Miss Julia Takes the Wheel

by Ann B. Ross

  “No, we’re in a black sedan. It’s a big one.”

  “Oh, me,” she moaned, “there’s a bunch of big, black sedans out here.”

  Lloyd looked at me as I sped down the empty street toward the turnoff to Staton Mill Road. “How will she know it’s us?” he asked, and held the phone close to my face.

  “Tell her,” I said, “that once we turn in on the dirt lane, we’ll stop every few yards and blink our lights.”

  Lloyd spoke into the phone. “Leigh? You hear that?”

  “Yes, okay,” Leigh said, with a slight hiccup. “Don’t say anything else, Lloyd, till I get outside. Somebody might hear that I’ve got my phone on.”

  “That’s good, Leigh,” he said. “Turn it off and put it in your pocket. Then walk out with your head high. If anybody says anything to you, tell ’em you have a call of nature or something.”

  I heard Leigh giggle, but it had a nervous tinge to it. “I’ll tell ’em,” she said, “to fix me a drink, ’cause I’ll have room for it when I get back.”

  “Yeah,” Lloyd said, “that’s good. Play along with ’em. And talk to me once you’re in the trees.”

  By this time, I’d turned onto Staton Mill Road and was heading along the familiar route toward The Safe Harbor. There was hardly any traffic, so I’d done a few moving stops at the stop signs on our way out of town—realizing that I wasn’t setting a good example, but doing them anyway.

  The highway looked slick, but it was moonlight shining on an already wet surface. Looking up, I glanced at the clouds drifting across the moon and hoped that they would keep drifting. A downpour was the last thing we needed. We tooled along at a good clip, finally passing The Safe Harbor looking lonely up there on its knoll with only the entrance and the office windows lit and a few security lights casting a yellow glow on the grounds.

  “Slow down, Miss Julia,” Lloyd said as he sat up to watch for the turnoff. “We ought to be pretty close.”

  I almost missed it, but the leaning mailbox caught my eye, so I braked hard and made the turn, bouncing from the highway onto the dirt lane. The first thing I noticed was the squishy surface of the lane from the heavy rains and the next thing was the deep ruts from recent traffic.

  Guiding the car into the ruts and gripping the steering wheel tightly, I mentally shut my eyes to the possibility of getting stuck. Surely not, I told myself, not with this heavy car, unworn tire treads, and powerful engine. A few yards in, I stopped, opened our windows, and blinked the lights once. The three of us waited, watched, and listened, but all we heard was the wind swishing through the tops of the pine trees.

  “Leigh?” Lloyd said into his phone. “Where are you? Can you hear me?” After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Go a little further in, Miss Julia. Maybe she still has her phone off.”

  “I just thought of something,” I said. “You think our lights can be seen from the house?”

  “I thought of that, too,” Lillian said.

  “Well, I have to have lights,” I said, turning the beams to low as I eased the car along. “We might end up in the trees if I don’t. Maybe they’ll think we’re latecomers to the party.”

  Lloyd grunted as he leaned out the window holding the phone to his ear. “Leigh? We’re here. Watch for us. Leigh, where are you?”

  Still stopping every few yards to look, listen, and blink the lights, we had driven well past the halfway point of the lane, and now we could see the glow of lights from the house and hear the beat of something called music, but wasn’t.

  “I’m afraid to get any closer,” I said, slowing to a stop. “We’ll be in the yard before long.” I blinked the headlights once, then turned off all but the fog lamps.

  We sat in silence—except for the low rumble of the motor, the sound of the windshield wipers, and the pattering of rain on the roof as we strained to see through the darkness around us.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Lloyd said, an edge of panic in his voice. “Maybe I ought to get out—” He was cut off by a dark object flying out of the woods and thumping against the car.

  “Lloyd! Lloyd, is it you?” A stringy-haired girl pulled herself along my side of the car, crying and mewling like a kitten. Both Lillian and I opened our doors, grabbed her, and shoved her and her mud-caked shoes into the backseat.

  “Are you all right?” Lloyd demanded as he leaned over from the front seat. “Leigh, say something! Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” she said, sitting up and brushing hair from her face. “I lost my phone, dropped it somewhere. My dad’s gonna kill me.”

  “Shoo,” Lloyd said, breathing out with relief, “you had us worried to death. Let’s get outta here, Miss Julia.”

  Which created a brand-new problem—there was no easy way to get out of there. The lane was too narrow to turn around in, and I’d never backed up more than a few feet in my life, and each time had ended in disaster. Now there was at least a slippery quarter mile of muddy ruts between us and the highway, and I was faced with getting us there, back end first and in a night that was as black as pitch.

  Chapter 50

  *

  “Let’s go,” Lloyd urged, peering through the windshield toward the lights of the house. “I don’t like it here.”

  “Me, neither,” Lillian said.

  I didn’t like it any better than they did, but I wasn’t eager to begin driving a half mile backward, either. But I shifted into reverse and twisted around to look out the rear window. All I could see was a couple of feet of muddy ground, glowing red as I tapped the brakes. Everything behind us was in darkness for clouds had moved in, covering the moon. The glare from the raucous house reflected off the clouds, but that was in front of us, not behind.

  “Watch for me, Lloyd,” I said, as he leaned out his window. “If I can stay in the ruts, we’ll be all right.”

  “Yes’m, keep going, keep going. Hold on, not too fast.”

  So I drove backward not by sight but by feel, thankful for the deep ruts that kept the car in the middle of the lane. Lillian and Leigh huddled in the backseat, fearful, I supposed, that any talking would distract me from our slow and careful progress. Or, rather, our inch-by-inch regress.

  “Whoa!” Lloyd yelped, ducking back into the car as the back end slid out of the rut and the car slewed to the right.

  I overcorrected, making the back end swivel toward the ditch on the left. Lifting my foot from the accelerator, I tried to figure out which was the opposite way to turn to get us back in the ruts.

  “You want to drive, Lloyd?” I asked, more than ready to yield the wheel. “You’ve had some practice in backing up.”

  “No’m,” he said, shaking his head, “not that much.”

  “Lillian? What about you?”

  “You doin’ fine, Miss Julia,” she said. “I jus’ as soon you keep on.”

  Leigh leaned toward the front seat. “I prob’bly could. I’ve had driver’s ed.”

  Nobody said anything, although several things occurred to me. I contented myself with a simple, “Thanks anyway, but I’ll manage.”

  Then Lloyd sat straight up, stared through the dark windshield, and whispered, “Listen!”

  With all our windows down, the noise was unmistakable—shouts, yells, car doors opening and closing, loud laughter.

  “That party’s over,” Lillian said. “They all goin’ home, an’ comin’ this way.”

  Leigh moaned. “They’re gonna think I reported them.”

  “Hold on,” Lloyd said, opened his door, stepped out, and surveyed the back end. “Turn the wheel to the left, Miss Julia, just a tad. And ease up on the gas—just a little.”

  Although I was as blind as a bat, I did as he said, and felt the car slide back into the rut. Easing off before it swerved to the other side, I straightened the wheel and began a slow reverse again.

  “Get back in, Lloyd,”
I called, fearing he would be hit if the car slid again.

  “Keep going, keep going,” he called back, then jumped the ditch and disappeared. In seconds—during which we might’ve gone a few feet—he was back in the car. “There’s a clearing on the right,” he said. “Maybe an old homeplace ’cause the ditch is covered over. It’s rough, but let’s back in there and wait ’em out.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, as visions flashed through my mind of half the car sinking into a ditch or of scraping over stumps hidden in weeds.

  “Pretty sure,” he said, “but we’re not gonna make the highway. Hear that?”

  Engines were revving up, more car doors slammed shut, and louder voices echoed—all coming from the happy house.

  Lloyd opened the door again and jumped out. “We’ve got to get off this road. Come on, Miss Julia, I’ll guide you. Back on up, it’s not far.”

  I began to back the car again, knowing that we had no choice, but praying, Oh, Lord, don’t let me hit him and Don’t let us get stuck over and over.

  “Okay,” Lloyd called from across the ditch. “Now turn to the right—not too sharp—and give it a little gas.” I did until he yelled, “Straighten up, straighten up!” I did that, too, and felt the wheels bump over the rut and edge backward across the ditch, as the swish of weeds against the undercarriage told me we were moving off the road. Briars, small shrubs, and tree branches snapped and scraped against the car, and I wondered what a new paint job was going to cost.

  “Okay,” Lloyd said as he hopped back into the car. “Now go straight back real slow, and we’ll be in the trees. There’s an old chimney behind us, so we’re in what was somebody’s yard. Turn off the lights. All of ’em, and we’ll wait ’em out.”

  Then, “Whup!” he said as I backed into something solid and came to an abrupt stop. “That’s far enough.”

  I turned off the motor and the lights, and felt the night close in around us. The four of us sat in total darkness, watching the lane and hoping we were far enough in to be hidden from passing cars. Headlights began moving, casting beams through the trees, and soon we were watching a parade of cars heading for Staton Mill Road. Most were full of young people, going too fast for the lane conditions, as tires spun and slithered and spattered mud from one car to another.

  Lloyd murmured, “It’s already a sloppy mess—hope we can get out.”

  We sat listening as the eighth or maybe the ninth car—I’d lost count—passed us, then to the roar of engines as they gained the pavement of Staton Mill Road. Darkness and silence descended, and still we waited, none of us eager to commit to the lane again.

  As the roar of one last car faded away, Lloyd said, “Maybe that’s all of ’em. Hold on a minute.” He opened his door, stepped out, and walked to the lane. Even though half blinded by the interior lights when the door opened, we were able to see his outline as he stood listening and looking in the direction of the house.

  After a few minutes Lloyd returned to the car. Getting back in, he said, “I can’t see even a glow of light from the house. I think they’re gone. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Lloyd,” Leigh said as she pulled herself toward the front seat, “I don’t think I saw Stacy’s car, and I was watching for it. What if they left her?”

  “Oh, good grief,” he said. “Didn’t a bunch of y’all come together? They wouldn’t just leave her.”

  “I know, but . . . well, it got kinda crazy after a while, and, well, I guess they could’ve.”

  “In other words,” I said with a sinking heart, “they might’ve.”

  Nobody said anything for many minutes, wondering as I was of whether to turn left toward the highway and home, or to turn right toward the house and who-knew-what we’d find.

  “Miss Julia,” Lillian said, using a certain tone that told me what I should do. I recognized it because I’d heard it many times before.

  “All right,” I said, cranking the car and cringing at the noise it made in the quiet night. “We’ll go see about Stacy. Fasten your seat belts. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

  Truer words were never spoken, for I knew I’d have some explaining to do tomorrow when Sam saw my scratched and dented car. To say nothing of the clumps of mud tracked in on the spotless carpet, front and back, of the foot wells.

  The lane was indeed a sloppy mess, as Lloyd had predicted, but a lot can be said for having a heavy car with wide tires and—I must admit—a by-now-experienced mud driver.

  Our high beams swept the house and the heavily rutted yard as I pulled in and circled to park headed out. I let the motor idle and turned to Leigh in the backseat.

  “No cars,” I said with some relief, “so everybody’s gone. Stacy is well on her way home. Okay, Leigh?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” Leigh said, pulling herself toward the front seat. “She wasn’t in any shape to drive when I left.”

  “Well,” I said, almost at my wit’s end, “wouldn’t somebody else drive Stacy’s car? With her in it?”

  “Her sister, maybe. But they could’ve forgotten her. They were all pretty much wasted.”

  I wanted to bury my face in despair at the thought of what illicit drugs could do even to the natural bond of sisters. Sighing, I asked, “Where was she when you last saw her?”

  “I’m not real sure,” she said, then, “asleep in a corner somewhere, I think. But there’re only four rooms, so . . .”

  “Then we’d better go look,” I said, dreading the thought. But as I started to get out, a mental light suddenly dawned. “I just realized something. This place has electricity, so it’s not as abandoned as we thought. What if somebody sees the house lights come on again?”

  “They already seen our car lights,” Lillian pointed out, “if anybody’s lookin’.”

  “Yeah,” Lloyd said. “But we don’t have to turn the house lights on. I mean we could use our phone lights, but that’ll take longer—beams aren’t that wide.”

  “I wish y’all would make up your mind,” Lillian said. “I don’t like it out here.”

  I scrambled to the bottom of my pocketbook, found my phone, and handed it back to Leigh.

  “I don’t know how to turn the light on, so you use it. But don’t lose it.” I opened my door and stepped out. “Lloyd, you and Leigh come on. We’ll go in, sweep the rooms, and get out.”

  “Well, I’m not stayin’ out here by myself,” Lillian said, opening the back door and lifting herself out.

  I couldn’t blame her, so the four of us walked up onto the porch, opened the front door, and crowded inside.

  “Watch out!” Lloyd yelled, lunging to catch himself as something clattered on the floor. Phone lights danced wildly across the walls and ceiling.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I said, knowing that we’d already been seen if anyone was looking. I swept my hand over the wall, feeling for a light switch. A dim yellow bulb, hanging from the ceiling, came on, revealing the remains of the kind of social to which no self-respecting Abbotsville lady would ever lend herself and her good name. Glass bottles, beer cans, pizza boxes, and an untold number of small amber vials were strewn across the floor, making every step hazardous.

  “Pick your way through,” I said to Lloyd, “and be careful. Switch on a light in each room, check it thoroughly, then switch off before going to the next. Leigh, I’ll take my phone now. And,” I went on as they turned for the next room, “don’t forget to check the bathroom. If you find Stacy, call us and we’ll get her out. Lillian, stay here with me. I don’t want you tripping and falling on this stuff.”

  Leigh handed the phone to me as she and Lloyd left to survey the other rooms. I looked at the thing, fiddled with it for a few seconds, and wished I’d read the instructions.

  “Gimme that,” Lillian said, reaching for it. “What you tryin’ to do? Call the sheriff?”

  “No, I’m trying to figure out
how to take pictures. The sheriff already knows about this place, and now I want to show him the proof.”

  “Well, that’s easy enough. You jus’ point an’ click, like this.” And Lillian began pointing and clicking away. “What all you want me to get?”

  “Everything. Get some wide-angle shots of the room, then get close-ups of this stuff on the floor. The more and the closer the better.”

  Hearing Lloyd and Leigh move into a back room, I said, “Let’s go to the kitchen.” Moving carefully through the debris, we met them in the kitchen. I knew it was the kitchen because it had a rust-stained sink hanging from the wall and a rickety table in one corner—the only stick of furniture except for old blankets and pallets that I’d seen in the place.

  “Lloyd,” I said as he and Leigh entered, “take close-up pictures of what’s on that table.” I pointed at a basket, some wadded papers, a couple of Corona beer bottles, and some amber vials. “I guess you didn’t find Stacy?”

  “No’m,” he said, aiming his phone toward the rubble on the table. “Nobody’s here but us.”

  Lillian was leaning over a corner of the kitchen, clicking away at a pile of rubbish. “I wish,” she said, “nobody was here, includin’ us.”

  “Then let’s go.” I waited as they filed out of the kitchen, then switched off overhead lights as I followed them out onto the porch. Closing the door behind me, I huddled with them for a minute before we felt our way down the steps. The wind had gotten stronger, blowing rain with every gust, so we hurried to the car, locking the doors with one accord.

  Lloyd’s head snapped up as he fastened his seat belt. “Listen!” he whispered.

  I had the key poised for insertion, but stopped as the deep, heavy rumble of a motor seemed to fill the desolate space around the cabin.

  “Where’s that comin’ from?” Lillian whispered, as a chill crept down my back.

  “From the back,” Lloyd said. “Must be a back way in. Roll up the windows and let’s go.”

  The heavy rumble was coming closer and getting louder. Leigh whimpered.