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“So we find one of these deserted tourist towns, grab some food, and figure out our next step.”
I go to ask him what he thinks that might be when his phone rings. The moment he looks at the caller ID, his face drops. “Shit.” He looks over at me apologetically. “I gotta take this.”
He answers it on speakerphone. The voice on the other side blares through the tinny speaker. “Where the hell are you, Brad? You were supposed to be back half an hour ago.”
“I’m really sorry, but—”
“No apology needed.” I’m imagining the person on the other side is older, maybe in his forties or fifties, his double chins bouncing with each shouted syllable. “Don’t worry about coming in today. Or any other day for that matter.”
“But I—” Brad chokes out.
“HR will send your termination papers out tomorrow.” And before Brad can even attempt to get a word in, the phone beeps and the screen goes dark.
A long, deep inhale precedes a sigh that rattles through Brad’s chest. He’s not looking at me, even though I know he can feel my eyes boring into him. The fact is that if not for me, he’d be at his job. A jo
b that it appears he desperately needs. Instead we’re driving away from my problem, which due to my helplessness has become his problem too.
The poor guy is still staring straight ahead, barely blinking, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I can’t imagine what this day has cost him, and how its echoes will affect his life in the coming weeks and months. Is he late on his rent, maybe? Did he need the company insurance to get a painful cavity filled? Was this job his final lifeline he’d been holding out months, maybe even years, for?
Knowing full well there isn’t anything I can say to make things better, there’s at least something I can do to distract him from this newfound stress. So without thinking whether the action will mean anything or not, I lean over to give him a kiss on the cheek. It’s just meant to be a gesture of gratitude. But Brad must have been spending this time thinking of what to say next, because a fraction of a second before my lips find his cheek, he turns to say something, and our lips meet in a tentative brush.
I always thought it was stupid or just wishful thinking when people said that sparks flew the first time they kissed. And even if a small part of me wanted to believe it was possible, before this precise moment, I never would have even entertained the thought that such a magical moment could happen in a car that smells faintly of rotten milk, driving away from my lunatic of an ex.
But the truth of the matter won’t be denied. Because when our lips brush against each other, there’s something undeniable in that connection. So strong as to make us both pull back and stare into each other’s eyes. The only thing that breaks our connection is when Brad jerks at the steering wheel to pull it back into the right lane.
We don’t speak after that, but out of the corner of my eyes, I see Brad lick at his lips. And when I swallow, it's a loud sound that I’m sure reverberates through the car, carrying with it my trepidation, my wonder, my hope.
I don’t know what this means, or if we can just ignore what happened. But deep inside me, I know that this little road trip isn’t the same anymore. Today might have started out in the most horrible fashion, but now there’s a shred of light at the end of the tunnel. I even entertain a brief thought of the night this day may lead to.
And who I’ll spend it with.
Chapter 6
Brad
We park at the back of a gas station, my car hidden behind a defunct car wash. To our left, just across the street, is the beach. Well, there’s actually an ugly parking lot between here and the sand, but I can almost imagine that I hear the surf breaking all the same.
The town is Newbridge, and it’s as tiny as it is empty. The gas station seems to be functioning, but we’ve been parked here for five minutes and I haven’t seen a soul stirring about. There’s a diner just down the road though, and with the way Kate’s stomach is growling beside me, I know we’re going to have to leave the safety of the car and venture outside soon enough, but right now we’re just waiting. I don’t think either of us knows exactly what for, but we’re both sitting here silently, hoping for the other to make the first move.
It’s at this time that a question bubbles up in my skull.
“This might sound insensitive, but what exactly is your ex’s problem?”
Kate’s lip is quivering, and she’s wringing her hands in her lap. After long seconds, I think that she’s just going to choose to ignore my question, but then she finally says, “He was such a sweetheart in the beginning. We met when he pulled me over for a speeding ticket. He let me off because he said that he didn’t make a habit of giving pretty girls tickets. Instead he gave me a warning, and asked for my phone number below my signature on the form. When we started dating, he’d pick me up in his squad car. It was fun. At first.
“Some nights he showed up already drunk. When I asked him about it, he’d get all gruff and say that cops’ jobs are too hard for civilians to understand. That there were things he’d done and wasn’t proud of. That drinking helped him do his job because it made him less uptight. Then one night when he came to pick me up, he was absolutely plastered. I tried inviting him in for coffee or something, but he was determined to get to this party across town. He wouldn’t even think about letting me drive, and I remember how my fingernails dug into the dashboard while he swerved all over the road. That’s when the kid on the bicycle appeared.”
I actually feel myself stop breathing. I don’t want her to continue. If we stop here, I can always imagine how they barely got to the party unscathed and that the little kid is still safe at home to this day.
But none of that is true.
Kate’s focus is firmly on her own lap. “I remember how his bicycle felt when we ran over it. It was all over the news that week, but Trevor would always shut off the TV when it came on. He didn’t want me or him to mention it ever again.
“Trevor’s station bought the story that we hit a deer and that’s what caused the damage to his cruiser. He once told me while drunk that there was no real investigation into the boy’s murder, because there were no cameras aimed at the road in this particular residential area. And that there were definitely no eyewitnesses. He highlighted this last point with a punch that left me no choice but to wear huge sunglasses for a week.”
She’s quiet for some time after this revelation. As am I. While I want to comfort her, there’s a different part of me that sees her as part of the problem. Why did she never come forward?
My silence must say more than I think, because she replies to my unspoken thoughts.
