Chapter Nine Elsie
Chapter Nine
Elsie
When Elsie had asked Grammie to rescue her, she’d envisioned a nice flight together. Like when Grammie and Ace had taken her to Disney, a trip that included airport food and a hotel with room service.
Instead, she’d been stuck in the back seat of the van for over six hours with a gassy dog. She really wanted another life. “Who fed Dusty peanut butter?”
Grammie twisted to look over her shoulder. “Oh no. I thought he could have some.” She pivoted toward Rosalynn again. “Your other service dogs could have some peanut butter for a special treat. I smeared a couple of tablespoons on his Kong when I buckled him into the van.”
Rosalynn changed lanes in the crawling traffic as if that might somehow make a difference when most of the time they ended up at a standstill.
Although others had it worse. Like the church bus that was parked on the side of the road with a hood up, steaming engine, and soaked driver tinkering with the motor.
The lanes going in the opposite direction were nearly empty, other than trucks from the power company and school buses assisting with evacuation.
“Dusty has a sensitive stomach, but he’ll be okay.” Rosalynn lowered the window an inch, only to wince as rain dripped inside. “You could check the emergency pet supply kit for probiotic pouches. We probably just need an extra break or two.”
“For gas?” Groaning, Elsie slid down in her seat and tugged the neck of her T-shirt to cover her nose. “Don’t say ‘gas.’ Can we please, please pull over soon?”
In five hours, they’d only gone a little over a hundred miles and stopped once.
At this rate, she would graduate from high school before they made it to Grammie’s house.
Up ahead, a family stood under an umbrella while their father changed a tire.
Which only made her mood worse thinking about her own dad bailing when they needed him.
Had he always been this much of a loser?
There’d been one evacuation when her parents fought over the route and they’d ended up in a shelter, but before that, she remembered a time they’d spent the night in a hotel that had seemed fancy to her.
Although what did she know? Her criteria had consisted of a pool, unlimited doughnuts for breakfast, and jumping on the mattress.
While nudging Dusty’s dog bed tighter against his bottom with her foot, she typed out another text to Willow. What r u doing?
Willow answered, Eating ice cream sundaes so it won’t melt if the power goes out.
Elsie typed, Lucky. I’m stuck drinking old Gatorades and eating a pimento cheese sandwich.
She could have sworn during other evacuations there had been at least one Happy Meal. She certainly didn’t recall the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Or the long lines at the gas station or drive-through restaurants.
For some reason, her mom and grandmother were a surprisingly unified front on avoiding carryout food and sticking to the boring dreck in the cooler.
She would kill for an order of fries. Super-size.
Dots lit up the screen with Willow typing. Dad drilled holes in the plywood so we can watch the storm.
That sounded pretty scary, actually. I heard the cops say to go or they couldn’t promise to help. Are you okay? How bad is it there?
Willow replied, Tough to say. It’s already dark inside because the windows are covered. The wind is loud.
Elsie typed, Should you leave? Your dad could stay but the rest of you could go with your mom.
Typing dots scrolled and scrolled, like for a long answer, pausing like she was deleting, then simply: The roads are flooded.
Fear for her friend made that pimento cheese sandwich churn in her stomach. Elsie took in the heavy clouds overhead. The sky seemed more like sunset than noon. Did everybody else leave town? Our old crew, I mean.
The text box stayed blank for about a dozen heartbeats before the typing dots appeared again. Porter’s family left with their boat. They’re driving out west to a lake. Jareth went with them even though his parents are staying.
Once upon a time, she would have known that about her neighbor.
She wanted to rage at Jareth for bailing out on their friendship since middle school.
Most of all she wanted to kick the snot out of Porter and embarrass him the way he was humiliating her.
She’d thought he liked her. He’d even talked her into taking a couple of underwear photos of herself.
He’d asked for more—with her wearing less—but she’d said no.
So he’d found another way to get the images he wanted that were the price he had to pay for an entrée into a cool crowd. The idiot didn’t even realize they were just using him, mocking him.
Mocking her. So far, he’d only shared one, but he’d shown her the others. He swore he wouldn’t share the rest as long as she gave him a hand job . . . which she totally was not going to do . . .
Panic tightened her throat. Gulping Gatorade only made the bite of her sandwich swell more until she coughed, nearly choking.
“Elsie,” her mother called, her eyes concerned in the rearview mirror, the ballerina charm swaying. “Are you okay?”
Not even close. But not because of the bread lodged in her windpipe. She downed another swallow until she could breathe again. Wouldn’t that have made for a pathetic line on her loser tombstone? Here lies Elsie Yates. Murdered by a pimento cheese sandwich and a traitorous ex-boyfriend.
Her mother met her eyes in the mirror again. “Now that we’re all together, Elsie, would you like to tell us what’s going on?”
Nope. Elsie took an extra sip of the sports drink to buy herself a moment to think. “I want to move in with Grammie. End of story.”
“Then my answer is no,” Rosalynn said firmly.
“What? Really, Mom?” Elsie flopped back, arms crossed. “This is why I called Grammie. Grammie, help me. She’s so stubborn.”
Rosalynn snorted on a laugh. “I could say the same about you—”
Grammie interrupted, “Maybe we shouldn’t be discussing this just yet, when we’re all exhausted.
” She rested a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“Your father used to insist on starting trips before the crack of dawn, which just made everyone cranky for the rest of the day. We can talk at the hotel tonight or in the morning after a good night’s sleep.
Did you forward the confirmation to me?”
Silence echoed in the van other than Dusty snoring—at least she hoped he was snoring—and the patter of rain on the roof.
Elsie spun her drink bottle in the holder until finally her mom spoke up.
“Yes, Mother, I sent it to you. But at this rate, I’m not sure when we’ll get there. I underestimated the traffic.”
Two cop cars whipped past, along the shoulder, followed by an ambulance, all three with sirens blaring. This was the second time an accident had slowed their progress. Although it felt petty to resent the delay when somebody was hurt up ahead.
Her phone vibrated against her leg. She checked to see if Willow was calling. But nope. It was her dad. Totally not what she needed right now. Elsie tapped the red “Ignore” button.
Then she heard her mother’s cell ring. Her mom frowned but ignored it, keeping her hands on the wheel.
Grammie’s device chimed next. “Elsie, your dad’s trying to reach you. Could you call him back?”
“Uh, I’m texting with Willow.” Only she wasn’t, because she couldn’t think about the horror show of her life back home. That made her more nauseated than Dusty’s peanut butter farts.
“Please,” her mother pressed. “Isn’t it wonderful phones have become so advanced that we can do multiple things on them at one time? Like text our friends and our parents.”
“Fine, Mom. I’ll text him—”
“Call him,” her mother insisted.
“Rosalynn,” Grammie said softly, “are you sure that’s the best—”
“Mom . . .” Rosalynn cut her off.
Interesting.
Maybe Grammie might not be so unified on that parental front after all. “I’ll message him that I’m fine and that I’ll call him back later. We need to stop for gas soon anyway, right?”
Grammie adjusted her glasses as she scrolled on her phone. “Google Maps indicates the traffic jam isn’t going to ease for a while. There’s a truck stop at the next exit a mile farther. By the time we finish, maybe the wreck will have cleared and we can switch over driving.”
Another detour.
Great.
Elsie didn’t bother offering to take a stint behind the wheel again.
She didn’t want to rock the boat when there were snacks ahead that didn’t come out of a cooler.
She had $283 in her wallet that she’d been saving from babysitting for when she got to Grammie’s so she didn’t have to bug her for the little stuff.
Just until she could convince her mom and dad to let her cash out her college fund.
Her mouth watered at the thought of a bag of Takis and a Dr Pepper, although the country truck stop looked like more of a boiled peanuts and barbecue kind of place.
Based on the overflowing parking lot, they weren’t the only ones waiting out the backlog from the wreck.
A twinge of worry hit her at how long it had been for her mom since their last stop.
Her mother had to be careful to make frequent bathroom breaks to prevent UTIs, which could be quite common for people with spinal cord injuries.
And potentially dangerous. Rosalynn downplayed her needs so often, it was too easy for others to forget.
Grammie called over her shoulder, arm extended with a credit card, “Elsie, would you please pump the gas while Rosalynn and I head inside? I need to get a cup of ice for my sweet tea.”
“Sure.” Elsie flung aside her seat belt and plucked the card from between Grammie’s fingers. “No problem.”
She scrambled over Dusty on her way to the pump. A big sign read Hurricane Rationing.
After paying and selecting the fuel grade, she slouched back against the van while her mom and Dusty unloaded. The country truck stop with a café had an extended porch with enough swaying rocking chairs to keep Grammie occupied for a good ten minutes steadying them all.
Exiting the store with big Styrofoam cups of slushies, a chorus of kids called out things like “look at the doggy” and “I wanna pet him.” One even lunged toward Dusty’s path, before tripping over his shoelaces and splattering half his icy drink on the sidewalk.
Karma.
Their behavior wasn’t surprising, but was annoying all the same. All her fear and frustration swelled to the surface and Elsie hollered at them, “The dog is working. Don’t you see his cape?”
Shouting at children probably wasn’t the smartest move.
Grammie pivoted back around while Rosalynn busied herself with passing extra treats to Dusty so he wouldn’t be distracted—or try to lick up the spilled drink. Once the kids ducked into their SUV, Grammie waved Rosalynn and Dusty on into the truck stop and strode back toward the fuel pump.
Elsie winced. She needed Grammie on her good side.
Still, she wanted to defend herself. No matter where they went, people commented on Dusty.
Loudly. Some even asked to pet him in spite of the bright red letters on his cape that declared Service Dog.
Do Not Pet. As if the rules somehow didn’t apply to them.
Aside from the fact all those delays interfered with her mom’s shopping, Elsie had resented those trips to the movies or a fast-food restaurant where she and her mother couldn’t just enjoy their time together without being interrupted.
Her mom would pass over a printed card with websites and info.
But some individuals just didn’t take the hint and kept asking question after question while Rosalynn’s food grew cold.
A few people even got downright mad, insisting they were just complimenting the dog. It made Elsie want to become a service animal trainer and teach extra skills, like tying together the shoelaces of jerks who were disrespectful and broke the rules.
And sure enough, there came one now, addressing Grammie. “That dog reminds me of our Labrador. We should get her a vest so we can take her wherever we want.”
Uh-oh.
Grammie’s shoulders went back, a sure sign she was two seconds away from reciting excerpts from the Americans with Disabilities Act. Most folks still didn’t understand and just talked about their friend getting “credentials” off the internet.
Apparently, Grammie’s steely glare was enough to send the person scurrying off. Thank heaven, because once Lillian dug her heels in, there was no sidetracking her, even if it meant getting drenched out here in the middle of a storm.
Umbrella in hand, Grammie pivoted back toward Elsie. “Are you okay, sugar?”
Elsie rubbed her thumb along the lever of the gas pump. “Sorry, Grammie. I didn’t mean to lose it. I need to work on perfecting your death stare. It works better.”
“The look comes with time and too much practice. You need a few more wrinkles around your eyes before it can be truly effective.” Leaning against the van, Grammie closed her umbrella and shook off the water. “I understand the urge to protect her even when she’s fully capable of defending herself.”
The rain pattered on the canopy covering the fuel pumps, ticking away the seconds while Elsie tried to figure out how to answer. How could she explain the mess she’d made of her life that could hurt her mom even more if those photos got out?
Grammie tapped the toe of her sneaker against Elsie’s ankle boot. “Did I ever tell you about when your grandfather and I first talked about getting your mom a service dog? The conversation didn’t go as well as I intended. Timing is everything, and mine stunk.”