“No,” Bobby says, his voice muffled by the cracked window. “What you’re doin’ is runnin’ away.”
Trying to save face, I roll my eyes and start the engine.
“So what?” I exclaim. I hate that tears are forming, threatening to spill over my bottom lashes. I just want to stay angry. Anger is so much easier than grief. “What’s so wrong with running away? Grams is dead. Mom’sbeendead. And Dad made sure he wasn’t too far behind her.” The engine’s low hum is already beginning to soothe me, a subtle reminder of how close I am to getting away from my cursed life. “I’m so over it.”
Things are never as simple as we make them out to be. An uneasy, cold feeling snakes up my skin at knowing my entire life is packed neatly into the back of my truck. Here I am, leaving behind the only home I’ve known, about to come face to face with the unknown, and every second that passes only expands the vulnerability building inside me.
I brush the back of my hand under my eye, catching a tear before it falls, and shoot a final glance at Bobby. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans, shoulders hunched forward, eyes still pleading with me. The truth is, it’s not just me who’s dodging a bullet here. We both are. One day, he’s going to get himself cleaned up. One day, he’ll remember who he used to be. And that guy, he deserves to be with someone whose whole heart burns for him. Unfortunately, that person isn’t me.
“Goodbye, Bobby.”
Bobby says nothing as he watches me shift the pickup into reverse and back out of the driveway. His frame is still fixed in my rearview mirror as I drive farther and farther away, but it isn’t him I’m looking at. It’s the faded blue shutters, the rectangular window beside the porch I’ll always remember looking out of, and, lastly, the ‘For Sale’ sign propped up in the front yard.
Home.
From the corner of my eye, I watch the faded white house until it’s small enough to fit into my pocket, and still as it shrinks into a tiny speck behind darkening grey clouds and dim streetlamps. I watch it until it disappears completely, imagining the shutters bright and blue, with Grams sitting at the breakfast nook at the other end of that window, waving me farewell with one wrinkled hand and sipping the cup of tea in the other.
I hardly notice the tears as they slide down my cheeks, though I taste the saltiness between my lips.
“Goodbye, Grams,” I whisper.
One hotel stayand way too much caffeine later, heavy rain pelts my windshield, giving my worn wipers hardly a fighting chance. I narrow my eyes at the dark skies. Of course I’ve driven straight into a storm. How poetic. My thumb taps the steering wheel as my mind races. I still haven’t fully convinced myself I’m really doing this. A single destination looms in the back of my mind, and I know nothing of the place except that it’s the town Grams was born and raised in. Mom was born there too, but she was still a young girl when Grams uprooted their lives to LA.
I keep my foot on the gas and my vehicle heading east.
I know Bobby’s right. I am running away. I’m also being irrational and spontaneous—two words I’d never have associated myself with just two weeks ago. Is it really so wrong of me, though?
I have no ties.
No family.
No goals.
Hmph. I give my head a shake.
I never thought I’d wind up like this, twenty-two years old and still no concept of what I’m doing with my life. All my friends have gone off to college, pursued a career in the industry, or gotten married and started families of their own. Even Jamie—my free-spirited, party-till-you-drop, I’m-never-settling-down-for-anyone lifelong friend—just had baby number two last spring. She still refuses to get legally married because, in her words, no piece of paper is going to tell people how much she loves Daniel, but they’re as good as hitched.
Bobby and I never even talked about marriage. He brought it up once while completely wasted on his twentieth birthday, but it’s easy to brush something like that off when you know he won’t even remember it the next day. Fine by me—just because my legs are a little longer now and he can finally grow a full beard doesn’t mean we aren’t still kids, underneath it all.
Besides, I always had Grams to take care of. Cooking her meals, taking her out daily to stretch her joints, helping her bathe and dress. My kind of life is the simple kind—or it was—but I didn’t mind. Not when she sacrificed so much to raise me on her own. It felt good to return the favor, being the one to look after her for a change. Even if she did argue with me about it and insist I deserved more, that was just Grams, always thinking of everyone else.
A burst of lightning reflects in my side mirror before striking the ground loud enough to make my fingers dig into the steering wheel. Pools of water flood the long, narrow bridge I’ve just veered onto, and I let off the gas to prevent hydroplaning.
The permeating sounds are nothing new to me; Grams and I sat beneath plenty of storms while relaxing to old movies and sipping hot cocoa by the fireplace. I swallow, my lungs tightening as seeds of doubt seep into my mind. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Bobby may be Bobby, but at least he was safe. Familiar. I wasn’t alone. Right now, with the howling winds tugging against the body of my truck and the cackling thunder only growing with each turn of my tires, I have never felt so aware of how alone and lost I really am in this vast, empty shell of a world.
I barely recognize it when it strikes—white and blue streaks of lightning shoot down from the sky, hitting an enormous tree at the opposite end of the bridge. The ear-splittingcrackreverberates throughout my head. Eyes squeezing shut from the pain, my foot slams on the brake and my left hand reaches up to block one ear.
That’s all it takes for the truck to spin out.
My eyes snap toward the window, breath hitching in my chest as my surroundings blur into obscure clouds of darkness.
A collision against the parapet slams my head back into the seat. With asmashand acrack, the windshield shatters. Pain shoots through my left shoulder; the vague sensation of warm blood trickles down my skin. My stomach burns as the seatbelt tightens around me, pulling all of my focus to the truck’s sudden halt. I’m frozen, vehicle midair, staring straight at the sky with my back pressed against the seat. As the truck teeters in place, a terrifying creak filling my eardrums, I know.
I’m halfway off the bridge.
Hair whips around my face as the whirling wind pours into the broken window. Rain smacks against my skin.Dammit, Lou. Think!My phone, I need to call for help. Ever so slowly, I unbuckle my seatbelt. I know the rules of the situation I’m in. Seen it enough in the movies: move, vehicle slips, fall to your death. Inhaling a shaky breath, I turn toward the passenger seat. The phone’s silver casing glints against the leather.Just . . . a little . . . further . . .
CREAK.
