Chapter 3
CURRENT DAY
NORA
The light, depressing drizzle has been following me for the past two hours, making everything wet and the sky gray.
It’s the kind of drizzle that makes it impossible to find the right setting for the windshield wipers.
Not the most ideal driving conditions, especially after driving for hours and hours.
Almost as soon as I exit the turnpike, I’m enveloped by trees along winding roads, making the gray day seem just a little darker under the thick tree canopy.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens a little more around every curve as I worry the gas station advertised on the sign on the side of the highway doesn’t really exist.
I’ve got nothing against small country towns, I rather enjoy the quaint atmosphere and the friendliness, but why does everything have to be so far apart?
It’s like social distancing on steroids.
The breath lodged in my chest rushes out when the little gas station appears around another corner, and my fingers loosen on the steering wheel.
Like an oasis plopped into the middle of a forest, the brightly lit gas station advertises food, gas, and restrooms on the sign. Thank God! I’ve needed to pee for the past fifty miles.
Pulling up to a pump, looking around the large parking lot, I’m surprised at the number of cars parked near the store.
I don’t think I passed a single car after I left the turnpike.
With my fingers on the key, ready to turn my SUV off, an orange glow in my periphery on the dash pulls my eyes to the little temperature icon.
No! That’s the last thing I need.
Pausing to listen to the engine, I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary.
Maybe it will hold out until I get to the next city and I can stop at one of the quick-check places.
For now, I just need gas and to pee. And with a glance at the nearly empty package in the seat next to me, maybe some more of my sour gummies.
As soon as I step into the building, the warm smell of pizza fills my nose and makes my mouth water.
Cheers erupt on one side of the store; men are standing and high-fiving around a couple of booths covered in half-eaten pizza and beers.
On the TV mounted on the wall next to the little kitchen is a football game.
“Evenin’. Can I help you find anything?” A young boy is standing behind the cash register. Cluttered on the counter around him are racks of candy bars, chips, and various bags of snacks, including gummies. He looks high-school age, and his cheeks are covered in acne. Poor kid.
Smiling at him, I say, “Restrooms?”
“Oh, that way.” He points to the other side of the checkout area, to a brightly lit hallway.
“Thank you.”
At least the restrooms are clean. There’s a laminated sign on the wall with a checklist of things to be done, and next to each task is a time written in dry-erase marker.
Glancing in the mirror as I wash my hands, I cringe.
I didn’t bother with makeup this morning.
Anytime I feel a little tingle slink up the back of my neck, or I get anxious, I put everything in my car and hit the road.
That was nearly twelve hours ago, I need to find a hotel soon before it gets dark. I hate driving in the dark.
Without makeup, my skin is so pale that my red eyebrows and freckles across my nose stand out like rusty beacons.
Once in high school, I tried to bleach my hair and my eyebrows to look like the strawberry blond pictured on the box, but I ended up with bright, brassy orange and yellow hair. It was a nightmare.
Setting my four bags of gummies, two bottles of water, and a crossword puzzle book on the counter, I pull out cash. “Forty on pump three, please.”
The kid behind the counter chuckles. “You like gummies, huh?” His attention is on the cash register as he pushes buttons to get my total.
I glance at him, close up, I can see all the oil on his face, and it makes me want to hand him a wet wipe. “I’ve petitioned the Food and Drug Administration to add them as one of the four food groups.”
He stops what he’s doing and looks at me, his head tipping to the side a bit and his eyebrows bunched together in confusion. “Huh?”
We stare at each other for several moments as I wonder if he’s confused about the Food and Drug Administration or the four food groups. The joke is obviously lost on him. Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “Nothing.”
He shrugs his shoulders and goes back to punching keys on the register.
Turning to look out the front windows, I get a little nervous because the sky has darkened even more. I don’t like driving at night on highways, much less on dark, curvy, country roads. “What’s in that direction?” I point to where the road I was on disappears behind another curve.
“Pryor and a few more miles down the road, Claremore. That’ll be sixty-seven-fifty-three.”
“Are there any good hotels?” I set my cash on the counter and give him my full attention. His shaggy brown hair is oily, and as he pushes his fingers through it, I notice his fingernails haven’t been trimmed in a while. Ugh, maybe I should give him my hand sanitizer.
Another burst of cheers erupts in the corner across the store, and he glances in that direction before looking back at me. “Depends on what you consider good. Your best bet would probably be Claremore or Owasso, if you’re going in that direction. If you’re going south, then Tulsa.”
Grabbing a map of Oklahoma, I set it on the counter for him to add to the total, and pay for my bags of fattening candy and water and walk back to my car.
As I exit, I glance around the parking lot and scan the surrounding treeline.
After the one time Matt found me and snuck up on me, it’s become a habit to look for him.
Pulling onto the rapidly darkening road, I hope I don’t regret driving farther away from the highway, but Claremore is closer than Tulsa. I can get a room for the night and head out in the morning.
About ten miles down the road, the engine light on my dash comes on, glowing red instead of the yellow glow of the temperature light.
Red has to be bad, right? Then, my car makes a sound I’ve never heard before.
My heart immediately starts knocking against my chest so hard it could crack a rib, and I can hear my pulse in my ears.
My foot instinctively lifts off the gas pedal, but as I look around me, all I see is near darkness in the gray gloaming through the trees. I wonder if I can make it to a place that has lights. Please don’t stop out here in the dark.
In six months, I’ve never wished I had a cell phone more. I got rid of the phone that was on Matt’s cell plan when I left town, but now I think maybe I should have bought a Go-Phone or something. Who would I call?
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
The curvy road I was on opened up into a small four-lane highway a few miles back, but there are no streetlights. Just dark open road.
On each side of the highway, there is about fifty feet of mowed grass, a barbed wire fence, and more trees. In that order. On both sides. Who makes a highway with no lights?
Shit, shit, shit.
When the SUV jerks, I know the universe has decided this is as far as I go. There will be no making it anywhere, and I steer it onto the shoulder. I don’t even have to turn it off, the universe also makes that decision for me before I come to a complete stop.
Slumping in my seat, I push the lock button on my door even though the doors lock when my speed goes over ten miles an hour. My headlights are still on, but there’s nothing to see. All that’s in front of me is the asphalt of the highway and darkness.
The last tiny bit of dim light in the sky is quickly fading along with any courage I have.
A hissing sound is coming from under my hood, and I know I have to look, but damn it, I don’t want to get out. What if there are wild animals or something?
This has never happened to me before. I don’t know what the protocol is for breaking down on the side of a dark country road at night. I’ve seen dozens of scary movies, which remind me that getting out of my car is bad. However, I’ve seen a dozen more that say staying in my car is bad.
Then there are the true-crime documentaries I like to watch. I shut those thoughts down fast before my imagination has me on the next installment as the woman who disappeared on a dark highway in Oklahoma, never to be seen or heard from again.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I say to myself, “Nothing bad is going to happen, it’s just a little car trouble.” Then, I repeat it before I open my eyes and take a deep breath, but I don’t think the extra oxygen is going to give me any more courage.
Keeping the headlights on, my hands are shaking as I get my flashlight out of the glove box, and I take more deep breaths for bravery as I pull the hood lever and open my door.
I’ve never looked under a car hood in my life. I’ve only ever watched as the professionals do it, but I have to know what the hissing sound is, not that I would know what to do about it.
The tiny voice in the back of my head that I’m trying to ignore is worried something could be on fire.
The cool, damp air wraps around me as I step out, and crickets are chirping around me. There’s something else that is familiar from when I lived with Grams in Kansas, and it’s just a sliver of comfort, tree frogs are loud in every direction.
Steam is visible curling out of the seams of the hood and the front before I even get the hood up, but when I do, it’s like I’m standing next to a pot of boiling water. The smell of something hot wafts into my nose.
This is bad.
This is very bad.
I think.
In the past six months, I’ve felt helpless, but I’ve never felt this helpless. Tears prick my eyes, and I shine my light around me as I blink rapidly and take deep breaths. Crying will not help anything.
Where do you think crying is going to get you? That mimicking, hateful voice in my head is like fingernails on a chalkboard, and I push it back in its box as I swallow around the lump in my throat.
Headlights break through the darkness behind me, and a large truck rumbles low as it comes over the hill. I watch as it slows and pulls over on the side of the road ahead of me.
Please be nice people.
Please be nice people.
Please be nice people.
It backs up until it’s a car’s width in front of me, and I unconsciously step back and to the front driver’s side panel of my SUV so I can get in quickly if I need to.
The engine turns off, but the headlights stay on as the driver’s door opens and a beautiful woman, who looks like she could be nine months pregnant, literally slides down from the driver’s seat, the toes at the end of her long legs are pointed to find the ground.
Her long blond hair is in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a sleeveless short maternity jumpsuit that is tied on the shoulders and a tank top under that with tennis shoes. By the way she’s dressed, you would think it’s summer and not the middle of September.
Her smile is beautiful, and she rubs her stomach with her palm as she waddles toward me. “You look like you could use some help.”
Even though I’m wondering how this small pregnant woman is going to help me, my shoulders sag in relief to have the company. “Yes, I could. Thank you for pulling over.”
She laughs and stops next to me, one hand resting on her arched back and the other sitting on top of her big, round belly, looking at the steaming engine. “Whoa. You need a lot of help.”
The passenger door of the truck slams, and I jump as I turn to see a tall, broad man in a baseball hat step around the back of the truck. He’s limping, and he has his own flashlight, which he shines under my hood without even a glance in my direction.
The blond turns to me and holds out her well-manicured hand. “I’m Kinley Abbot, this is my brother, Tucker Harlow. He’ll see what we need to do.”
Her fingers are long, slim, and warm in my hand as we shake. “I’m Nora.”
The man turns and walks to the truck, the way he’s limping looks like he’s in pain, and he lowers the tailgate to reach for something in the bed. He has yet to acknowledge me but turns back to my SUV with what looks like a flannel shirt in his hand and flips his baseball hat around backward.
“Are you from around here, Nora?” She asks, her hand rhythmically stroking her belly.
Keeping my eyes on the man who is tapping something with his fingertips to check the temperature, I answer her. “No, I’m just passing through. I was on my way to Claremore to find a hotel.”
“You almost made it, you’re just a few miles away. Are you from Oklahoma?” She’s not paying her brother any mind. She’s completely comfortable letting him do what he needs to do while she chit-chats.
He folds the shirt over something that he turns. My flashlight is still pointed in the general direction of my SUV, but I can see the muscles of his arm ripple as he does. His t-shirt isn’t tucked into his jeans and has pulled up just over the band to show a tan hip that looks taut.
“Uhm, no, I’m not.” I know she’s wanting me to tell her where I’m from, but I don’t like to give out too much personal information.
Because they were nice enough to pull over, I decide to give her some crumbs.
“But this drizzle and the clouds have followed me since Springfield. I’ve been wondering if I’m going to outrun it or if it’s going to move past me. ”
“How long has your engine light been on?” The deep voice of the man booms from under the hood without even turning in my direction, making me flinch.
Blinking at his back, I clear my throat, it’s a nervous tick I’ve had as long as I can remember. “It came on at the gas station about ten or twelve miles back, but I hoped it would hold out until I could get to a service station.”
“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Kinley chirps, turning her attention to her brother.
Still bent over the front, his head is close to the engine, and his arm is reaching across for something. “You shouldn’t have ignored it, all your coolant dumped out on the road, and your block might be cracked. You’ll need to have someone look at it.”
My breath freezes in my chest as his t-shirt comes up further over his jeans and the gun tucked in his back waistband becomes visible.
Oh, sweet Jesus.