Thunder growled overheadagain.
“If you count the secondsfrom seeing the lightning to hearing the thunder, you can estimate how manymiles away the storm is,” I explained.
“Huh.” Ashley looked out,and I could see him mouthing the numbers as he counted between lightning strikeand thunder crack.
“Four or five miles,” hesaid a moment later. “I think. You’re right, it is moving fast. I canseethe cloudsmoving.”
“Hope you don’t mind drivingin a storm,” I said.
“I love storms,” heresponded. “The one thing I’m looking forward to back home is that we havebetter storms. I love sitting by a window, wrapped in a blanket, looking out atthe dark clouds and dry lightning, waiting for the rain to hit. And then theair the next day feels so clean, all the dust too wet to kick up when you walkon it. Storms are peaceful there. Not so much in San Francisco.”
“No, I bet,” Logan said. “Igrew up near the coast, and those storms were brutal. Wet and windy anddangerous.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to beoutinan Arizona storm, but… I like watching them from the house.”
“Always wondered what it’dbe like to watch a storm through, like, a glass roof. You ever seen those glassigloos they have in… I’m gonna say Finland, but don’t quote me.”
“The ones where you’resupposed to lie in bed and watch the Northern lights? Yeah, I’ve seen those. Ialways wanted to travel. Never quite got around to it.”
“You could, you know. Seethe world. It’s such a big place, and you don’t know what anywhere else is likeuntil you’ve been. Trust me on that one.”
“Wait until you see myhometown,” Ashley said, drawing one knee up to his chest. It was awkward in thecar seat, but he was flexible enough to pull it off.
“Tell me about it?” I asked,wanting to keep him talking. If he was ready for a conversation, I was here tohave it with him.
“Well. It’s got a Walmart,”he said. “Route sixty-six goes past it, so we get some tourists. There’s… shit.A diner. A diner with excellent eggs and friendly service. That’s a nice thing.Two bars, one more a kind of family bistro, the other always full of smoke andhalf-full glasses of cheap bourbon.”
“Sounds exactly how Ipictured it,” I said.
Small. Too small for someonelike Ashley, who’d barely had enough room to move in San Francisco. It’d feltlike everyone knew himthere. A town with two bars and a Walmart wouldhave been stifling for him.
This was Ashley getting hisbeautiful wings clipped, all because of one son of a bitch with boundaryissues.
I thought of the box ofnotes I had tucked into the spare tire compartment in the back of the car. Atleast he wouldn’t have to take those with him, unless he asked for them.
Hard to imagine why he’d want them, nowthat he was closing that chapter of his life.
The storm was over us withinhalf an hour, pouring rain and howling wind. The sky was so dark I had to flickthe headlights on, rain so thick I could barely see the car in front anyway.
We slowed to a crawl,rolling along the freeway at thirty along with every other car on it, the dryroad slippery after the sudden downpour.
The car in front wasinvisible to me if it got more than five feet away.
“I can’t drive in this,” Ifinally admitted, looking side to side as traffic ground to a halt around us.
“Weather service says it’shere to stay, too,” Ashley reported, chewing his lip as he looked down at hisphone. “Pull over and wait it out?”
The exit was only half amile ahead. At this rate it’d take us five minutes to get there.
“I’m gonna get off thefreeway,” I said. “It’s… late.”
Five o’clock was hardlylate, but thebeginning of an idea was starting to form in my mind.
One more night of freedomfor Ashley. With the perfect excuse that we couldn’t keep driving through thestorm.
It wasn’t much, but itwas the best I could do for him. TheleastI could do forhim, too.
There had to be a decentplace to stop around here somewhere.
