“You need a car?” He nods his head to several other cars at the far end of the warehouse. “You can use one of those.People sometimes sign their old, totaled cars over to us if we think there’s a chance we can repair and sell them. I wouldn’t recommend it for a cross-country trek, but that silver Hyundai in the corner runs decently.”
“You’d let me borrow it?”
“Sure. Why not? How long are you planning on being away?”
I lean back into the seat, the ripped upholstery digging into my neck. “I need to disappear for a while. Figure my shit out, you know?”
“You want to leave town, but you don’t have anywhere to go, and you don’t know how long you’ll be gone?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Wait here.”
He walks back in the direction of the main building, returning a few minutes later with two sets of keys. “For the Hyundai,” he says, jingling one. “This one is for a fishing cabin I sometimes use for weekend getaways. My brothers and I go. Sometimes it’s just me and Christian. You’ve actually been there a few times. It’s not anything special, but it’s got electricity and running water and it’s off the beaten path. There’s a small mom-and-pop store a few miles away. You’ll pass it just before the turnoff to the lake.” He hands me a piece of paper. “Here are the directions. It’s about an hour northwest of here. I can’t think of a better place to disappear.”
I take everything from him. “Aren’t you going to ask why I need to leave?”
He shrugs. “You’d tell me if you wanted me to know.”
I get out of the back seat and hoist the strap of the duffle onto my shoulder. “You’ve been a good friend, Carter.”
He laughs. “It’s strange hearing you use my first name. You always called meCruz.”
My eyes narrow. “How come you haven’t told me that until now?”
“Figured you have enough people telling you shit.”
I huff out a rush of air. “You have no idea.”
He follows me to the Hyundai. Maybe to make sure it starts. It does. He pounds the roof. “There’s cell service up there. Feel free to call if you need anything.”
I nod, back out, then stick my head out of the window before driving away. “Hey Cruz!” He turns. “Thanks.”
Happy that the GPS in this old clunker works—because no way would I have found this place without it—I pull into the parking lot of Bart’s Market, and park next to a pickup truck that must be sixty years old.
I look around when I enter the place, sure I’m in some kind of time warp. Honestly, I’m amazed stores like this even exist anymore.
“What can I do you for?” the old man behind the counter says from his perch on a tall stool.
“Nothing really. I just need food for… actually, I don’t know how long. I’m going to be staying at a nearby fishing cabin.”
He studies me. “Which one? I don’t recall seeing you ‘round here.”
“Do you know Carter Cruz?”
The old guy smiles. “Well, hells yeah, I do. Those Cruz boys been coming here since their daddy started bringing them up back in the early part of this century.”
“Carter was nice enough to let me come up here for a while.”
He strains his neck to look out the dirty front windows toward the Hyundai. “You alone?”
“Yup. That’s the point.”
He chuckles, starts coughing, then spits phlegm into the nearby trashcan. “Well, just so you know, I’m closed on Sundays.”
“Point me to the liquor?”
He cocks his head. “You must not be from around here, boy. This is New York. The only thing we can sell in grocery stores is beer and cider. You want anything stronger, you have to drive ‘bout twenty-five miles up the road to Bobby Stikes’s liquor store.” He thumbs to a small wall of refrigerators. “Cold beer’s over there. Got some stacks of warm beer in the back if you prefer. Don’t be expectin’ no high-end stuff. Pabst. Michelob. Budweiser. The usuals.”
