Chapter 7 #2
Cadenza’s brow furrowed. She’d seen that there was a real face under Canon’s salesman mask. She wished he’d let it show more. “I’m glad you’ve had good company, Drostan. Speaking of which, I am happy for you, but if you need to talk about Taran being—”
“Well, I’m off the now,” he interrupted. “Can’t leave the other lads up at the lot on their own for too long. I’ll see you back at home.” He patted her hand and headed out the door. She sighed. Maybe she’d try again tomorrow.
On the far side of the room, Canon held court, shaking hands for photo ops. Every so often, his eyes took on a brief, unfocused look before he answered an attendee’s question. Cadenza narrowed her eyes. He couldn’t really tell what someone wanted, could he? That would be too bizarre.
She huffed a laugh at herself. Like I’ve got room to judge about bizarre. At least Canon is brave enough to own what he does. Whatever it is.
A fresh influx of people squeezed through the front door, three older women hoisting a banner that read, “Seniors for Richards.” The crowd shifted to make room, and someone stepped on Cadenza’s foot. Time to go.
She pushed her way through the room to Canon’s side. “Sorry,” she interrupted a reporter mid-question. “Canon, I’m going to head out.”
“Cadenza, good timing.” He grinned and pulled her into the line of people posing. “Just grab a quick picture with us first, ok?” He waved the group closer together and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Squeeze in, everyone.”
Flashes lit the room, and the reporter launched back into her question. Canon ignored her.
“Thank you for coming.” He gave Cadenza a one-armed hug. “I owe you. Breakfast tomorrow morning?” Excitement colored his cheeks. Cadenza smiled, recognizing the look of performance adrenaline on a true extrovert.
“We’ll see,” she laughed. “You might be too tired. Good luck with the rest of the evening.”
Orange barrels and a detour sign blocked the road back up the hill.
“When did they start that?” she asked the empty car. There hadn’t been any roadwork on the way to the Opera Hall.
She followed the detour sign through a side road to a shopping center access street.
A line of other cars clogged the route, and Cadenza pulled into a parking spot going over the mental map of shortcuts she’d taken as a teenager.
Some of the stores had changed since she left Sonora, and the parking lot had shifted where the county had redone the access streets, but over there was the movie theater she’d worked at in the summers.
This street running through the parking lot was Old Wards Ferry Road, which led to the service road off the back gate of Norroway Automotive, as Taran had shown her last night.
She tapped her chin, debating. The traffic on the detour route moved a whole two cars forward.
After the mob of people at the Opera Hall, an empty road sounded beautiful.
The back road through Norroway’s was wide enough for a car, she could drive all the way up to her apartment.
Maybe she’d see the owl this time. The image of Taran in the starlight flashed through her mind, but she brushed it aside.
She wasn’t doing this in hopes of seeing him again. She wasn’t.
Besides, back roads are more fun. Vero, Babbo?
She backed out of the parking spot and turned onto Old Wards Ferry Road. From Taran’s description, the service road turn couldn’t be far. And if she drove all the way from the back gate to her apartment and didn’t see Taran, she could always see who was home at the cottage.
“Ungh!” She groaned at her unruly thoughts. No, I couldn’t. Because it doesn’t matter.
Headlights bounced in her rearview mirror, making her squint, but the turnoff opened on her left soon after, and she pulled onto the service road. Her own headlights drew a circle on the road, showing foothill pines along the gravel track, and scrub oaks filling in the shadows.
The other car turned in behind her.
Weird. Then again, Norroway’s couldn’t be the only private drive connected to the service road.
The headlights dropped out of view as she rounded a curve, and Cadenza relaxed back in her seat. No more people tonight, please. Least of all, headlights chasing behind her. The vehicle came around the turn, and she caught a glimpse of its silhouette. A truck. Not surprising around here.
The truck revved up behind her and honked.
Great. One of those kinds of trucks.
She ignored it, focusing on navigating the road.
The horn blasted into the night again.
“What do you want me to do?” She threw up a hand in exasperation. The hill dropped off just a foot from the edge of the one lane road. There was no place to pull over and let them pass. Cadenza sped up, hoping to put some space between them.
The other driver kept pace, engine snarling right at her bumper.
She swallowed, scanning as far ahead as her headlights permitted. The gate had to be close.
The truck lurched forward and nudged her bumper.
“What the—” She glared at the rearview mirror. “Seriously?!”
The driver leaned on the horn and rammed her harder. The sedan rocked sideways and her head hit the driver’s window. Her seatbelt cut into her chest as the truck slammed into the back of her car once more. The driver accelerated, pushing her sedan down the road.
The lane widened on her left, a metal shape showing out of the trees. The gate!
Cadenza smashed the gas pedal to the floor and cranked the wheel, detaching from the truck. The truck swerved after her and hit the edge of her rear bumper, sending her spinning.
Glass shattered. Metal buckled. The car hit something, a pop like a gunshot exploded in her face, and the airbag deployed. The truck fishtailed, spinning up gravel, horn still blaring.
“Drunk hick!” she screamed. “Che cavolo fai?! Idiota!”
The tell-tale shape of fake testicles dangled from the truck’s trailer hitch as her attacker sped off into the night.
“Figures,” she spat in disgust.
Pain lanced through her forehead, and she winced. Blood trailed from a lump above her left eyebrow where she’d hit the side window. Norroway’s gate stuck out from under the frame of her sedan, mangled by the impact, and her door refused to budge when she pushed on it.
She took a deep breath as she retrieved her phone from where it had fallen on the floor of the passenger seat. “Ok, bright side. Phone’s not broken. You made it to the gate. Your boss owns a tow truck, and a body shop.” Not that she could pay for repairs.
“Jerk-Face-Testicle-Truck.” She muttered curses on the driver’s parentage as she scrambled over the gear shift and out the passenger door. The world wobbled, and she grabbed the roof of the car for balance. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she wished she’d brought a jacket.
Why am I cold? It’s technically still August. She rubbed her arms, then rolled her eyes as it dawned on her that she was going into shock. For the second time this week.
One week. One week back in her hometown.
She was thousands of dollars away from her goal, the music that no one else heard and that she’d fought so hard to control her entire life had gone haywire, her best friend was a Ferrari, she couldn’t convince Canon they weren’t dating, and now some crazy yokel whose ego was tied to his four-wheel drive had run her off the road.
But it’s ok, she told herself. Because I’m not staying. I’m leaving and going to Italy.
Norroway Auto’s private road ran blue through the night, piccolo notes stretching along with it. The oaks and willows by the creek waved a darker blue, vibrating deep string tones.
Cadenza breathed in—It’s ok. I’m not staying—breathed out.
Her fingers buzzed, another shiver rocking through her.
I’m not staying.
Legs shaking, she clambered over the mess of twisted metal sticking out from under her car to swing a leg over the fence. Nausea rolled through her belly, and she clutched a post to stay upright.
Not staying. Not staying.
A rhythm feathered against her skin. The same rhythm she’d felt last night. She snapped her head up, but the world spun, forcing her to drop her forehead back down on the post, breathing through clenched teeth.
Whistling floated out of the trees. Taran strode around the corner, and the whistling cut off. “Cadenza? What happened?”
She heard his feet sprinting to the fence but stayed grasping the post. “Idiot ran me off the road.” Slowly, she raised her head and managed to lift her other leg over the fence.
“Ran you off the road?” He pointed at the crumpled car. “It looks more like they tried to run you over. You’re bleeding.” He pulled a tissue from his pocket and pressed it to her forehead. Drums exploded in her ribcage.
The ground tilted and her stomach lurched, a record scratch in the middle of a symphony. She grabbed his wrist to keep her balance. Bass notes thundered up her arm, and she yanked back like she’d been burned.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m feeling a little unsteady.”
“I’m not surprised. That’s a nasty goose egg you’ve got.” Taran brushed her hair away from the wound, frowning. “We’d best get you up to the house and cleaned up. Come on.”
Cadenza took two steps. Stopped. Bent over with her elbows on her knees. Her pulse thumped in her skull, competing with Taran’s frame drum.
“I think I just need a minute.”
Taran leaned down next to her. “Don’t think me out of line, but I think you need more than a minute. You look about to faint. May I?” He held out his arms like a cradle.
“What, like carry me?” Cadenza almost laughed out loud.
She must have heard him wrong. (Wasn’t confusion one of the signs of shock?) Because how could this beautiful, golden-eyed man—the only person she’d heard music from in her entire life—carry her all the way to the apartment?
He couldn’t carry her. She couldn’t even touch him without drums slamming into her like an ocean tide. Yes, she must be confused.
She straightened and tried to walk. The nausea peaked, the edges of her vision darkening.
“Ok, fine,” she groaned. “Ocean.”
“What?” Taran looked at her with concern.