Wicked Muse

by Lexi Whitlow

  I should not have left Maddox all on his own to face my criminally insane parents. They probably have him locked up in a dungeon somewhere by now. If not that, then they’ve offered him a king’s ransom to stay away from me, once and for all. And seriously, considering the epic train wreck I am, who could blame him if he took the deal and just surfed back to Los Angeles?

  If he knew I was pregnant, he’d be a fool not to head for the hills. He is a fool though, falling for the likes of me. He told me he loved me and then he went off to slay the dragon. I hope the dragon didn’t slay him. I hope he’s okay. I miss him so much.

  I want to believe he’ll come after me. But I have to prepare myself for anything. Ella promised she wouldn’t tell Maddox about the baby. She swore. I want us to be together, but not because he feels some sense of obligation. I just hope that my folks haven’t bought him off or bullied him into giving us up, like they did before.

  Is the car acting funny?

  The engine is bucking a bit. I glance down at the gauges to see if something is amiss. There’s plenty of fuel. I just filled up when I left Grant’s Pass. RPMs are fluctuating oddly. What does that mean? Battery is fine. Holy shit! The temperature is climbing! It’s well past half way up and rising.

  Before the gauge hits the red line, I downshift, put on my flashers, and pull off into the service lane.

  Now what?

  I turn the key, killing the engine; all the gauges drop. Everything is quiet inside the car except for the click, click, click of the hazard lights and the pounding of my heart in my ears. All of a sudden a noisy blast rattles my senses. A semi truck blows past, just an arms length away on the highway to my left. A second later a half dozen cars fly by, then it’s quiet again for a moment.

  It occurs to me that I have no clue what to do. I don’t know the first thing about cars. My AAA card is in the glove box of my Range Rover, and I have no phone so I couldn’t even call them if I had it in hand.

  Okay. I know where the engine is. And I know there’s a radiator. I should look at them to see if I can see anything wrong. How will I know?

  I fish around under the dash, searching for the latch that releases the hood. I pop it and then sit back, checking my mirrors to see if it’s safe to get out of the car, or if another semi is about to roar past. It takes me a few minutes to figure out how to get the hood up as traffic hauls past me down the highway at speed, kicking up wind. With the hood up, I peer into the engine compartment. I have no idea what I’m looking at – or what I’m looking for. It’s just an incomprehensible tangle of wires, hoses, belts, and metal boxes. It’s hot and filthy, and it smells like burned rubber and old oil.

  What does a radiator look like? I should know this. Every adult should know this. Why don’t I know this? Because my parents took care of everything. They paid people to know things like this on my behalf, so I would never have to do for myself. They insulated me from the hot, dirty, and the unpleasant, and it’s made me incapable of solving even the most basic of problems by myself. As I study the puzzle of the Honda’s engine in front of me, I wonder which of my parent’s crimes is worse? That they paid someone to stalk and assault me? Or that they made me completely dependent, never letting me find my own way in the world?

  A bit of red lettering on a nob near the front of the engine compartment catches my eye. It reads,

  CAUTION. Engine Coolant. Never Open When Hot.

  Ella said something about having anti-freeze in the back of the car. Is that what goes in there?

  I fumble around in the area behind the seats, finding an odd assortment of tools, along with engine oil, a container of washer fluid, brake fluid, and a blue plastic jug – half full – labeled “Peak Antifreeze + Coolant, Full-Strength Concentrate.”

  I think this is what I need.

  I read the instructions on the reverse of the container. They warn me to let the engine cool before opening the radiator. I wait fifteen minutes but the engine still seems pretty hot, so I wait ten more before turning the cap of the radiator. I expect some kind of drama when I open it, but nothing happens. Crossing my fingers that I’m doing the right thing, I pour the bright yellow liquid into the radiator, spilling some around the edges. I continue until bubbles rise and the level sinks, then I add more until there’s no room left to pour another drop. I replace the radiator cap, pull the hood down, and say a quick prayer.

  The car fires up just fine and the temperature gauge sits still. I give it a minute, watching all the dials on the dashboard before I take a deep breath, check traffic, and then pull back onto the highway when all is clear. Five minutes down the road, passing through hilly, nearly mountainous country, I pass by an exit for a town called Sunny Valley. From there the road tips up into the hills. A highway sign tells me that Portland is 292 miles away. That seems forever. I’m making lousy time, but things haven’t gone entirely smoothly between having to stop to pee every couple hours, feeling sick to my stomach, and now radiator issues.

  I guess it could always be worse. I have a lot to be thankful for.

  The day is warm and dry. It could be raining. It could be cold. Traffic is light and I’m driving through lovely, rural hill country. It could be so much worse.

  I make it exactly ten miles down the road before things get so much worse.

  It begins when I notice an odd, sweet scent in the air, and then see small puffs of steam pouring from the cracks around the hood. I look down at the gauges on the dash and I see the temperature indicator is climbing fast to red line territory.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

  This time around there’s no fix. When I look under the hood I see that water is dripping from all over the place and pooling on the ground beneath the car. There’s a big leak somewhere, and it’s drained the radiator completely and permanently. I’m shit out of luck.

  I look around. My whereabouts can best be described as the middle of freaking nowhere. The only thing I see is trees, hills, and highway stretching off to the crack of doom, north and south.

  I have exactly two choices. I can sit here with the car and hope for the best, or I can take matters into my own hands and hike to the next exit to get help. It’s not a tough choice. I grab my bag and my water bottle, and I start walking. I have no clue how far ahead the next exit is. Maybe it’s miles and miles. I figure if I pass out on the highway, then maybe someone will stop to help – otherwise – I’m on my own.

  It’s a not a good feeling. I’m scared to death, but it seems I have very few options.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Maddox

  I know that Avery made it as far as Grant’s Pass. That’s where she stayed last night. I’ve only been on the road about six hours – hauling ass – when I see the sign for that exit. I need to stop for gas or I’ll be burning fumes if I go much longer. I take the exit and fill up, hit the men’s room, then I’m on the road again. This country is nothing but rugged low mountains, rural with more trees than people. I’d like to live somewhere like this some day, but right now I’m too wired to think about much except keeping my eyes peeled on the road ahead, looking for even the most fleeting sign of Avery.

  Ten miles or so north of Grant’s Pass, I get that long anticipated, long prayed-for sign – at least I think I do. I blow past a beat up old Honda Civic pulled over in the breakdown lane. I’m going too fast to even get a glimpse at who is inside it. All I can see as I check my rear view mirror is that the hood is up. I hit the breaks and as soon as I’m slowed sufficiently to pull to the side, I pull over and stop, slip the truck into reverse, and start backing up.

  I hope there are no cops nearby. This move is the height of illegal.

  Stepping out of my truck, approaching the Honda, I see plainly that the car has been abandoned. No one is there. I don’t even know if this is Ella’s car. I check the tag and see that it’s registered in California. I pull my cell from my pocket and call Ella.

  She picks up in half a second.

  “What’s your tag number?”
I ask, skipping the formalities.

  She calls the letters and numbers out as I read them from the plate. It’s her car, but there’s no Avery in it. I walk around the vehicle and see the sticky stain of antifreeze on the ground beneath the engine block.

  “Looks like it may have blown a hose or maybe the water pump,” I say. “Anyway. If you hear from her, tell her to stay put and call me to let me know where she is.”

  I end the call and look up and down the road. All I see is pavement and trees.

  Somewhere down that highway there’s a pretty redhead walking by herself out there in the middle of godforsaken nowhere. She could get picked up by a serial killer, or a car load of stoned rednecks, or one of those people who kidnap vulnerable young women and sell them into the sex trade.

  She could be sick, passed out in a ditch beside the highway, out of sight.

  Jesus, Avery. What are you thinking? You should always stay with the car. Everyone knows that. The cops will always pull over to help stranded motorists. I wish I’d had the opportunity to tell her all these things, and now I’m just praying to whatever higher power there is, to give me a second chance.

  Please keep her safe. Please.

  I put my truck back on the road, praying, making deals with my maker the whole time as I drive.

  If you let me find her safe and well, I’ll be the best partner, the best father, I’ll never take her or our life for granted. I’ll cherish her and the baby, and always do my best for them.

  I drive for several miles along winding hilly highway with those deals running in a loop in my brain. I come around a bend in the road and the grade turns down toward a valley. A sign ahead says, “Canyonville – 1 mile.” I see a tiny figure far ahead, walking on the side of the highway exit ramp. I give my signal and move to the right, then I nudge over into the exit lane.

  I pass by her going slow, and see that the walker is Avery. My heart leaps into my throat as I slam on brakes and pull off to the side, jamming the truck into park, bolting out the door toward her.

  She looks up, shocked, and then realizes its me. Her face dissembles into tears as she throws herself into my embrace.

  I don’t say a single thing. I just pull her close and hold her, rocking, while she bawls into my chest.

  She’s shaking and crying. “I was so scared… so scared… I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do...”

  “Shhh, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay. I found you. You’re safe. You’ll be safe from now on. I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you like that again. I’ll never do it. I swear. I love you so much.”

  We stand on the highway like that – just hanging on to one another – for a ridiculously long time. Finally she pulls away and looks up at me. “I’m so thirsty. I drank the last of my water a long time ago. Do you have any?”

  She’s thirsty, hot, dirty, exhausted, and freaked the fuck out about everything. I put her into my truck, hand her a cold bottle of water, and tell her she’s gonna get a shower and a rest. I can’t stop looking at her, holding her hand as I drive the short stretch into the little town. I keep kissing her hand, tasting her skin, reassuring myself that she’s really okay and really with me.

  There are exactly two hotels in Canyonville, Oregon. One is a truck stop Holiday Inn, and the other is attached to a casino. It’s not a difficult decision. I pull into the Seven Feathers Resort and Casino, and navigate to the hotel. I pay a premium for a king suite with no reservation, but the price is worth it, because Avery is with me, safe.

  “Tell me what happened with my parents,” Avery asks as we step into the elevator to go up to our room.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” I say. “After you get something to eat and take a load off. You walked at least five miles.”

  “Was it that far?” she asks, leaning against my shoulder. “It felt like forever.”

  I nod at her, slipping my arm around her tiny waist. I almost want to scold her for leaving the car, but I can’t. The salt of her tears still stain her face. She’s sunburned, and she looks beaten with physical exhaustion. I want to get her off her feet and get some food in her before any serious conversation takes place.

  The hotel room is just perfect. It’s spacious and tasteful, and once inside I realize why it’s expensive. It’s probably the nicest hotel room I’ve ever stayed in (which is not saying much). It’s huge too, with a couch and a desk and a massive, floor to ceiling tiled bathroom.

  “Oh. Nice,” Avery chirps, stepping in, looking around. “Who knew Oregon had decent hotels?”

  Indeed. Who knew? How in the world am I ever going to keep this girl in the manner to which she was born and raised? Short answer, I don’t think I can. That said, I can do better in areas other than money. I can love her completely and without strings attached.

  I put our bags down on the floor as Avery makes for the bed and collapses on it.

  “I just want to sleep until the end of days,” she says, melting into the heavy comforter.

  I pull her shoes from her swollen feet and climb up beside her, cradling her head in the crook of my arm. “Take a nap,” I say, drawing my finger along her jawline, then smoothing back her hair. “I’ll call Ella to let her know you’re safe.”

  “Okay.” She yawns, her eyelids already drooping. She rolls on her side, tucks her knees up to her elbows, and relaxes. “Just a few minutes.”

  I step out into the corridor to call Ella. She’s ecstatic when I tell her that Avery is with me, and fine. I promise I’ll have her car towed and fixed, and get it back to her some way, sooner rather than later.

  “Don’t freak out about the car,” Ella assures me. “It’s older than I am. I’ll manage without it just fine for the time being. Just take care of Avery.”

  I promise her I will.

  “You guys need to get to Vancouver,” she says. “Fucking Evelyn put a guy on the street outside my place, watching me. I know they’re looking for her. If she used a credit card, they’ll be on your tail before you know it.”

  “We will,” I say. “Your Aunt – she won’t mind me?”

  “No,” Ella interrupts. “Bebe is cool. She’ll love you. Just get there.”

  “Okay. But I’ve got to let Avery rest. She’s been through the wringer. She’s napping now. She needs to rest and eat something and rest more.”

  “She’s tougher than you think she is,” Ella says. “She’s not going to break.”

  That’s probably true.

  Back inside the room I find Avery sleeping like a cat, nuzzled up on a big pillow, her arms wrapped around a second one, holding it close. She looks so peaceful. She’s beautiful, despite the road grime and sun burn. She’s the picture of perfection, and she’s here with me, safe, mine.

  I watch her sleep for a long time, just studying her features and form. She’s a small person, with slender, taught limbs and a naturally lithe build. I try to imagine her fat with a baby. The picture I paint in my head is even more beautiful than she is now. In my mind’s eye she’s softer, filled out at the breasts and hips, her belly heavy and round. Her face glows as she smiles up at me, placing my hand on her belly. She smiles. The expression in her eye tells me she feels safe and loved.

  I want to see that expression for real.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she says.

  I blink. Avery’s awake and drowsily taking me in.

  I slip in beside her on the bed, kicking my shoes off, pulling her close. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are. And how much I adore you. And how glad I am that I have you back with me, safe. And that I’m never going to let you go.”

  “I hope you always feel that way.” She says, a tinge of caution in her tone.

  I kiss the nape of her neck. “I will always feel that way.” I assure her. “I want to grow old with you. I wanna spoil our grandchildren together.”

  “Grandchildren?” She asks, laughing. “Man, I can hardly see my way through to one kid, and you’ve plotted us all the way out to grandchildren.”


  She turns into my chest and meets my eyes with hers. “We need to talk,” she says.

  “Okay.” I kiss her – chastely – on the lips.

  “I… I’m… I’m a few weeks late with my period. And the test I took was positive. I haven’t been to the doctor yet, but...”

  “You’re pregnant.” I finish her sentence, offering no reaction.

  She hauls in a deep, anxious breath and lets it out. “Are you upset? I’d understand—”

  “No,” I say. “I’m not upset. Are you upset?”

  She takes a moment to think, then she says, “No. I’m not upset. I’m a little bit freaked out and overwhelmed. But upset, no.”

  “Good. Whatever happens, we’re a family,” I say. “A real one.”

  Once more I press my lips to hers and I kiss her, letting our tongues reacquaint themselves with one another. It’s been too long. I missed kissing her.

  “Are you still feeling ill?” I ask her, finally breaking the kiss.

  She shakes her head. “Not now. I was before and I probably will again, but right now I’m okay.”

  “Then you need to eat something now, while you can.” I roll off the bed and retrieve the room service menu. Thirty minutes later, a knock on the door delivers our meals.

  I watch Avery eat like I’m a lion guarding his pride at the site of the kill. I want her to eat her fill and I want her to keep it down this time. She’s eating for more than just herself.

  She starts with cheesecake – whatever works – then dives in with carnivorous abandon to a medium rare cut of beef tenderloin.

  “Oh my god, this is so good,” she mumbles, her mouth full. “I feel like I can finally eat. Oh yes,” She smears sour cream on her baked potato, then gobbles a mouthful. “It needs more butter.” She reaches for it and smears it on.