33. Helen
What’s worse than the third day in a row of hours upon hours of driving, you ask?
Hours upon hours of driving in a car, sitting next to a guy who gave you a pity orgasm and then felt like he was obligated to keep dating you because you’re such a loser.
I’m starting to understand now why Dr. Sandra always insisted that sex wasn’t going to answer all of my problems. I still haven’t had sex yet, but even getting close to it has opened up a whole new can of worms. All the easy banter from the past couple of days is gone, and Thad and I have retreated into our opposite corners of our personalities. The more uncomfortable I get, the more I try to talk, hoping through sheer force of cheerfulness I can overcome the awkwardness in the car. And it seems the more uncomfortable Thad gets, the quieter he gets, becoming practically monosyllabic.
Exhibit A: This short snippet of our conversation?—
Me, seeing a sign advertising boiled peanuts at a gas station: “Oh, yeah, I forgot that boiled peanuts were a Southern thing. But why boiled? Who decided, here’s this peanut, I think I oughta boil this sucker and see how it tastes. How does it taste, anyway? Have you ever had them before?”
Thad: “Yep.”
Me: “Do they boil them with any kind of flavoring? Does boiling them make them softer?”
Thad: “Can’t remember.”
Me: “So it’s not something Southerners eat regularly, then? I guess not, since they sell them at the gas station. I can’t really think of any gas station foods that I eat regularly. Nacho cheese, hot dogs, Slurpees. Maybe it falls into the same category of so-bad-it’s-kind-of-good? Or is it the rare gas station treat that really transcends its surroundings?”
Thad: “Couldn’t say.”
So, yeah, take that and multiply it by about an hour and a half, and that’s the trip in a nutshell.
By the time we make it to Gulfport, I think both of us are desperate to get out of the car and have a moment to ourselves. Even so, Thad surprises me by stopping me before I can go inside to use the restroom. “When you come back outside, come straight to the car. Don’t go anywhere else without me.”
In all the emotional turmoil and awkwardness of the morning, it somehow keeps slipping my mind that I was almost kidnapped yesterday. I know that must sound kind of idiotic, but it feels like something that happened in a movie I saw or a book I read. It does not feel like something that could happen to me in real life. I’m just boring Helen, recreational puzzler and eater of boxed macaroni and cheese. I am not the ideal candidate for a kidnapping.
“I won’t,” I promise, offering him what I hope is a reassuring smile before I disappear inside.
At least there’s still that, I muse. Sure, it sucks that Thad doesn’t see me as an actual romantic prospect, just someone he wanted to help get some experience; but I think on some level he does care about me. At least enough that he doesn’t want me to get kidnapped. It’s a small victory, but it’s still a victory, isn’t it?
We can be friends. Maybe someday, a long time from now after the dust has settled, we’ll look back at that one time we messed around in a hotel room in Mobile and laugh about how foolish we were. The pang in my heart at the idea tells me this isn’t something that’s likely to happen soon, but…maybe someday.
When I make it back outside, I’m surprised to see Thad standing over Kitty, the hood popped open. His sleeves are pushed up as far as they can go, his hands and forearms covered with grease, and he’s swearing softly under his breath.
If I didn’t remember that we’re just friends and that nothing romantic is going to happen between us again, I might feel another pang at how sexy he looks all greased up and glistening, forearms straining, oiled muscles rippling as he moves?—
Instead I force myself to focus on the obvious problem at hand. “What’s going on? Is Kitty okay?”
Thad straightens at the sound of my voice but continues frowning down at the interior of the car. “The check engine light was flashing earlier when we were driving, but Kitty does that sometimes when she’s getting overheated. I thought after we got gas and took a break, she would be fine again, but now the car’s not starting.”
Getting stranded in Mississippi tonight might actually be worse than being stuck back in the car together. I imagine the awkwardness when we get separate rooms, the mortification at knowing he’s probably relieved to have his own space.
But that is not a particularly helpful train of thought at the moment, and I’m nothing if not helpful. It’s ingrained in my very being—Girl Scout turned sister turned librarian. I live to be of service. “Is there someone we can call? AAA, or does your insurance policy have a tow service?”
Thad runs a hand over the back of his neck, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Probably, but that’s gonna put us back at least another day.” He seems just as thrilled by that prospect as I am.
And of course. For him, this was always about finding Dean. I was stupid to ever lose sight of that.
“Hey, y’all okay?”
I turn, surprised to see two pretty, twentysomething girls approaching us. They both have bleached-blonde hair, lots of makeup, and they’re wearing similar versions of halter tops, short shorts, and platform sandals.
They look great, and it makes me feel conspicuously underdressed in my day-old sweater, underwear, and pants. In my defense, my luggage was stolen by the mafia.
I hold up a hand against the sun so I can see them better, trying to smile. “We’re having a little car trouble.” And yes, maybe it’s a sneaky thing to do, to phrase it as we to make clear that we’re traveling together, even if it’s in a totally platonic capacity. They don’t have to know that, now do they? “Do you know of any mechanics nearby?”
“Oh, no!” The Southern twang is strong with these two, much more pronounced than Thad’s own muted accent. “We’re not actually from here.”
“We’re visiting from Ole Miss,” the first girl confirms. “On our way to New Orleans for spring break with some other Delta Gammas.”
Sorority girls. That makes sense, and maybe explains why they both look sort of vaguely similar, like they’re in uniform, even though they’re not.
Thad straightens, turning back to face us for the first time. He’s frowning, absent-mindedly wiping off his greased-up hands on a rag. “How far is New Orleans from here? Are there any buses that run through?”
He must be pretty desperate to get to Dean, if he’s even considering leaving Kitty behind.
Before the first girl can respond, the second gasps, clutching her friend’s arm—and staring at Thad’s face like it’s the 1960s and she’s just run into a Beatle. “Oh my God, Cassie.” To Thad, she half points, half shouts, “It’s you! Bama Bounty!”
Cassie’s jaw drops, too. “It’s you, isn’t it? Thad!”
Thad shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting to mine. He tries to smile. “Uh, yeah. That’s me. How do you even know what that show is? It’s been off the air since you were in grade school.”
That’s an exaggeration, but not by much. The two girls giggle, clutching at each other like they can’t believe their luck. “We watch it every Friday night as a sorority. It’s our show.”
Girl Two nods her confirmation, still giggling. “We take a drink every time you take off your shirt.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Thad is actually blushing. “Oh,” he says, seemingly for lack of anything better to say. His gaze snags mine, and I don’t miss the sheer discomfort in his expression.
I step in closer to Thad, feeling weirdly protective. Or maybe that’s not the right word. Maybe it’s more like possessive. I know we’re just friends, but I do not like the idea of a bunch of sorority girls ogling Thad’s body and acting like he belongs to them because it’s their show.
“The girls are gonna lose their shit when they hear about this!” Cassie half whispers to the other one, then turns back to us. “Are you heading to New Orleans?” She gives me a quick, appraising look. “Is this your girlfriend?”
My mouth runs dry, but before I can say anything, Thad slips his hand into the back pocket of my jeans and pulls me up against his side. “Yep. This is my girlfriend, Helen.”
I know he’s only saying that to keep the sorority girls from fighting over him like he’s the last big-screen TV on Black Friday. I know it doesn’t mean anything. But feeling our bodies pressed together (and his hand on my butt!)…hearing him say that I’m his girlfriend…it makes me feel something. Something I know I shouldn’t be feeling, but there you go.
Cassie appraises me for a moment longer before nodding. “She’s so much better than Vera. I can’t believe what she did to you. What a bitch.”
Weirdly, it makes me warm to the girl. I mean, not that she called Vera a b-i-t-c-h—I don’t like that language, and we’re all children of God, after all—but knowing they really are in Thad’s corner, even if they might still try to rip off his shirt if they get a chance. I smile back at them as a new idea starts to form in my mind. “She really is, isn’t she? And to answer your earlier question, we are going to New Orleans. It’s pretty urgent, actually.” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Thad’s on a case.”
Thad shifts against me. “Helen,” he starts warningly.
I ignore him, still grinning at the girls, who look absolutely thrilled that they’ve been let in on this secret. “I really hate to ask this, but…you don’t happen to have any extra room in your car, do you?”
It’s a long shot, but you never know. It doesn’t hurt to ask, and sometimes the good Lord does provide.
Cassie and her friend exchange a glance. “Well, we do, but…it’s not really a car.”
She motions back to a vehicle parked at the far end of the parking lot—a party bus, absolutely teeming with sorority girls.
…which is how I wind up in a party bus full of singing and dancing sorority girls, on my way to New Orleans, sitting on Thad’s lap.
Sitting on Thad’s lap. Just in case you missed that part.
Turns out there are very few actual seats on a party bus. Most of the space is taken up by the minibar, the stripper pole (dear Lord), and a space for a large-screen TV. In Thad’s honor, the girls put on episodes of Bama Bounty streaming in the background.
The girls are all pretty sweet, if a little overexcited to get to be near Thad. Most of them are already doubled up in the seats, which doesn’t seem all that safe to me, but I’m trying very hard not to give off mom vibes and so I’ve refrained from commenting on it. A few offered to double up with Thad, too, but between his image on the jumbo TV screen and a few girls suggesting more than once that he can totally use the stripper pole if he wants, Thad has become the equivalent of a human turtle, withdrawing into his shell as much as possible.
“I’ll sit with Helen,” he speaks up quickly after the third seat-buddy offer gets made. “My girlfriend, Helen.”
I know he’s only using me as a shield because he’s scared of the boisterous twentysomethings, but I still feel stupidly giddy every time he refers to me as his. And yes, I know this man only sees me as a friend, a sad little ex-nun who needed a little boost of sexual confidence. My mind knows this, but my heart does not care. It is programmed to be entirely too responsive to Thad, and I don’t know how to access the factory reset.
Thad’s quite a bit larger than the itty-bitty sorority girls who are doubling up on each seat, and my bottom is also no size 0, so we aren’t doubling up so much as I am in this man’s lap. I sit sideways with my legs across him, my left arm pressed to his chest, and I can feel the faint rhythm of his heart beating against me, his warm breath stirring my hair. I am aware of every single part of us that is touching—one of his hands on my leg, my thighs pressed against his. The side of my bottom is pressed up against his groin, my breasts roughly at his eye level, coming dangerously close to smashing into his face every time the bus jolts or moves too quickly, and I’m doing my best not to think about last night, that intense look in his eyes as he ground his hard erection against my panties…the groan he made when his hands closed over my naked breasts…
No, Helen. No. Pure thoughts. I start mentally reciting the lineage of Abraham, which is the least sexy thing I can think of and will hopefully take my mind off Thad’s body and just where it’s touching mine.
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Esau, Reuben, Simeon, Gad, Asher…
“So how did y’all meet?”
It takes me a moment to realize the question is being addressed to me. Twenty pairs of young eyes watch me expectantly, waiting for my answer.
“Oh, well…” I’m not a great liar. If there’s a clear purpose in sight, like sweet-talking my way onto a party bus, I can sometimes manage it, but lying just for the sake of lying has never been my strong suit. Even before I was a sister, if I did something that I knew would upset my parents, I would just give myself up before they even had the chance to question me, knowing it was a fruitless endeavor. I can’t fathom lying to these girls and actually managing to be convincing about it, but the thought of admitting that I was untruthful feels absolutely mortifying.
Plus, then they’ll all know that Thad and I aren’t actually a couple, and I really don’t want to see the knowing looks on their faces when they figure out the whole thing was just a sham. They’re probably too Southern and polite to say it outright, but I’m sure the looks on their faces will clearly say, Bless her soul, but she didn’t really think we bought them as a couple, did she?
“We actually—” I start, but Thad cuts me off.
“Helen’s a librarian, up in Chicago. I went into her library to get some information about a case, but once I saw her, I just kept going back. At one point I was pretending to read about a book a day before I finally got the nerve to ask her out. Just so I could have the chance to see her.”
The hand he still has resting on my leg squeezes just above my knee, and I relax a little. I should have known that being a good bounty hunter translated into being a good liar, too. A lot of what he’s said is true, but he’s spinning it so it sounds much more romantic than it actually was.
The girls aww approvingly at Thad’s story. “I pretend to read all the time for my American Lit class, too,” one girl chimes in, a little too enthusiastically, earning her a few laughs.
Cassie, the only girl whose name I know, leans forward in her seat. “What was it about her that drew you to her?”
I tense, feeling myself prematurely growing embarrassed at the thought of him having to scramble to come up with an answer. Beyond the obvious Her proximity to her brother, that is. “I don’t?—”
But once again, Thad beats me to the punch. “Her smile,” he says without missing a beat. “Her warmth. Her kindness. The way any room gets brighter when she’s in it.”
Another chorus of awws follows his answer, but I’m so surprised I hardly notice it. For the first time since sitting on his lap, I turn so I can look directly into Thad’s face, searching his expression with a quizzical smile. “You didn’t really think that,” I say quietly, just to him.
He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes burn into mine, so intense I have to look away, flustered. He is very good at pretending, I’ll give him that much.
“And what drew you to him?” one of the girls asks. “I mean, besides the obvious.”
A round of laughter follows this, and I play along with it, trying not to let on how much the question flusters me. “He is very handsome, isn’t he?” I wet my lips as I think of the best way to answer, before deciding to go with Thad’s method—the truth, or at least a version of it. “I never thought he’d be interested in me in a million years. We’re from different worlds.”
The girls are fully invested now in the love story, many of them literally hanging off the edge of their seats. Of course, that might also be because of the tequila shots I saw them taking a few minutes ago. “Opposites attract though,” Cassie speaks up sagely, in the manner of a girl who is wise beyond her years, or at least trying to sound that way. “Sweet and sour. Naughty and nice.”
“That might be it,” I agree, conscious of Thad’s eyes watching me closely as I answer. “But I don’t think so. I think we’re actually not so different. Not where it counts. The more I’ve gotten to know him, the more I think we’re both people who’ve been hurt before, and who are a little scared of letting other people see us for who we really are. We might just have different ways of showing it.”
I don’t know when this turned into a counseling session, or why I’m being so honest with these Delta Gamma girls. Maybe it’s because I know I’ll likely never see them again. Maybe because it’s easier to say these things when I don’t have to look at Thad.
“So is it true love?” another girl pipes up.
The question catches me so off guard, I’m startled into looking at Thad. We stare at each other for a long, silent moment, and I don’t know how to read the intensity of his gaze. I’m both completely aware of our audience, and sucked into this vacuum of a moment, where it’s only Thad and me, our faces mere inches apart, our eyes holding in an unspoken exchange. He gives a slow swallow, looking down at my lips, causing them to part as I take in a sharp, expectant breath.
“NOLA!”
The shouted exclamation from the group of girls pulls me right out of the moment. I look back, surprised to see that we appear to have reached the city. Many of the girls are suddenly standing on their seats, crowding together to try to stick their heads through the sunroof.
With all the happy, frenetic optimism of youth, they’ve forgotten about us in an instant. But my heart is still hammering in my chest, and I feel Thad’s thudding in response behind me.