Another thing I learned: cars had a ton of different computerized plugs and they couldn't be swapped in and out for each other like extension cords. Apparently, this part was unique to this car model, and though he tried, Jude couldn't make it work with any of the options available at the garage.
That left us stranded here in Grandwood Valley until the rental agency could send someone out with a new vehicle for us. They'd promised a replacement by noon and, the naïve children we were, Jude and I believed them.
We went down the road to a diner that sold meat from a walk-up window. We devoured an amazing breakfast and stared at the table with zombie eyes for an hour. Then we waited on a bench outside the gas station, boldly expecting that new car as promised.
The owner of the gas station, a man who swore up and down that his name really was Woody Grandwood, prodded us to explore the county fair. He promised to call if the replacement showed up—we should've noticed how he kept sayingif—and said we'd find a good time there.
We didn't go to the fair. We waited on that bench as the sun climbed higher in the sky.
Noon came and went. Then one o'clock and two. Jude had several intense conversations with the agency, and every time, they insisted someone was on their way and was scheduled to arrive within thirty minutes. And then another thirty minutes. And another.
I plugged in my phone after forgetting about it last night and discovered dozens of missed calls, voicemails, and texts from my mother. She wanted to strategize for my get-together with Brecken Wilhamsen—which she'd decided would happen at a garden party in the Hamptons next month—and casually,gentlyinvited me to join her for some shopping.
I took that as a sign my mother had something big invested in making it work with me and Brecken. She wasn't one for gentle invitations. She preferred to inform me of these things and then lash out with an inventory of my most significant flaws when I didn't immediately fall in line. Maybe it was the delirium setting in but I couldn't believe that I'd ever let that fly. Even to avoid confrontation and keep the peace, blindly submitting wasn't doing me any good.
I replied with a quick message reminding her that I was traveling and then tied up with Emme's wedding, and we'd figure this out afterward.
Woody Grandwood strolled out of the gas station office and tipped his chin up in greeting. "Give me a day and I'll get that part ordered up for you," he said, hooking his thumb toward the car.
"The replacement should be here any—" Jude glanced at his watch. It read five fifteen. "What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with this company? They were thirty minutes away three hours ago."
"They probably don't have enough cars to send one out here and another to bring the driver back," Woody said. "It's high season. They run out of cars all the time." He pulled a phone from the back pocket of his worn jeans. "I'll call over to the motel and tell 'em you're coming, and then order that part. Probably be here tomorrow, maybe the day after."
"The day after?" Jude repeated, the words low and brutal.
Woody shrugged. "We get deliveries when we get deliveries. All there is to it."
"We need to leave now," Jude said, pushing to his feet. "There has to be another option."
"Don't think there is." Woody glanced down the road, scratching his chin. "But now you can see about that fair."
chapter seventeen
Audrey
Today's vocabulary word: booked
I stopped listeningto everything aftermotel. I'd been awake, more or less, for thirty-six hours. As long as there was a bed waiting for me the details didn't matter.
I barely noticed the fifteen-minute walk from the gas station to the motel or the intense desert air transforming me into a sun-dried tomato with every breath. My pants and shoes had turned brick red from the dusty road, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Everything would be better after a long, hard month of sleep.
I perched on my suitcase and stared at the surrounding mountains while Jude arranged for our rooms in this long, concrete block of a motel. I carried on a small debate with myself—would I shower first or sleep?—and didn't notice him talking to me until he dropped a hand on my shoulder and gave me a shake.
"Don't pass out on me now," he rumbled.
"Hardly," I replied, though I had some doubts about standing up again. My god, it was so embarrassing to be alive. "Are we all set?"
He glanced down the row of doors bordering a parking lot filled with pickup trucks. "There's only one room."
I stared up at him, my mind gummy. "What?"
He held up a single diamond-shaped plastic keychain. "One room. It's all they have. Everything's booked for the fair."
My butt fell asleep as I processed this, and I wobbled on the suitcase. Jude grabbed my elbow and he didn't let go when I tried to shake him off. I didn't try very hard. I didn't actually want him to go. "It's not like we have any other options."
That…was not going to work. I needed somewhere to exist without him. I needed to be able to breathe and not wait to see his reaction to it. And, my god, I needed my own bathroom. The plain truth was the girls who had janky gutsrequiredour own bathrooms. We needed a private space where we could take all the time in there necessary without concern for how it could impact anyone else.
"I'm sorry about this," he said. "I'll come up with a solution tomorrow."
