Page 262 of A Taste of Vanilla

Rain continues to pour down. She shivers once—a small, involuntary movement—and every instinct I have rises at the sight.

“Blanket?” I ask.

Her jaw sets, but she nods.

I open the passenger door.

It takes a second for her to move, but when she does, she climbs into the seat, wrapping the blanket around her body.

I stand outside until she opens the door to yell, “Standing there is really weird, Warren. Get in the car.”

The truck is warm and full of things that aren’t ready to be said. Rain hammers on the roof, and Halston shovels gummy worms into her mouth.

“You look relieved,” she mumbles.

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“I am.”

“Control yourself.”

I smile.

When the tow truck finally turns into the lot, Halston sits up straighter. The driver is a man in his fifties with a soaked cap, a kind face, and the resigned posture of someone who has seen plenty today.

He tests the battery and the starter, giving Halston one last choice. “I can tow it to the shop, but honestly, from what you’re telling me and what I’m seeing, you may be putting money into a car that’s had its last good day.”

She nods. “I don’t want it towed to a shop. She’s a liar.”

He blinks.

“I can take it to the salvage yard, yes.”

“Great.”

The driver looks at me, and I look at Halston.

Her lips press together before she walks around to the back of the car. She pops open the trunk and looks at her things.

“You need your stuff out?”

She nods.

“Do you want help emptying it?”

She looks into the car, then nods. “Yes.”

We begin with the obvious things. A hoodie, a reusable grocery bag, a water bottle, a pair of boots, about five lip glosses.

I carry what she hands me to the truck and place everything in the back.

Then, she reaches into the passenger side of the car and goes still.

I stop on my way back to her.

She pulls out a small white box.