26. Thad
I’ll be relieved once we put the Road View Inn in our rearview mirror, for more than one reason.
Reason the first: we’ll get away from these Iron Wraiths, and I can breathe easy again knowing that Helen isn’t about to be snatched up.
Reason the second: after last night, Helen and I are back to being polite strangers again.
“Hand it over,” I say, gesturing to her bag. “I’ll put it in the trunk.”
“Thank you,” Helen says, not quite meeting my gaze.
“No problem.” And that’s basically the total sum of our morning conversation.
Yesterday it didn’t bother me so much. We are strangers, technically, so it makes sense there’d be a little weirdness between us. But last night felt…I dunno. Different. Just watching old movies in a hotel room, Helen with her damp hair and pajamas, giving me that big old smile. It felt—right? I know that’s corny, but it was the closest I’ve felt to someone in a long time.
Then I had to go and ruin it with my big mouth. Honestly, I don’t even know where most of that nonsense about good and bad women, Mr. Right and Mr. Wrong, was coming from. I guess it always kind of bothered me in those romance movies I’d watch with Vera how it was always so obvious who the Right Guy was supposed to be. Real life isn’t like that. Even the Right Guy might be grouchy when he’s hungry, or wear mismatching socks on laundry day, or be just a general pain in the ass at times. But I see what Helen was saying about the good women and the bad women in the film noirs. I get how that might be frustrating, especially after coming out of a vocation where there was probably a lot of pressure on her to be “good” and a lot of shame about doing anything that was “bad.” I wish I would have told her that last night, instead of trying to pick a fight. Digging in my heels. Trying to prove I was right.
And then…I had to make an even bigger ass out of myself by telling her about the room. Although, I guess I’d already established myself as the world’s biggest asshole when I decided to not even ask her about sharing. I know she’s a former nun and everything, but she’s also a woman in her thirties, living on her own in Chicago. It’s not like I found her in a meadow where she’d been raised by fairies, or something. I’m sure she knows how to take care of herself. It was just, the thought of something bad happening to her because I’d dragged her into this whole mess… But that wasn’t my choice to make.
So even though I’m eager to get as far away from the Road View Inn as I can, I stop Helen before she can get in Kitty’s passenger-side door. “Hold up.” I toss her the keys, then gesture to the driver’s side, holding open the door for her. “I thought you could start us off, if you’re up for it.”
Helen blinks, then grins at me, her first real smile of the day. “Really?”
She hurries over as if afraid I’ll change my mind. Honestly, I almost do as I watch her climb in and adjust the seat. Damn. I’d found just the perfect setting… But no, it’s fine. I found it once, I’ll find it again. “Just go easy on the gas pedal. She’s a light touch. And if she starts shaking, you have to turn down the AC and let her have a little break.”
Helen squints up at me, shielding her eyes from the light. “It’s going to be all right, Thad. I almost never crash when I drive.”
My heart misses a beat in the moment it takes me to realize she’s joking, grinning at me like the cat who got the cream. “Think you’re clever, huh?” I grouse, shutting her in before rounding the car to join her on the other side.
Despite her hilarious jokes, I can tell Helen is doing her best to be careful as she navigates onto the highway. That’s the power of Kitty. She demands respect. Still, I can’t help myself from gripping on to the passenger-side door as Helen approaches another car to pass. “She’s wider than you think. Make sure to give her lots of space.”
Helen rolls her eyes. “Is this you showing that you trust me? It’s hard to tell.”
We pass the other car without issue and I breathe easier again once we’re in the slow lane. “I do trust you. You think I let just anyone drive Kitty?” I consider it. “Actually, you might be the first person I’ve let behind the wheel, come to think of it.”
Helen looks over at me in astonishment—for a little longer than I like, but I resist the urge to tell her to put her eyes back on the road. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I got Kitty after the breakup with Vera, and I haven’t seen my brothers or my dad in all that time. My mom doesn’t drive, and even if she did, I’d never trust her with my baby. I wasn’t exaggerating before when I said I haven’t felt close to anyone in a long time.
We drive in silence for a moment. I clear my throat. “What do you say, a show of trust for a show of trust. You wanna finally tell me where we’re going?”
Helen gives me a sidelong, faux-suspicious glare. “You aren’t going to leave me in a parking lot somewhere, are you?”
Maybe at one point I would have tried that, but that was before our run-in with those bikers at the hotel. I know she could take care of herself if she needed to, but I also know I don’t especially want to see her try. She shouldn’t even be on the same planet as guys like that. She should live in…Oz, or someplace like that. But without the wicked witches. Only the nice, bright, happy parts.
I must be taking too long to answer, because Helen frowns at me, no longer totally joking. “Are you?”
“No.” I laugh, and hold up my hand. “Hand to God, I won’t leave you anywhere.”
She deliberates another moment longer before finally, sighing, she tells me: “New Orleans.”
Mentally I run through the route in my mind. “Does that mean we’ll be passing through Mobile?”
Helen shoots me a quick, worried look. “Shoot. I guess we probably will, if it’s on the 65.”
I grimace. “It is.” Seeing the concern on her face, I do my best to wave it off. “It’s fine. It’s a big city.” Somehow it feels like my dad and Vera will both know if I’m anywhere within a hundred-mile radius, but I know that’s ridiculous. Trying to put Helen at ease, I change the subject. “So how’d you know to check your aunt’s credit card bill to look for Dean?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. But I saw the bill out, with a bunch of charges circled and added up. I figured either someone stole Aunt Linda’s card information, or, more likely…”
“Not bad,” I tell her, begrudgingly impressed.
She shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I can tell she’s pleased with herself for having figured it out. And she should be. She isn’t the only one looking for Dean, not by a long shot. “I took photos of the bill, if you want to look at them. I figure there might be other charges on there besides the hotel—places that he’s been going—that we can look into once we’re there.”
I pull out her phone and put in the passcode she gives me. “It should be the first thing that comes up in the camera roll,” she tells me.
It is not the first thing in her camera roll.
The first image in Helen’s picture roll is a selfie of her lying reclined in her bed, smiling up at the camera and biting her lower lip. Her hair is tousled, her expression playful and teasing. She’s wearing a very thin white undershirt, through which I can see the full shape of her voluptuous breasts, and the red lacy panties I saw her looking at in the lingerie store.
My brain short-circuits. I stare at the image for longer than I mean to, longer than I should, unable to force myself to scroll away. The funny thing is, even a week ago I would’ve thought she intentionally tricked me into seeing this photo, a real Gee, shucks, I forgot that sexy picture of me was there waiting for you kind of thing. Now, after spending the last day on the road with her, I know that isn’t what she intended. It isn’t even a question in my mind. Which makes me a skeevy pervert for still looking at it when she didn’t mean for me to see it, and I know this, but I also can’t seem to tear my eyes away.
Finally I force my thumb to man up and do what my eyes can’t. I scroll to the next picture, hoping to find the credit card bill. But no, of course it’s another sexy picture. This time she’s taking a shot over her shoulder in the reflection of the mirror behind her, so I can see her luscious ass straining against that thin red lace.
“What do you think?” Helen asks. “Did anything catch your eye?”
Again, if this were a week ago, I’d feel sure she was intentionally messing with me. Now, hearing the genuine innocence in her voice, I feel like even more of a scuzz for staring. “Um…” I try to swipe again, but am assaulted by yet another pose, another image that will be burned into my brain. “I’m having some trouble finding it.”
Helen gives me a questioning frown. Then I see the exact moment she realizes what else was on her camera roll. Her eyes widen, and she jerks the steering wheel into the next lane before quickly correcting herself. Lucky no one was coming the other way or Kitty would need a new fender.
“Oh my gosh!” Helen reaches for the phone, throwing it into the back seat. She’s tomato red now and I can see she’s mortified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, it’s…I didn’t mean to, either, I was just…” I wave my hand inarticulately, looking out the window. Damn. Just when we’d started to break the ice. I realize if we go on like this, we’re going to be two awkward strangers again, taking turns apologizing and pleasing and thanking after every other sentence. Sucking in a breath, I take a bit of a gamble. “So, you decided to go with the red lacy panties after all, huh?”
I glance sidelong at Helen, who stares at me, jaw dropped, before she starts to fight off a grin as she turns her eyes back to the road. “Well, obviously I did. Yes.”
I laugh, and she laughs, too, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I just made you look at pictures of me in my underwear.”
“It was real torture,” I assure her, and she takes a swat at me. Laughing, I catch her hand before she can make contact. As our fingers touch, our eyes meet, and a jolt of something passes through me.
Clearing my throat, I release her and look away again, not totally sure why my heart is pounding in my chest like I’ve just been sprinting after a bail jumper.
Then a sudden thought strikes me, souring the moment. I run a hand over the back of my neck. “Were those…for Shane?”
It’s absolutely not a question I should ask, nor is it one that I have any right to know, but I’m still relieved at the perplexed look Helen gives me. “For Shane? Why would those be for Shane?”
Pure relief. There’s no denying that’s what I’m feeling. Most likely because Shane’s a fuckboy of the first order, but also because I have to admit that the thought of him seeing her like that, of her smiling that way at the camera for him, makes me feel a bit sick to my stomach. “I dunno. I saw you two on that date. Wasn’t sure how serious it was.”
Helen shakes her head. “Not at all serious. The ten minutes that you saw us on that date were the only ten minutes we’ve spent together outside of the library.”
I feel another surge of relief, until a new worrisome thought sours me again. “Some other guy, then?”
She shoots me a look. “How many men do you think I’m juggling at once?”
“Who’d you take the pictures for?” I counter. I say it like it’s a frivolous question, just something to pass the time, but I’m holding my breath a little as I wait for the answer.
Helen takes a deep breath. “It’s going to sound stupid, but…I took them for me.”
A beat passes as I process her answer. “Like for a self-esteem boost when you post them for your followers?”
“My followers?” She connects the dots and shakes her head. “Oh, no. I’m not on social media.”
Wow. Talk about a different species from Vera. “So how were they for you?”
Helen’s entire face is pinkening adorably. “You know I’m still a virgin.” She says that last word as a whisper, like it’s a naughty word. It almost sounds that way, actually, coming out of her mouth. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to think of myself as being sexy, so I thought I’d. You know. Practice.”
Fuuuuuck me. I am not going to think about Helen practicing being sexy, or imagine the other things she might do to put herself in the mood. Nope. Definitely not going to think of that.
I clear my throat. “Well, for what it’s worth, you nailed it. Those were definitely…very sexy.”
Not sure why I said it. I’m not trying to be creepy, just trying to let her know her little post-nun homework is working. She deserves to know she’s done a good job, that’s all.
Helen looks over at me. Our eyes meet again. I feel that same charge to my chest, like someone’s just put some defibrillators to me and gotten my heart going again. “Thank you,” she murmurs, sliding her gaze back to the road.
We make pretty good time, the two of us taking turns driving, passing the hours with some deep questions, some bullshit. I learn that Helen is deathly afraid of snakes, that the place she’d most like to travel to is Greece, and that she didn’t leave the convent to become a romance writer, though she laughs at the question. “I’m happy being a librarian. The writing stuff is just for me, kind of a way to work some things out.”
I don’t point out that, at least from what I heard, what she mainly seems to be working out is her libido, but I do tell her about my dream of road-tripping across the country in an RV, my childhood dog Mooch, and my manly fear of cockroaches.
She asks me some questions about my line of work, too: “So why don’t you carry a gun? Wouldn’t that make your job safer?”
I shrug. “Maybe, but it might also make it harder.” She seems genuinely curious, so I explain, “Despite what the movies make it look like, most of my job is talking to people. Asking questions. And people close down real quick when they see a gun.” I shrug. “Besides, I have other ways to take care of myself.”
“Krav Maga,” Helen says, seemingly without thinking, and then proceeds to turn bright pink.
I give her the side-eye, not saying anything. Krav Maga, huh? Seems like someone’s been watching quite a bit more Bama Bounty than she’s been letting on. I don’t comment, though, because embarrassment is another way to shut down conversations fast. And I find, to my surprise, that I really want to keep Helen talking.
The time passes by surprisingly quickly. Close to the six-hour mark, Helen motions to one of the signs. “We’re not too far from Mobile. Should we stop, stretch our legs, have a pee break?”
I’ve been bracing myself for this moment. As soon as I knew we’d be taking the I-65 from Nashville, I knew we’d be driving through my old stomping grounds. But Mobile is a big city, I remind myself. The likelihood of running into my dad, my brothers…Vera…is slim to none. Especially in a random gas station just off the highway.
Still, I catch myself tightening my hands into fists. “Sure,” I say, forcing my tone to stay neutral. “Why not?”
I think I do a pretty good job pretending, until I glance over at Helen and see her frowning at me. “What’s wrong? You sound weird.”
Can Sister Helen read my thoughts? That’s a disturbing idea. More disturbing for her than me, I’d guess, based on some of the things I’ve been thinking about. Things I definitely should not be thinking about, even if I can’t get the image of her in that thin white shirt off my mind… I clear my throat. “I, uh, I haven’t been back to Mobile since…”
Helen’s read my Wikipedia page, so I don’t need to fill in the blanks. Her eyes widen. “Seriously? Not even for Christmas?”
“Hard to be in the holiday mood when your dad was boning your fiancée for half a year before anyone had the balls to tell you.”
Helen grimaces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. We can just keep going until we get to the next town.”
I glance at her pointedly, eying the little dance she’s doing in her seat. “Thanks, but I’d rather you not piss your pants on Kitty’s original leather seats.” Seeing the protest already forming on her lips, I reassure her, “It’s fine. Honestly. We’ll stay on the outskirts of town, just make a quick pit stop, then bye-bye, Mobile.”
“I’ll pee so fast,” Helen vows, making a little cross-her-heart sign over her chest.
It’s fine, I tell myself, fighting off the deep sense of dread I feel at being in the same state as my family.
Still, I’ll be happier once we put Mobile in our taillights.
We pull into a gas station right off the highway, still on the outskirts of town. There’s literally no way Vera would be caught dead in a place like this, so I relax, though I’m still determined to leave as fast as possible.
“I’ll do the gas,” I tell Helen. “You run inside so you can stop dancing around like a toddler. I’ll meet you back out here.”
“Aren’t you going to go?” Helen asks me, doing that squirmy dance that little kids do when they’re insisting they don’t need to pee. It looks especially absurd seeing a woman in her thirties doing it, but for some reason, it’s also adorable.
“I’m good,” I tell her.
“But New Orleans is still hours away. Who knows when we’ll stop again?”
“You worry about you and your bladder, I’ll worry about me and mine.” Still, I suppose she isn’t wrong. I sigh. “Fine, just a quick piss, then let’s meet back at the car. No snacks.” I level my index finger at her warningly. “No snacks.”
Helen looks at me with a guilty smile. “The sign says they have barbeque. Real Alabama barbeque.”
“From a gas station.” I consider my words. Actually, knowing Alabama, that’s probably the place to get the best barbeque, but I’m sure as hell not gonna tell her that.
“The sign says they do crawfish boils, too. I don’t know what that is, but it sounds Southern.”
“You’re certifiable if you think you’re eating crawfish in my car,” I growl at her through gritted teeth. The messiest food on the planet—she must have lost her damn mind. “I’m not joking, I’ll leave you here if you come out with that!”
The smile she flashes back at me is not a good sign. The woman clearly has no fear of me anymore. I’ve lost all authority.
So then why the hell am I fighting a grin as I watch her half run, half waddle to the bathroom, like I’m some heartsick idiot?