Imola
Page 22
“I could have followed you.”
She dropped her right hand from the steering wheel and patted his thigh. “You know Detective Bransome pretty well, right?”
He grabbed her hand and held it. “I know something about him. ‘Pretty well,’ I’m not sure.”
“After the message you left for him, don’t you suppose he’d be pretty anxious to find you?”
He shuddered. “Pretty anxious. I may have blown all the headway I made getting on his good side.”
“Are you a betting man?”
He looked at her and raised one eyebrow. “Maybe.”
“Ten to one says he put an APB on your Volvo as soon as he heard your message.”
Jason slumped into the seat. “You know that thing I’m not supposed to say? Well, I do.”
Her smile rivaled the crystal bright waters of Tomales Bay.
Agnes pulled to a stop at the junction and cranked down her window. “I love Highway 1. All right with you?”
He looked up at the cloudless blue sky. “Any other way would be a waste.”
The growl of the GTO settled into a contented hum.
The road twisted along the Pacific Coast cliffs toward Mendocino, the sea air throwing Agnes’s hair backward on the window side. A pair of seagulls dove together, then caught an updraft along the steep hillside and shotupward, past the car. After a few minutes, they reappeared, floating free, expending little of their own energy as they drifted in wide circles and figure eights, riding the air currents.
The GTO rounded a hill-obscured curve and Agnes’s foot hit the brakes hard. Jason startled from a daze.
Ahead, on the left, a turnout was crowded with cars. In the center of the mass of machines was a tall white van, plastered with decals of frozen confections. A faint calliope tune tickled the air and bled in through Agnes’s open window.
Without a word, she pulled into the turnout, at the extreme near side, and guided the GTO to a stop with its grill two feet from the guardrail. A distant fog bank over the water obscured the horizon and gradually blended its gray tinge into the cloudless blue above. From this angle, looking out over the guardrail, it seemed like she was on the edge of the earth.
She pointed with her right hand; her left found the door handle. “The ice cream man.”
“No. Let me.” He had his door open first. “You stay here.”
“I can come with you.”
“No. You stay in the car. Relax. Enjoy the view. What would you like?”
She released the handle and leaned back. “Soft serve, please. Vanilla. Regular cone.”
“Stay put.” He punctuated the command with an extended, open hand. He smiled and walked to the van.
Agnes leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. The only sounds were the distant whooshes of waves hitting the rocks two hundred feet below and the playful tinkling of the van’s music box. The cool air, not still long enough to be heated by the sun, surrounded her. She felt close to heaven. A scent came and went. It reminded her of the sweet smell of cotton candy. Her mind turned to Ferris wheels and midway barkers. The air was suddenly full of smiles.
Her head jerked up, her eyes wide. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, pulling her away from the seat. The dream. She remembered the dream. She was in the car at the ice cream van’s turnout, and someone wouldn’t let her get out of the car. She hadn’t known who wouldn’t let her out or why. She hadn’t known if the dream was good or bad. But in her dream, she didn’t get to have the ice cream.
Her eyes welled with tears as she settled back into the seat. In her dream, it must have been Jason who hadn’t let her get out. She must’ve known about him back then. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. He was on his way back to the car.
He walked to her open window and passed the ice cream to her. The ridge of the cone already bulged with molten white fluid. “You better get that before it drips. I’ll be right back. I forgot napkins.” He hurried back toward the van.
She flicked her tongue fast. Multiple breaches dribbled over the cone’s edge. She looked down. A single white drip splattered her left thigh. She worked the cone, spinning it against her tongue.
He’s coming back. Start the car.
She froze. Another drop hit her thigh.
Start the car. And wait until he gets in. Everything we need is in our purse.
She reached for the doorknob.
No. Don’t get out. We have to stay in the car. Start it. Now!
She looked over. Jason was halfway back. She turned the key, and the engine fired to its usual growl. This time it sounded mean.
Good. Now put it in gear. As soon as he gets in, pull away. I’ll tell you where to go.
Jason smiled. The crunches of his footsteps in the gravel were nearly deafening.
Put it in gear. Get ready.
She moved the gear lever. Another white drop fell to her thigh.
Now. Wait until he gets in. Then we’ll take off. And hurry.
Four feet away, his hand reached toward the door handle.
Another drop fell. She looked down. This one was clear. Then another. Also clear.
His hand touched the handle.
Her foot slapped the accelerator to the floor and the GTO lurched. The rear tires threw gravel. The guardrail offered little resistance.
A seagull banked hard left and caught an updraft that carried it skyward, past the windshield. It reappeared, joined by another. Agnes spread her arms and floated with them. No need for wing beats. They were drifting, riding the currents together. She smiled. She was with them.
The sensation was vaguely familiar. She was lighter than air. But that wasn’t it. It was on a different plane. She banked with the gulls and closed her eyes. The rushing air tickled her face, her arms.
Her smile released a new stream of tears. That was it. The sensation of flying was the only thing she could feel. And it was all hers. That sensation confirmed it.
She opened her eyes and saw both seagulls fly in close. She could see their eyes, and in them she saw acceptance. She relaxed into the uplifting current. For the first time in her life, she was free.
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