Some Laneys Died: A Skipping Sideways Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  I find the woman standing against the back wall surrounded by luggage, crates, and carriers. Slender, medium height, with short, gray hair, she leans on a post, her coat folded over her arms.

  “Do you need some help?” I ask. “I could move these to the other crate for you.”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m Evie.” She holds out her hand.

  “I’m Laney.” I shake hers. I leave my suitcase with her and wheel two of theirs toward the door then return for two smaller pet crates, one holding a small dog and the other a large cat. Steven returns with his dog and puts him into the large crate. I help him move the other large crate while he handles his other dog. After a few minutes, Evie and all of our things are close to the door. Steven has taken all the dogs to pee, so now he’s fetching their car.

  “Would you help me remove these screws?” asks Evie. She twists the black plastic caps on the sides of one of the crates then drops both screw and cap into a bag.

  “Sure.”

  “Remove them all except for the four corners.”

  I see huge flakes of snow falling outside the windowed walls. “Wow, look at that. The only snow I’ve ever seen was tiny, like pellets.”

  “It’s ridiculous to drive in that. We won’t see the pavement or the stripes. The drive home will be miserable.”

  “Where would you stay in town?”

  “At La Quinta just down the road.”

  “With all your pets?”

  “We always tell them we have two dogs only. We’ve done it before. But Steven doesn’t want to spend the money.”

  I reach my hands into the crates to pet the dogs. They’re so friendly, banging their tails against the plastic sides, vibrating with excitement, eager to be loved. The cats are beautiful, long-haired tabbies, purring as soon as their velvety fur is touched.

  “I couldn’t bear them being hurt,” says Evie as she holds Conan against her chest, kissing his head.

  Evie’s pets don’t have the option to make choices. Entirely dependent on their owners, they follow them blindly, eagerly, never feeling regret. But they will enhance any regret Evie and Steven feel should something go wrong.

  How could they cope with anything happening to their pets because of their poor decision?

  And then I realize all the time I ached with my father’s loss, my regret was entirely self-centered. I never grieved for Mom’s loss or considered Dad’s regret. Just my own. I feel ashamed.

  Has anything changed? Am I sad because of Mom’s loss of her husband or angry with her for using me to bring Dad home? Do I care more about me being happy to hug my father again than making him happy with my return? And Gibbs. Is she simply a means to a sister? Would I care about her well-being if she weren’t pregnant? For Dad’s sake? For mine?

  I don’t know, but I’m going to make a stronger effort to care for those around me and try to let selfish Laney split off in another direction.

  Just as we’ve removed most of the screws, Steven walks back inside. “The car’s by the curb.” He takes one of the dogs then returns for the other two. I help him flip the crate tops into their bottoms and carry them out to his car where he stacks them inside each other. He moves a litter box into the stack. “Our cats must be desperate to use this.”

  Finally and miraculously, all pets and bags are inside the Expedition. Evie shakes my hand. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Drive safe.”

  She rolls her eyes. “He won’t. I wish we’d stay here tonight.”

  I bend down and see dog faces pushing against the window. “Please drive slow, Steven. Your pets and wife depend on you.”

  “Will do, Laney. Thanks for your help.”

  They drive away.

  The flakes are the size of quarters. I turn my face to the sky and feel cold kisses against my cheeks. After just a few seconds, my jacket is covered with sparkling snow. The entire world is diamond white. The eerie silence of the fall is punctured by shoe squeaks and tire bites, leaving trails across and down the road between the terminal and the parking lot. Headlights reveal curtains of flakes immediately in front of bumpers then fade just a few feet farther on.

  How will anyone see to drive? People seem to disappear as they walk toward their cars.

  I feel a chill in my chest and down my neck where snow has found skin through my open coat. I pull my suitcase back inside and sit on a wooden bench near the windows. Again, I check my phone. It’s now 12:30 and still no message from Dad. Could he have had an accident? How horrible would that be? Getting hurt while trying to pick me up.

  A new stream of passengers floods into the lobby and around the carousel. I watch various reunions, all sorts of bags, duffels, child seats, and crates tumble down onto the shiny metal belt. Then everyone disappears.

  My chest feels hollow when I’d hoped it to be filled again. Where’s my Dad? Maybe I should find a hotel. I move toward a display with ads and phones. This is not one of the options I’d imagined. My throat hurts, and I’m about to cry. I swallow several times, hoping my voice will work as I pick up a phone and punch a number.

  “Laney, I’m sorry I’m late.”

  I stare at the phone then turn around and see my father, his hair wild and wet, looking haggard and beat.

  I drop the phone just as I hear “Hello? How can I help you?” and lunge toward him. “Dad!” For a second he doesn’t hug me back, then his arms slowly clasp around my back, his fingers pressing me to him. His sweet smell is hidden by sweat and car exhaust. All the longing I’ve felt for him turns into joy and comfort. My dad is back in my life.

  He pushes my shoulders back and looks at me, so serious but with a hint of the sparkle I always remembered in his eyes. “I know I’m a mess, but I had to pull a car back onto the road, and it took awhile.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Not really. It was snowing pretty bad in the hills. No one could see more than a few feet in front. I dropped my phone in the snow. I’m sorry.”

  “Gibbs must be worried sick. Here.” I open Gibbs’ message thread and give him my phone. “Tell her you’re here and that you’re OK.”

  He punches each letter with his forefinger.

  “You don’t use your thumbs?”

  “They’re too big. I make too many mistakes.” He gives my phone back. “I should wash up in the restroom. I know I stink.”

  I wrinkle my nose and smile. “Maybe a little.”

  He touches my hair and my cheek. “I’m sure glad you’re here, Baby Girl. Once you get home and have some sleep, we’ll have a better reunion tomorrow.”

  “This one is just fine. And I can’t wait to meet Gibbs.”

  “She can’t wait to meet you. Give me about five minutes.” He walks to the restroom just behind us.

  I check what he wrote to Gibbs. Finally got to the airport. Am with Laney now. Had to pull a car out of the snow and lost my phone. Will be a slow drive home.

  She replied. Take care of yourself and her. Just go slow. Don’t matter how long it takes.

  This is Laney. Why don’t you get some sleep? We can call when we’re close.

  Gibbs replies. Hey, Laney. You tell that father of yours to go very slow. And you need to stay awake to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. We were up late last night cleaning up, so I know he’s tired. And I’m fine. I couldn’t sleep now for worry until you’re both home.

  OK. We’ll keep each other awake. See you.

  I run to the restroom. Who knows how long it will be before I get another chance.

  I emerge just before Dad does. He must’ve dried his hair and clothes under the hand blowers because he looks almost fresh. Dashing toward him, I grab his neck and kiss his cheek. I still smell a little car exhaust, but I don’t care.

  “You ready?” He takes my luggage.

  “Yes. Gibbs said to drive slow.”

  “Don’t have any choice.”

  If anything, the snow is heavier now, though the flakes are smaller. And it’s colder.

&n
bsp; His truck is running. It seems higher than most pickups, certainly more than Garrett’s. I have to use a metal step to climb in. Dad hoists my bags into the back seat then moves into his. Country music pours out of the radio.

  “I need some coffee,” he asks. “You want some?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “There’s a McDonald’s up the road. We can get a bite. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  After we exit the parking lot, he turns down the radio.

  “Now that you’re up here, Laney, we have to agree to be honest with each other. I need to know what’s been going on with you, why your head is messed up.”

  “OK. But that goes both ways.”

  He turns his face toward me. “Both ways.”

  We drive down a dark road past a couple of hotels, his wipers on to keep snow off the windshield. I can’t see anything except snowflakes in the headlights.

  His voice rumbles to my left. “When did Gibbs tell you she’s pregnant?”

  I jerk in my seat. “What?”

  “I think you heard me.”

  “Did she tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t. She told you, and that’s why you changed your flight.” He stops at a light and looks at me.

  I sit up and feel my chest pounding against the seat belt. “She told me yesterday about noon, my time. She asked me to keep it secret. I was going to tell you during the drive to your house. How did you know?”

  “Same as the other times. She has morning sickness. Her back hurts. Her breasts get . . . well, they change.”

  “So you just figured it out? Have you said anything to her?”

  He scratches the stubble on his neck. “No, because she’s not really pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a false pregnancy, Laney. Something called pseudocyesis. She’s had them before.”

  21

  I can’t breathe. I can’t think. He moves into the intersection slowly, but the tires still spin, and we swerve a little. He slows, and the wheels stop sliding, but I feel like I’m skidding out of control.

  “How do you know? She said she knew the gender, that I’m going to have a sister.”

  “I don’t see how she could know that. She hasn’t gone to a clinic.”

  “Maybe she did!”

  “Laney, her car is dead. I have to take her everywhere.”

  I’m deflating. I can feel myself sink farther into the seat. “How do you know that word? Pseudo . . .”

  “Pseudocyesis. Because I talked to a doctor the last time this happened. About a year ago, she told me she was pregnant. She was happy, and she wanted me to be happy. I tried, but I knew what was coming. She had all the signs, then her period came, and she screamed she was having a miscarriage. The doctor said her urine test gave a false positive because she takes Xanax.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s for anxiety. She has a prescription.” He pulls into the McDonald’s drive thru. “What do you want?”

  “A Grande coffee with lots of cream. And some kind of chicken sandwich.” I never go to Mickey D’s. I don’t know what they serve.

  Dad places the order and drives forward over lumpy, slippery ice. I can see marks in the wall to my right where cars have slid into it. The exhaust from all the cars in front of us creates a thick, suffocating fog. The stench leaks into the cab.

  What planet am I on? How do people live here?

  “Did you tell her she had a false pregnancy?” I ask.

  “The doctor did. Gibbs freaked. She called the doctor a liar and cried for hours.”

  “No wonder she didn’t want me to tell you. She knew what you’d say. Does she want to be pregnant?”

  “In some weird way, yes. Laney, I know she’s not pregnant, at least from me.”

  I bite my tongue before I ask why. “She doesn’t use birth control pills?”

  “Because she says they make her more anxious and more moody. She refuses to take them.”

  “Do you have sex with her?” He hesitates. “Both ways, Dad.”

  “Yes. But I make sure she can’t get pregnant. Maybe she told you about a baby to make you like her.”

  “She’s worried I’ll take you back to Texas. But I’d never leave my sister up here. I wasn’t going back.”

  “Does Hannah know this?” He drives forward through even denser fog.

  “She suspects, but she thought Gibbs would miscarry, like always.”

  The lady in the window gives us our food and drinks. Dad gives me the bag while he drives back to the highway. I put his black coffee into his holder and fold a napkin around his hamburger before giving it to him.

  “Thanks.”

  “What do we do now?” I feel an ache just below my chest. Can anything ever be clear cut?

  “Eat and drink some coffee.”

  “I mean what do I do with Gibbs? I’m supposed to be excited she’s pregnant, help her keep the baby. Make sure she doesn’t drink or use drugs.”

  “Then do it. All of that would be good for her.”

  “OK, but if she’s not pregnant, she’s going to have a period soon and think she’s miscarrying.”

  “Maybe before that happens, you can find a way to explain pseudocyesis.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I tried, and we had a huge fight.” Dad takes two large bites of his burger, sets it down, and drinks some coffee.

  We leave the lighted area of the highway and start climbing into the hills. I have no idea how Dad can see anything. A car approaches us with headlights on bright. Dad flickers his lights until the other car dims his. As the car passes us, our truck is enveloped in a cloud of snow. The rest of the world disappears.

  I push my feet into the floor, trying to press nonexistent brakes. “Dad! Stop!”

  “Calm down, Laney. You’d better get used to this ‘cause it’s going to be this bad and worse all the way home. The snow is dry as dust up here.”

  The veins in my neck throb. “How can you see?”

  “I can’t, but I know this road runs straight here. I have to keep moving to get where I can see. If I stop, someone’s liable to hit me from behind.”

  We drive blind for several seconds through a white cloud until it dissipates. A layer of snow slithers along the road in front of us like parallel snakes until our wheels turn them into snow devils, spinning in our wake.

  “How can you stand driving in this?” I want to curl up in the backseat and hide.

  “I have no choice tonight. That car made just a little bitty cloud. Wait till a double-tandem truck goes by. You’ll feel like you’re in a hurricane.”

  I glance at the speedometer. We’re only going 40 miles per hour. I eat part of my sandwich and drink some coffee while staring out the windshield, trying desperately to see more than fifty feet in front of us. If I glance away, we could crash into something in two seconds.

  “Shit,” says Dad as another pickup passes us just before a curve. The highway is two lanes, and I see lights coming from around the corner. Immediately after the truck dives back into our lane, another car passes going the other way. Our truck is swallowed by snow. “Damn fool. He’s gonna get into a wreck for sure.”

  Dad slows. I see nothing but white for over ten seconds, then a faint glow of red lights ahead, crawling up the hill. “I have to pass this car. I can’t stay in his wake.”

  He moves left and accelerates. I feel the wheels shimmy slightly like they’re not gripping the entirely white road—no yellow lines down the middle. Only the snow berms on each side of the highway reveal the way. Dad moves back to the right lane and slows down.

  For the next thirty minutes, we repeat the cycle of driving mostly blind, entirely blind, and almost blind. I see an upcoming curve to the left hiding red and blue blinking lights. Dad slows. As we round the corner we see two ambulances, several trooper cars, and two tow trucks. It appears that an SUV rammed into the back of a sedan while another truck spun off the road farther ahead.

  “That damned id
iot,” says Dad. “That’s the bastard who passed me. I’ll bet he passed both cars, blinding the SUV so he didn’t see the sedan. Then spun out when he tried to get back into his lane.”

  Flares are everywhere. A man signals us to stop. Another man up the road swings a flashlight, and a car drives slowly toward us. While we wait I turn my head to the right and see Evie and Steven’s Expedition, its front end smashed.

  “Oh no!” I yell as I open the door.

  “Laney!” yells Dad. “Get back inside.”

  I walk across both lanes toward the shoulder until a trooper stops me.

  “You can’t go there, miss. You need to return to your truck.”

  “I know the people in that Expedition. I helped them at the airport. Evie and Steven. They had pets. They live in Nenana.”

  One of the ambulances leaves, lights flashing.

  “I’m sorry, Miss. The man died, and the woman was severely injured.”

  I grasp my arms and shiver against the cold. “What about the dogs and cats?”

  “Most are still in the car.”

  “Are they all dead?”

  “I’m afraid so. Please. Go back to your vehicle. You can’t do anything here.”

  I turn around and walk toward Dad’s truck. The snowfall is less now, but a gust of wind blows pellets into my face. I turn my back to the blast and see nothing but flashing lights behind a swirling veil. Dad’s hands grab my shoulders.

  “C’mon, Laney.”

  He guides me back to the truck, and I climb in. Dad opens his door and tosses me a towel. I wipe my face then burst into tears. I see little Conan cradled in Evie’s arms, purring as she rubbed her face in his fur. And the constantly smiling dogs, desperate to be touched.

  Why did I come here? Everything is frozen or dead or hidden behind layers of deceit and tragedy.

  “Why’d you leave the truck?” asks Dad.

  “I met them at the airport.” My breathing hitches between sobs. “They had three dogs and three cats. Evie wanted to stay in town, but Steven wanted to drive home to Nenana. He died. If Evie lives, she’ll regret for the rest of her life not demanding her husband stay the night. How can she live with herself?”