Ash cranes her neck around to look at him again, the way he’s folded into the back seat. “You look like a toy,” she says.
“What?”
“You’re so squished.” The back seat is infinitesimal, and Spencer is talland lanky. “You know how toy cars are barely big enough to contain the figurines? You look like that.”
“You’re right,” Spencer says. “Toys never have any headspace in their motor vehicles.”
“They don’t,” Ash agrees. “Think about Little People. Barbies. Lego figures.”
“Unless the vehicles in question are convertibles,” Spencer says.
“Which this is not,” Caro says. “Spencer, seriously, come sit up here. I’ll go in the back.”
“You’re as tall as I am,” Spencer says.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here in time for the ’57 Chevy,” Ash says. “That’s my favorite car, and it’s much bigger.” She checks out the people whoaresitting in the Chevy, a young couple snuggled up together in the front seat. “Maybe another night,” she says, which is ridiculous, because how often are they going to sit around and watch movies with their best friend still missing?
The couple making out in the ’57 Chevy accidentally hits the horn.
“You’d think the staff would have deactivated that.” Ash glances around at the other vehicles. “Hey. There’s a Buick Century up there that’s empty. Those have decent back seats.”
“I didn’t know you knew so much about cars,” Caro says.
“I’m full of surprises.” Ash opens her door.
“I really am fine,” Spencer says, but Ash is already out of the car. She feels antsy, itchy, cannot sit still. Maybe more space will help. Caro follows suit, and Spencer has no choice but to come with them.
They scuttle across the lot, hunched low so as not to block the view of the other guests. “Caro,” Ash hisses, low so Spencer can’t hear.
“What?”
“I think he likes you,” Ash says.
“What?” Caro asks. “Who?”
“Spencer,”Ash says.
He’s only a few feet ahead of them. He slows, his lanky form pausingnear a car. It’s not the one Ash had in mind. She gestures for him to go to the end of the row.
“Why?”
“He said he was staying here to see if he could help us out,” Ash says. “He could be with his sister and her husband.”
“He already explained all of that,” Caro says. “And it doesn’t mean anything.”
“I think it does,” Ash says. “And he’s cute.”
“Hope’s missing,” Caro says. She sounds weary. “And I’m with Dan.”
“I know,” Ash says. “I’m pointing it out because it’s interesting.”And might be relevant, she wants to say, but doesn’t.
They’re arrived at the car Ash had in mind, the sturdy Buick Century with its nose turned toward the screen. Caro heads for the passenger side, but when she gets there she pulls up short.
“Someone’s inside,” she says.
“So we sit somewhere else,” Ash says, but then the way the figure is seated, their posture, gives her pause. She joins Caro on the driver’s side of the car, where the person is sitting, and leans in closer.
“Oh my gosh,” Ash says. “Are they dead?” Her mind has jumped to the worst. It makes sense that she has, given that worst-case scenarios keep cropping up, but the figure inside moves and Ash exhales in relief. “Okay. This one’s taken. We’ll go back to our car, no big deal.”
