“First, ma’am has nothing to do with age and everything to do with respect. Secondly, that’s, like, an hour away.” I’m forced to crank my window down now so I don’t suffocate.
“It’s, like, twenty minutes. You’ll be fine.” She gestures toward the road. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back for the early bird special.” Her giggle fills the cab of the truck like a symphony.
I relent and head in the direction she instructs. We drive in silence for a bit, and everything about the situation sirens in my head to drop the crazy broad off on the side of the road. But something else in my chest is telling me to enjoy the ride with the pretty girl in coveralls.
It has been a long time since I have had this much one-on-one interaction with another person. The last few months have been nothing but packing up, moving, and settling into my new life, alone. Peaceful and miserable all at the same time.
I scratch the top of my head and flatten my hair as I switch lanes on the highway. What could this lady be doing on the outskirts of the city? To any onlooker, she may give off the independent, country-girl vibe with her coveralls and livestock, but as a true farm boy, I can tell she’s anything but. The way she was carrying those chickens, like she’s never touched an animal in her life, was a clear indication.
“Where are we going?” My words come out harsh, and her eyes grow in size at the tone. “Sorry… This grandpa just likes to know where he’s headed.” I smile faintly, and I see the corner of her mouth twitch up in response.
“I have a friend there, and I’m hoping she’ll take these chickens for me.”
“The chickens aren’t for you?” My eye roll is involuntary at her side smirk, answering my question with an obviousno.
I have to force myself to keep my eyes on the road, not on the hands that fidget with the knobs, the air vents, her pants, anything she can reach. She messes with her nails then with the dial of the radio, turning it to a station I’ve never heard of. A guy with obvious mother issues starts rhyming to some repetitive beat. She taps the windowsill a few times before pulling out her phone and typing frantically. I see her glance this way a few times then bite her lip. That’s distracting too.
I clear my throat. “You good over there?”
“Just a little antsy.” She cracks her neck. “It’s not every day I get in a stranger’s truck and travel an hour with him.”
“I can say the same.” I turn on my blinker to switch lanes, checking over my shoulder and noting the chicken crate is still in the bed as I do.
Mystery Woman turns in her seat to face me. “So what’s your deal?”
What a loaded question.
“Well, I woke up this morning, planning to have a nice quiet day running errands. Then I was accosted by a strange woman and her chickens.”
She lets out a soft kind of chortle, and it does something to my stomach I’m not familiar with. I glance at her and then back at the road. The wind whips tendrils of her hair around her face as she stares at me. It’s something you’d see in slow motion in a film: pretty girl in your passenger seat with the sun settingbehind her and nothing but the whistle of the wind passing between the two of you. I could watch it on repeat.
I shove the thought away and remind myself that she is a stranger.
“What?” I squint at the road, resisting the urge to stare back at her and wrecking this truck.
“Is that all you’re going to say, Mystery Man?” She taps her colorful nails against the back of her cell phone. Distracting again. Everything about her is distracting.
“Yes.” What else is there to say? I’m a simple man. And I don’t usually tell my entire life story to anyone—and definitely not to this woman who’s hijacking my afternoon.
Pulling the visor down, she messes with her hair and picks at her teeth. Pretty comfortable up here, aren’t we, lady?
“I don’t even know your name, so that’s all you get.”
“I’ll give you three guesses.” She pops the visor closed. “And you’ll turn at the next marker.” She points ahead at a marker indicating a turn off the stretch of concrete onto a red dirt road. Something about it warms my chest. Up until now, I hadn’t realized how much I missed the Oklahoma roads since I’d been gone. It feels good to be home—most days. Other days, it feels just as lonely as the desert.
“You’re running out of time, Gramps.”
“Grace?” The first name I could think of would, of course, be my mother’s name.
“Close!” Her eyes widen in excitement, and that also does something to my insides. “Two more guesses.”
“Glenda?” I wince, making the turn down the dirt road. Crackling and popping happens below the tires, and a red cloud of dirt swallows us as my tires turn up the ground. I lean closer to the windshield for a better view.
She giggles at me. “Bad eyesight there, Pops?”
“No,Gloria. Just trying to figure out where I’m going.” I turn the windshield wipers on, worsening the view. I growl and pull over.
“Three guesses, but no luck.” She’s laughing as I put the truck in park. She hops out and walks toward the bed of the truck, the cloud of dirt still blocking our view.
