I would keep that concern to myself until I had some proof to go on.
“Okay. I’m gonna level with you here,” Caitlin said, taking off her belt. “I can’t back my car into a spot. So I’d rather pull the tractor out.”
“Got it.”
With that, we did the little car dance, moved our luggage, shuffling half of it into an underbody storage compartment. The rest, we pulled up into the truck with us.
“I guess I should give you a tour,” Caitlin said. “Driver’s seat, passenger’s seat, cab with a bed and mini fridge. And this over our heads is another little bed. That’s where I slept.”
“Your whole life in here,” I said, glancing around.
“I mean, a lot of it, yeah. But we also spent a lot of time checking out local attractions.”
“And school?”
“Online.”
“No friends?”
“Did you have friends?” she shot back.
“Touché.”
“I had a good upbringing. The anxiety stuff, that had nothing to do with this.”
Except maybe it did in a way she didn’t know. Like a codependence with her dad that made it hard for her to branch out on her own. Like a more narrow social circle followed by the socialization expectations of college. It was a lot for a nervous system that wasn’t accustomed to it.
Then again, who the fuck was I to psychoanalyze her when I struggled to force myself to meet up with my family every few weeks?
“Did it get rank in here?”
“Rest stops have showers.”
“They… what now?”
“Yeah, they have showers. And truckers usually get to shower for free. It’s a perk that comes with buying fuel.”
“Public showering doesn’t sound appealing.”
“It’s not a bunch of people in one room.
It’s like a shower at a gym. You get a little anteroom, then the shower room.
I mean, I don’t know if I would do them alone, but my father used to go in, inspect things, then stand guard outside the door when I needed to shower. Have you never traveled before?”
“Not on a road trip, no.”
“Why not?”
“Constantly shouting at other cars when they cut you off or brake-check you doesn’t sound like a relaxing vacation to me.”
“But you would never see all the cool attractions if you fly everywhere.”
“Dunno if giant balls of yarn or a giant rocking chair are gonna knock my socks off.”
“When was the last time you took a vacation then?” she asked, buckling up as I set my phone in the holder before pulling out of the yard.
“Fuck. I dunno. Did a sort of work vacation thing in Jersey a few years back.”
“You can’t call Jersey a vacation.”
“Cape May? Atlantic City?”
“Did you go to either of those places?” she asked, her expression saying she already knew the answer to that one.
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t count.”
“Then I don’t really remember. I like the city. I don’t feel the need to escape the life I built. When’s the last time you left?”
“On this trip, when I first found out.”
“Before that?”
“I guess not this last Christmas, but the one before that. My dad doesn’t love coming into the city. And he didn’t have a place, so we rented rooms in this sweet little town in Vermont for the holiday.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was. Completely different than New York Christmas, but I think I prefer the city.”
“Why? It’s loud and crowded, and pickpocketing and credit card crime increases.”
“I guess it’s just because there are so many people around looking for the magic of the season. I like it. Even if there are a few drawbacks. I bet you have big, hectic family Christmases.”
“That is putting it mildly.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t like Christmas?”
“It has its moments,” I relented.
“Wait, you mean you don’t just sit in your apartment, fuming over the townspeople singing and decorating?”
“Are you calling me The Grinch?”
“Minus the cute dog.”
The conversation continued nearly nonstop for the next several hours. Somehow, even though I was someone who had a strong appreciation for silence and generally loathed small talk, I was enjoying myself.
“Wait. So, is this the one who met his partner while pretending to volunteer at a children’s charity?”
“No, this was the one who got pickpocketed by his future partner.”
“Your family has the most interesting meet-cutes.”
Right then, completely unbidden, the strangest thought occurred to me.
Ours would be the best of the bunch.
The fuck?
Ours?
There was no our.
I wasn’t even the kind of man who wanted to be a part of an ‘our.’
“Oh, Chinese!”
“We’re having salads,” I reminded her.
“Okay. But there are no salad restaurants around here, and there is a Chinese food place.” She pouted at me. Actually fucking pouted. Lower lip out, eyes sad. “I’ll order steamed veggies. As a side.”
Like I could fucking say no to that face.
I pulled off into the lot.
We might have made good time, maybe even gotten to her father’s last known location, if we hadn’t needed to stop at two different bookstores we came upon.
Though I wasn’t sure who was more intrigued by the outings—her or me.
Especially when we learned one specialized in rare and used books.
And out in the middle of nowhere as we were, it meant the selections hadn’t been picked through.
I snagged some locked-door thrillers I’d never even heard of before, written back in the nineties, which was, arguably, one of my favorite times for fiction.
Caitlin grabbed one fantasy novel she claimed she’d been meaning to read for years and a slim little noir featuring a woman sitting on the side of a bed in nothing but a bedsheet.
“My dad likes these. I’m going to put it aside as a present for when we find him.”
There was a stitch in my chest at that. Because every instinct of mine said this wasn’t some rescue mission. Her father, more than likely, was dead. And the best we could hope for was to find a body, to get her some closure.
But I didn’t say that as I bought the books. Nor as she started to read the noir to me by the light of her mirror as we drove.
“We need to crash,” I said as we sat on the side of a backroad, finishing the Chinese cartons—though I’d eaten the lion’s share of the steamed vegetables—under the glow of the moon. Something stirred in the woods behind us, making my hairs stand on end.
“Yeah, I’m not even driving and my eyes are tired.”
“Any hotels nearby?”
“Not the kind you’d want to stay in,” she shot back. “We could stay in the tractor. There are two beds.”
“And no bathroom.”
“There’s an RV park not far from here,” she said, shoving the last of the fried rice into her mouth and reaching for her phone.
“Yep. They have a communal bathroom. Showers and toilets.” At my dubious look, she shrugged.
“Better to walk to the bathroom in the dark than endure bed bug bites all night.”
“You make a good point.”
“And it’s cool out at night. We’ll be comfy.”
“If you say so.”
I wasn’t overly enthused, but Caitlin’s eagerness became contagious by the time we pulled into a spot at the RV park that the owner hadn’t wanted to give to us at first until he caught sight of Caitlin.
“Nugget!” he greeted her. “I haven’t seen you in years. Oh, look at you, all grown up!”
“What’s up?” I asked as Caitlin sat in the passenger seat with her change of clothes and toiletry bag on her lap.