One More For The Road

by Delilah Blake

  Her words hit my ears with the gentle force of a full speed battering ram. “Baby weight?” I managed to croak.

  Darlene looked at me, waiting for some sort of confirmation or even mild enthusiasm.

  “Try again,” Katie said.

  “Oh!” I faked. “A baby! I plastered a large, undoubtedly fake grin on my face. Andrew’s mother beamed. “Right! Babies. Yes… well…” I was stalling. “Well… you see… uh… I don’t think Andrew and I were really planning on having a baby… right away. We were going to wait a while.”

  A long while.

  A long, long while.

  “Wait?” Darlene tipped her head to one side as though she didn’t quite grasp the concept.

  “Yeah. Wait,” I said. “We just don’t think we’re ready yet. There are a few things we want to do before we commit to starting a family.”

  “I know my Andrew,” Darlene said. “By ‘we’ you mean you. Am I right?

  It was as if an alien had inhabited my smiling, ever-cheerful, soon-to-be mother-in-law, furrows of disapproval forming through the plaster of foundation covering her face.

  “Well, yes,” I said, trying to be brave. “I mean me. There are some things I would like to accomplish before having a kid.”

  His mother smiled again. “Having a child is the greatest accomplishment of all.”

  “Is it though?” I asked before thinking better of it. She reared back as if I’d slapped her

  I decided to try another tactic. “I’m not saying I never want children, Darlene,” I said in an attempt at amnesty. “There are just things I want to do with my life before they come along.”

  “Like what?”

  “Yeah, like what?” Katie voiced from the doorway.

  Why were they all suddenly on the same team? I suddenly pictured myself as the mighty Hercules, chopping off the head of the Hydra only to have three new ones grow in its place.

  “I don’t know. Maybe… finish college.”

  Katie snorted and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not sure science has excelled enough to impregnate a seventy-five-year old. Because at the rate you’re going, that’s how old you’ll be when you finish.”

  Darlene’s smile was back in place, only it lacked the sugar-coating I’d come to know. This one was flat, stern, without an ounce of good cheer fueling it.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a grandmother, Frances,” she whispered sweetly, stepping close to whisper in my ear. “It’s been my dream to have a bunch of curly-haired little ones running around the backyard on Sunday afternoons. I could buy them presents, go to their recitals and baseball games, show them off to the ladies at the church socials. And I’m sure Nana Hannah would just love to be a great-grandmother.”

  I was almost certain Nana Hannah would be happy simply to live through the afternoon.

  “You wouldn’t want to take that dream away from me, would you, Frances?”

  I looked at our reflections in the mirror, Darlene’s palms pressed against my shoulders, her fleshy chin bobbing alongside my neck. She reminded me of a cobra, one that would smile right before she struck.

  I tore my eyes from the mirror and looked at the ground. I sighed and shook my head.

  “Good,” Darlene all but cooed, putting the deadly viper back in its cage. “Now, let’s start looking at bridesmaids’ dresses! What do you think about pastel pink for the bridal party?”

  She clapped her hands and turned to Katie, who, by the expression of horror marking her face, had only just realized that perhaps she wasn’t coming out of this afternoon without a few battle scars of her own.

  I picked up my skirts and waddled back to my dressing room.

  Fucking pastels.

  7.

  “Frannie, wake up. We’re here.”

  I open my eyes just as a warm hand wraps around my own. Jesse shakes my hand in his, urging me out of sleep. People are standing in the aisle, grabbing bags, heading toward the doors, and it’s a second longer before I realize the bus is at a standstill, parked next to a large, brick building.

  I pick my head up off the flat, hard surface it’s resting on, eyes still heavy and dry. I rub them with the back of my hand and yawn.

  Jesse shifts as I raise myself into a more formal sitting position, stretching his arms out in front of him.

  “Morning, sleepy,” he says, rolling his neck in a circle.

  “Morning,” I answer, reaching for my bag.

  He follows my lead, hopping down the steps and through the exit after me. “So many bus stations, so little time,” he says, his regular stunning smile in place.

  “Go ahead and get your ticket if you’re still determined to follow me to California,” I say, running my fingers through long, limp strands of hair. “I’ve got to wash up before I die of stench.”

  “Or everyone else does.”

  “Charming as usual. I’ll meet you after I get my ticket.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” He saunters off in the direction of the ticket counter.

  I leave and find the closest bathroom, tossing my bag on the floor and immediately sticking my head in one of the sinks. The water hisses from the faucet, splashing against my head. I let it rinse over my hair, before lathering up with generic depot soap.

  I shake my hair dry before tying it into a wet bun, quickly deciding that soggy is far better than slimy. I wash the rest of my body as best I can and change clothes in the world’s smallest bathroom stall, reemerging a few minutes later feeling and, I’m sure, smelling a little cleaner. I join a line of people waiting at the ticket counter, finding Jesse across the station, lounging at a small table, legs crossed, reading the local newspaper with his ticket lying across from him. He waves to me and I find myself smiling in response without really understanding why.

  “Hi,” I say to the man behind the desk, stepping forward once it’s my turn.

  “How can I help you?” he asks without giving me much notice.

  “I need one ticket to San Francisco, please.”

  He types on the keyboard for a moment. “Bus 127 to San Francisco at 4 o’clock—”

  “That’s perfect,” I breathe.

  “—is full.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, realizing I must not have heard correctly. “I’m sorry. It sounded like you said the bus was full.”

  “I did,” he says, face clear of anything but apathy. “And it is.”

  I shake my head again, tiny drops of water flinging from the ends of my hair. “You don’t understand. There have to be more seats.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t understand, ma’am,” he snaps from behind the partition. “All available seats have been filled.”

  This cannot be happening.

  I smile sweetly at him and fold my hands on the counter. “Please,” I say, adding a definitive note of damsel in distress to my plea. “It’s urgent. Sick grandmother. Could die any minute.”

  He sighs and glances back at his computer screen. “Ma’am, there’s nothing I can really do. That bus is full. There is, however, another bus leaving Sunday evening. I can put you on it if you like.”

  I take a deep breath and try another method of approach. I lean over the top of the counter, creating a decent amount of cleavage, and lick my lips, leaving them shiny and moist. My voice is a sensual whisper. “Please, Anthony,” I pout, glancing at the nametag attached to his shirt. “Isn’t there anything you can do for me?”

  Clearly, there isn’t. He looks me up and down, one eyebrow raised. “As I have already told you, ma’am, the bus is full. I cannot create a seat out of thin air.”

  I lean back from the counter and wipe my lips dry with the back of my hand. “But my friend got on!” I shout in desperation.

  Anthony raises both brows this time, clearly not in any mood to be yelled at, least of all by someone as wet and disheveled as I am. “Your friend must have been in line before the seats filled up,” he snaps. “I advise you to be a little more punctual next time you find yourself with a sic
k grandmother.”

  I’m on the verge of tears, my eyes welling with a cocktail of frustration and despair. I grit my teeth together and stomp off toward Jesse, already playing through our goodbye in my head.

  I wonder if he’ll kiss me again before he leaves.

  Jesse glances at me over his newspaper. “Do you know going outside with wet hair increases your chances of getting sick by seventy percent?” he asks as I approach, his endlessly brown eyes raking over the wet ball of hair at the top of my head.

  “You just made that up.” I plop down in the seat next to him. “And I don’t need any of your jokes right now, okay?”

  He lays his paper on the table at once, face full of authentic concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I let the sarcasm fly. “Nothing at all. Nothing except the fact that I’m not going to California.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going,” I repeat, blinking back a fresh onslaught of tears. “There aren’t any seats left on the bus.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat and snatching his ticket off the slab of Formica in front of us. “I only got my seat ten minutes ago!”

  “Apparently the seats sold out while I was washing my hair in the restroom. Who knows? Maybe you even got the last one. And now there’s not another bus until Sunday.”

  I glimpse across the table, surprised to see he’s just as distraught as I am. “Sunday?”

  “That’s when the next connecting bus is.”

  “But I got a ticket!”

  “Yeah, that argument didn’t really seem to work when I used it.”

  Before I can blink, Jesse is on his feet, his chair scraping angrily against the floor as he pushes it back. “Give me your wallet,” he demands, holding out his hand.

  “Um… are you robbing me?”

  “No, loony. I’m getting you a ticket on that bus.”

  “How?”

  He sets his jaw and shakes his head, spilling dark hair across his brow like autumn leaves. “I don’t know,” he says with a lightning quick shrug.

  “Oh, okay. As long as you have a plan.”

  I hand over my wallet, realizing, as his long fingers close around it, that while I should feel at least some trepidation about handing over my only source of cash flow to a man I’ve known for all of two days, I have no issue trusting Jesse. More alarming than that, I, quite possibly, trust him more than I’ve trusted anyone.

  He offers me a quick, reassuring smile before marching to the front of the ticket counter, cutting everyone else in line.

  First Jesse slams his fist down on the counter and points back to our table at where I sit, watching it play out like a scene from a movie. He waves his arms with a sort of furious passion, and even though I can’t hear what he’s saying, I’m sure the gist isn’t pleasant. A second later I watch as he opens my wallet and slides a single bill across the counter to the attendant, who in turn, grins and mumbles a few inaudible words back at him.

  Jesse nods in return and saunters back to our table.

  “Well?” I ask before he can even sit down. “What did he say?”

  “He said he would have me arrested if I didn’t leave at once.”

  Unbelievable.

  “But what about the money you gave him?” I cry.

  “Yeah, apparently he doesn’t appreciate being bribed.” He passes my wallet back to me. “At least not with a fiver.”

  “And here I thought it couldn’t get worse,” I say, throwing my head into my hands, rubbing at my eyes until electric spots of white appear behind my tired eyelids. “I’m out five dollars and I still have no way to get to California.”

  “I tried,” he says, running a comforting hand along my spine. “Bear in mind, I was seriously considering getting arrested for you”

  “My hero.”

  “Well, when you say it like that, it just sounds petty.” He squares his shoulders, picking his pack off the floor and slinging it around his back. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on sitting around feeling sorry for myself.”

  “I mean, that was my big plan for the evening.”

  “Listen, I don’t know why it’s so important for you to get to California,” he says, holding up a hand before I have a chance to offer rebuttal. “I assume you’ll tell me when you’re ready. But for now, all you need to know is, I won’t give up if you won’t.” He stares down at me, hoping for some small sign that I haven’t surrendered just yet.

  I nod and he tosses me a smile. “I won’t give up,” I say, finding the words trickier to manage than I imagined them to be.

  “Good.” Jesse rubs his palms together. “We just need to use our heads. We can ask around; see if anyone knows about a later ride or another bus line. We’ve still got some time before the bus leaves, so let’s see what we can find out and meet back here in thirty minutes, okay?”

  The muscles in his chest strain against his shirt as he fills his lungs with air. “I’ll see you soon.” He offers me a parting wave, leaving me to watch as he disappears into the crowd.

  8.

  I won’t give up.

  Six fellow travelers, three station employees, two janitors, and one rather frustrated vending machine attendant later and I’m starting to regret my promise to Jesse. No one I talk to has any helpful suggestions for getting to California, much less a viable means of transportation. One man I talk to offers to fly me on his private jet if I would let him take photos of my bare feet. I think seriously about kicking him the balls before leaving him to his fetish and marching to the other end of the station with my shoes firmly in place.

  I head down a deserted corridor of Newsstands and restrooms, and rest my back against the nearest wall, dropping my bag at my feet.

  I’m trying not to lose faith, really, I am. But blind optimism or not, if Jesse is having the same luck finding help as I am, I have no hope of leaving this bus station before Sunday evening.

  I throw my head back against the wall just as a shadow falls across my face, blocking out the fluorescent lights hanging overhead. I turn to see my way blocked by a Goliath.

  He’s 6’5” at least, a giant with wide shoulders and a gut rolling over pants that seem a half a size too tight. He wears a black wind breaker over top a green polo shirt, his thick neck topped by rosy cheeks and light blonde hair that’s slicked back from a widow’s peak along his forehead.

  “Hi there!” He braces an arm against my wall and smiles, showing off a row of impossibly white teeth.

  “Uh… hi.” I sidle two steps further down, nudging my bag along after me with the toe of my shoe.

  “I hope this doesn’t sound presumptuous, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with that gentleman in there,” he says, throwing a thumb back over his shoulder. “If you can call him that. What kind of a man would try and bribe a nice girl like yourself for photos of her feet?”

  “The kind you find on registry websites?” I offer.

  A callous laugh rings free of his chest. “I suppose that’s true.” His voice is thick with an accent I can’t quite place. Minnesotan, maybe? Canadian? Somewhere up north for sure. “Did you say you were on your way to California?” he asks, leaning forward as though we’re conspirators in budget travel.

  My eyes graze over the colossus in front of me. He’s slightly past middle-aged, fair hair thinning into a bare patch at the crown of his head. The belly practically screams dad bod, while the windbreaker and polo suggest a woman picked them out for him at some point in his life. Everything about his appearance, right down to the goofy, patient smile still stretched across his face, reads family man. Maybe he has a wife, a few kids, perhaps even a dog at home, wherever that is.

  I relax against the wall, feeling the nervous tension in my neck and shoulders slowly fade. “Well, not exactly. I mean, I was, but now I’m kind of stuck here for the time being.”

  “Well, then today just so happens to be your lucky day. Now, I know it�
�s a little short of your destination, but I’ve got a shipment to drop off in Reno and I’d be happy to shuttle you that far.”

  “Shipment?” I ask.

  He nods. “I drive for Barrington National. Been trucking for them nearly fifteen years. Stopped in Colorado with a drop-off for the station,” he explains. “The lady at the ticket counter was just signing off on their delivery when I heard that fella proposition you like that. Didn’t sit right with me at all,” he says with a shake of his head. “Not one bit.”

  I glance around the station for Jesse, totally thrown for a loop. Somehow, I don’t think catching a ride in the cabin of a big rig was exactly what he had in mind. Then again, I told him I wouldn’t give up, and it’s a well-known fact that beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Thanks. It’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m not—"

  “You’re not, what?”

  “I’m not on my own. I have this friend who—”

  “A friend!” he exclaims, clapping a hand against his knee. “The more the merrier, sweetheart! I’ve got room in my cab for you, men, and whatever sunshine you want to bring with you!”

  I wonder if he knows my sunshine has a five o’clock shadow and kisses like the devil.

  He laughs from his gut. “I don’t mean to worry you, girlie. Just thought I’d offer. Name’s Travis, by the way. Travis Hodge.” He sticks out a hand for me to shake.

  Still, I take his enormous hand, finding his palm to be as rough and leathery as a baseball mitt. “Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Frances. And thanks for the offer, but—”

  “But what?” He frowns and for a moment, I’m afraid I’ve insulted a sleeping giant.

  “But…”

  But what? Even with his arsenal of charm and good looks, I can’t imagine Jesse has found a better offer, and I’m not about to look a gift trucker in the mouth.

  “I need to talk to my friend about it,” I say finally, hoping Travis won’t rescind his offer before I can share the good news. “Would you mind waiting until I can get back with an answer? It won’t take but a few minutes, I swear.”