CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX COEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
COEN
We get to the other side of town and hit a stretch of road that feels like a movie in the worst way, just dried up grass and endless fields for miles with a single, two lane highway down the center.
At one point, Sabrina says she sees a gas station, but the closer we get, the more I have to squint.
Then, we both realize our eyes must be giving out from the endless staring, because it disappears.
“Not creepy at all,” she says.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find something soon.”
We do, but it takes another few hours. At that point, she jumps out of the truck and practically runs to the exterior bathroom on the side of the gas station. I wait outside, a little on edge. There’s really nothing out here. I’m glad for the Glock under the seat, but I’d hate to see that headline.
She appears, and I go in but leave the door slightly cracked so I can hear her. Inside is dingy, a single toilet and a bulb hanging from the ceiling.
A bit of a fixer-upper.
We go inside, and I buy a bottle of hand sanitizer when we get our water.
The grizzled man behind the counter doesn’t say a word.
As we’re stepping out, something wafts through the dry wind and hits Sabrina right on the chest. She peels it back, and I glance over her shoulder.
It’s a band poster for a country music festival. I stumble as she comes to a halt.
“This was in Nashville,” she says. “Weird that it found its way out here.”
“Not all that strange. I’m sure lots of people drive through from Nashville. It’s a major highway.”
Honestly, I think it's the universe giving me a poke. I don’t love that, because it’s poking me in the direction of the last place I want to be, because that means we’re at the end.
These last few days have been something like a dream, or maybe more like a song I'd have to write for a client, knowing I’ve never felt anything like that in real life.
She glances up at me. I look down at her.
The question hangs between us.
I don’t move. Dust swirls around our feet.
“We should get going,” she whispers.
I nod, taking the flyer and putting it in the trash can.
She’s pretty quiet while I fill the gas tank and get behind the wheel.
She curls up on her side, and, after a while, her shoulders sink as I hear her breathing deepen.
Up ahead, I keep my eyes on the road until I see a sign advertising the state border.
After a while, hints of civilization pop up on the horizon.
Pretty soon, we’re in a neat little town.
It’s not fancy, but it’s pleasant, a relief after driving through nothing for hours.
I pull off at another gas station and get out. Just as I shut the door, I hear a faint buzz and pull it back open.
Jamie.
Swiping the screen, I lean back against the truck and put the phone to my ear.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says in that tone that says he knows something. “How’s the album coming along?”
“Good,” I say.
“Anything you want to add?”
I shrug. “Nah, not that I can think of.”
“Maybe something about how you have Bill’s daughter in your truck, driving across the fucking United States?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, there is that.”
“Bill called me yesterday in a fucking rage.” His footsteps clip over the floor, and a door shuts. I can tell he’s in his Nashville office. “He says she’s with you, and she won’t come home.”
“She’s just coming along for fun.”
“Fun, like getting dicked down fun?”
I glance back at the sleeping woman in the truck, the last time we fucked running through my head.
On the outside, taking her with me seems reckless, but nobody knows how this girl makes me feel.
It’s she who’s fixing me more than anything.
It’s like she’s waking my brain up and breaking me out of a decade-long paralysis.
The ice is breaking from me slowly, with every mile we go.
“You’re not supposed to get involved with anyone until you sort your shit out,” he says. “We agreed. That’s what’s good for headlines.”
My stomach twists. Something unfamiliar lifts its head and shakes off dust.
I’m…kind of pissed off.
“Well, it’s not good for me,” I say.
“What?”
Pushing off the car, I hit the key fob and start walking across the parking lot. “I said it’s not good for me, Jamie. I like this girl a lot.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means if you want the Mason album, you will fuck off about this until I show up in Nashville.”
There’s a stunned silence. In all our years of business together, we’ve never really fought. Disagreements, yes, but snapping and swearing? Absolutely not.
“Alright. Message received.”
Running my hand over my forehead, I close my eyes.
Before I can speak to apologize, the phone goes dead.
I don’t know why I did that. On the hot curb, I waver, staring down at my phone.
Should I call him back? Deep down, I was dreading that phone call.
I knew it was coming. Every time Bill called Sabrina, I knew I had my own version of that on the way.
Instead, I put the phone away and go into the gas station.
It’s icy cold inside, and my shirt prickles, unsticking uncomfortably from my back.
Hovering by the fridge, I glance at the map.
It’s coming on about four in the afternoon.
We won’t get anywhere like a city tonight, but if I can keep my eyes open long enough, I could drive us up to Memphis.
Something about my brief conversation with Jamie flipped a switch.
I don’t want this to end, but that doesn’t mean I have to drive all over the place and not get anywhere. It’s been a while since I’ve been to Memphis, and I might just be due for a visit.
I grab a basket and start stocking up. We can stop for some more fast food at dinnertime, but she’s going to wake up soon and want more snacks.
When I leave the gas station, I have two full bags and a hot coffee balanced in each hand.
She wakes up when I unlock the car, startling and sitting upright.
There’s an upholstery print on her cheek, and her eyes are bleary.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“You need to rest.”
She must be exhausted, because she curls back up, forearm beneath her head and coffee in hand. The caffeine loses instantly the second she sets the half empty cup aside. Her lashes flutter, head jerking. Then, she’s out, snoring softly.
I set the map, even though I know where I’m going.
All my roads have always led back to Tennessee, the backbone of my career.
As I drive, the endless blacktop wavers with heatwaves.
A wave of exhaustion crashes over me, but I don’t drown in it.
This time, I wonder how many times I’ve stared out the windshield of a car on my way to Nashville.
Hundreds, thousands. How many more times?
That’s up to me now.
I swallow hard at that thought.
Am I being taken by the heavy current of success, or am I in the driver’s seat? I’ve never thought about it that way. I just put my foot on the gas and chase the next high, or I avoid the next low like a pair of glowing eyes in my rearview mirror. Usually, it’s the latter, yap-yapping on my heels.
The turn for Memphis appears around dusk. I take it and keep on going.