They both knew the deal, even though they never talked about it.
But this road trip seemed like a scenario where she probably should do a little more talking. Colleen owed her nothing. Truth was, Colleen didn’t owe her dad anything either. Tamara really ought to do her best to make this trip as smooth as possible from her end.
Problem was, she sucked at making conversation.
So she said, “I can’t believe we got jacked off at tonight.”
Colleen snorted and seemed to have to stop herself from spewing coffee from her nose. Tamara laughed, especially when Colleen glanced at the table next to them. Given the facial expressions turned back toward her, at least some of the girls had heard her say it.
“Shh!” Colleen tried to keep a straight face, but a spike of laughter came out before she collected herself and said, “But … yeah. How disgusting. What could the aim be there?”
Tamara laughed.
Colleen’s face showed puzzlement, then realization. “No pun intended. But honestly, did he think we were going to pull off to the shoulder and rip our clothes off for him?”
Tamara shrugged and spun her straw around her Sprite. “It’s not even like he was hot. Like if Ryan Gosling were doing it, that’d be one thing.”
“Ryan Gosling would never do that,” Colleen mused. “But if he did, it would have been a lot more distracting, which, really, would have been a lot more dangerous. Though I would have thought less of ol’ Ryan for doing it.”
Tam considered. “So really, we should have thanked the driver for being so butt-ugly, since it wasn’t distracting to you.”
“I think you’re right.”
“We owe our lives to that man.”
“You might even say he’s a hero.”
They both sneered then, and gave a cringe before laughing.
“And now, here we are at my college diner!” said Colleen. “So, in all seriousness, I kind of am thankful to him.” She made a face. “Not that I like to admit that.”
Tamara was too, but she didn’t say anything more about him. “I don’t remember the last time I went out to eat.”
“Really? I wouldn’t think of Chris—your dad as being much of a homemade meals kind of guy.”
“He’s not. When he’s home, we order food or he brings home subs or whatever. When he isn’t, I’m either at someone’s house or I make easy mac or something.”
“Nothing fresh?”
“You mean like an apple or carrot sticks?”
“Or real cheese from a block, raw meat that you cook how you like, and, yeah, an apple now and then?”
Tamara shook her head. “Not really.”
Colleen looked at her like she’d never heard anything sadder. If that bothered her aunt, she definitely couldn’t handle the rest of the tragic details in Tamara’s life.
“I mean it’s fine,” said Tamara, trying not to sound pathetic. “I like mac and cheese.”
“Well, of course, who doesn’t? But still. Everyone needs a nice home-cooked meal every once in a while. One that doesn’t come out of a blue box and have a two-step cooking process. And maybe something green that is supposed to be green.”
Tamara shrugged and gave the sort of empty sentence she often did. “Yeah. But, I mean, it’s … whatever.”
Their food arrived, and it was better than she had expected, and as good as Colleen had promised. The mini meat loaves were succulent softballs of tender meat that, when cut into, spilled melted cheddar onto the plate and into the gravy and mashed potato mix. Swirl a forkful of meat loaf on the plate, and you ended up with something that could probably cure all the ills of the world.
The French toast was no less remarkable; this was not the thin, anemic slices of Wonder Bread dipped in egg that her mother had made her as a child, but thick slices of tender light bread, crisped golden on the outside and dusted with powdered sugar with real maple syrup on the side. The place also had a thick slice of smoky-sweet tavern ham and a buttery mix of tiny diced potatoes and onion, which clever Colleen had requested grated cheese and sour cream for.
Food like this could eradicate war.
“This really is awesome,” said Tamara, adding extra butter to the already-buttery toasts.
“Told you. I never lie about food. That should be punishable by law. If I see a sign that promises the world’s best cup of coffee, and it isn’t? I’m ready to call the authorities.”
“It is pretty bad to be disappointed like that.” She shoveled in another bite. “Vince—my um … boyfriend thing … he’s always saying that things are the best or are way better than anything, and then they never are.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Like the other day he said we had to drive to Northeast because they have ‘the best pizza ever,’ but it was gross.”
“Best pizza ever is Grotto Pizza in Delaware.”
“Ohmigod!” Tamara’s face brightened. “I love Grotto!”
“You’ve been there?”
“Yes! I used to go there when I was younger.” She reeled herself in. Enthusiasm didn’t suit her. “It’s really good.”
Colleen put down her fork and gaped at something behind Tamara.
“What?”
“I think … I think that’s—” She shook her head. “There’s no way.” She returned her attention to Tamara. “Sorry.”
Tamara glanced behind her but didn’t see anything remarkable. Just a scrawny kid, coloring or something, in a booth by herself. She didn’t see a celebrity or anything. “You think that’s what?”
Colleen squinted and frowned. “I think that’s my friend from college.” Again, she shook her head. “Is this some weird time warp?”
Tamara turned in her chair and looked more carefully, but didn’t see anyone. “Was she with the kid in the booth?”
“What?” Colleen focused on Tamara, then behind her. “Oh. No. That is her in the booth.”
“Wha—?” Tamara looked again and saw, yes, the person was older than she’d initially thought. The woman stood up and tucked a spiral notebook under her arm just as the waitress had done with the menus, and exited the place with a group of students. A big, dark, buff guy stopped and held the door for her and then followed her out. “The one who just left with that group of college dudes?”
“I am sure she wasn’t with them. But what on earth would she be doing here?”
“I mean you went to school here, and you two were friends when you did. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I think she moved a few hours away. Like the rest of us.” Colleen shrugged a single shoulder. “Almost no one lives here. So.” She shook her head some more, like this was impossible and she just couldn’t make sense of it. “What are the odds?”
Apparently, the odds were good: Two minutes later, after a few wordless chews, Colleen said, “Oh my God, it’s her.”
Tamara looked, and the woman was coming back through the door, headed to the booth she’d been sitting in previously. She looked older than Colleen. Gaunt. It was hard to imagine them in school together.
“Are you sure?”
“Weirdly, yes…” She frowned, looking like she was trying to figure out a math problem in her head. “Pretty sure.”
“What’s her name?”
“Bitty. Well, it’s actually—”
“Hey, Bitty!” Tamara called her name and then went back to eating, like she hadn’t said anything.
“Tamara!” Colleen said through gritted teeth.
With her back to the woman, Tamara asked, “Did she look?”
“Didn’t even flinch.”
“Then maybe it’s not her.”
“It’s her.” Colleen focused her gaze behind Tamara. “What on earth is she doing?”
Tamara was dying to turn and look, but that would have been so obvious. “What is she doing?”
“I think … I think she’s crying. She’s sitting back in the booth and she just put her head in her hands and—” Colleen sucked air in through her teeth. “I
should do something, but I don’t want to embarrass her or … I don’t know, what an awkward time to have a little reunion.”
Tamara could tell Colleen was talking more to herself than to her, so she just made a noise of assent.
“But if something’s wrong…” Colleen’s voice trailed off.
“Just go talk to her!”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Because—”
Tamara heard the sound of someone blowing their nose, probably on a rough, cheap diner napkin, and watched Colleen’s gaze snap over to her.
That’s the kind of response a mom had. Or was supposed to have. That nurturing thing. Ready to help. Willing to help.
Wanting to help.
“I have to do it.” Colleen took a breath and stood up. “Stay here, I’ll be just a minute.”
Tamara gave a shrug to indicate Take your time. She didn’t see how this could take a minute.
And it didn’t. Three Sprite refills and a bunch of phone apps later, Colleen came back to the booth with the woman. Thin, creaky-looking, pale-faced, and dark-circled, she looked like something out of a zombie movie. How could she have been Colleen’s friend in college? It looked like there was about a twenty-year age difference.
“Tamara, I’d like for you to meet someone.”
Tamara didn’t know Colleen well, but she could already tell that her aunt’s voice was not her own. She was uncomfortable.
“This is my old friend—”
“Wilhelmina Camalier,” the woman said, reaching a claw out to Tamara.
Seriously, did Tam look to her like a hand-shaking hoity-toity lady?
Still, she took the icy appendage into her French toast–greased palm and gave a squeeze, the way she saw her dad do when he ran into someone he didn’t know well. “Nice to meet you,” she mumbled.
The woman, who seemed to Tamara to be an icy cold bitch already, said, “I wasn’t really prepared.”
Well, excuse me, lady. Sorry we didn’t give you warning.
Colleen gestured at her clothes. They were just normal clothes, but to Colleen, they seemed proof of something. “We weren’t planning on running into anyone either. We were just sidetracked by everything. Road trip, you know. Never know what’s going to catch your eye or take you off course.” She made a dopey, gung-ho gesture.
“To … here?” Wilhelmina Camalier asked.
“To … No, this isn’t where we’re road-tripping to, but when you see the sign for this exit, it’s impossible not to remember.”
“Yes.” The lady didn’t look like she wanted to remember whatever it was that came into her head when she heard the word “remember.”
The two of them still hovered, standing there, clearly neither sure what the next physical move was going to be.
“We’re going on a little tour of the South to stop at a bunch of farm auctions to pick up some antiques,” Colleen said. This was unusually awkward. “I refinish them and sell them.”
Wilhelmina clearly had nothing to say, but nodded as supportively as she could seemingly muster.
“But, of course, that’s not the issue right now,” Colleen went on. “You said you called the police?”
Tamara was immediately on alert with a plunging stomach and hot cheeks. Habit. Police?
“Well, I—” The woman looked down and to the left before taking in a deep breath. Lying. Tam’s mom had always said that. Down and to the left was lying. Up and to the left was remembering. She didn’t know what the other two were. “Yes, I did. They took a report.”
“That was fast,” Colleen said.
“There was a policeman in the parking lot.” The woman looked at Colleen. “You remember how they always hung out here.”
“I do.”
Another lengthy, tense silence.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Colleen asked, sliding into the booth.
At first the woman said nothing. Didn’t move. Didn’t leave. Didn’t say “fuck off,” as she looked like she wanted to. Just stood there.
Colleen patted the seat next to her. “Come on, sit down. We can call for a cab or car rental company or something.”
She settled into the booth next to Colleen, each of them looking uncomfortable at the proximity. The seat next to Tamara was occupied by Colleen’s purse and Tamara’s hoodie. Thank God.
The waitress returned, and Wilhelmina Camalier said with a head shake and palm that she wasn’t going to order anything.
Colleen looked annoyed by that for some reason.
What the hell had happened between these two that they were so freaking awkward? Tamara wondered.
“So what happened that you needed to call the cops?” Tam asked. “Or, whatever, flag one down in the parking lot?”
“Her car was stolen,” Colleen answered.
The other woman’s eyes filled with tears and she looked down. All she had was her purse and that notebook Tamara had noticed earlier. “And my money. Almost all my money was in there.”
“You keep your money in your car?” Tamara asked.
“Not usually. I just went to the bank and had it in an envelope and stopped in here for a quick bite.”
That woman didn’t look like she ever stopped in anywhere for a bite. Looking at her, Tamara believed Wilhelmina might actually mean One Single Bite of Food.
“I can’t believe no one heard anything if someone broke into your car,” Colleen said, evidently not feeling the same bullshit vibe Tamara was from this story.
“I guess they didn’t really break in,” the woman said. “I left the keys in it. You know, only because I was coming in here for just a moment, and who ever stole a car or anything else around here?”
“But, honey, you can’t expect to leave anything unlocked these days without risking losing it. Come on.”
“It’s not like that where I come from.”
“You come from here.”
The woman straightened her brittle-looking spine and argued, “No, I don’t, I come from Winnington, North Carolina, where people are civilized and don’t just help themselves to others’ property, whether it seems easy or not.”
At that, Colleen all but put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, got it. But that still leaves you with a problem.”
Tamara could see the irritation cross Colleen’s face. Wilhelmina could argue all she wanted, but evidence supported the fact that Colleen was obviously right. If the question was Should you leave your keys in the car? then the answer was Obviously the hell not.
“I know it does.” Wilhelmina looked less defensive and more upset again. God, was she always pitiful like this? She’d practically begged to get ripped off; it was unbelievable that she was so stunned by it.
“Will Lew come and get you?” Colleen asked.
The woman scoffed and then straightened up. “No. Lew’s … out of town. So I was … taking my own little vacation. Headed for a spa or something to take a few days to myself.”
Wow, Tamara thought with a raised eyebrow, she was a terrible liar. Not that the truth could possibly be that interesting, because the lies sure weren’t. But society ladies like this would probably say anything just to protect their reputation, whatever it was. If she had a stain on her skirt, she’d probably claim it was the work of a fancy new designer.
Tamara had no patience for liars.
Fortunately Colleen didn’t seemed fooled. Points for her. “You were just driving off aimlessly for a vacation with no destination?”
The woman’s face colored. “Yes,” she insisted. “If he can go off and do … his own thing, then why on earth shouldn’t I? If he wants to hang with the boys, let him.” She looked down.
Maybe her husband was having an affair with a younger woman. That happened. It was certainly the kind of thing a person would lie about.
“So you just took off by yourself? No girlfriends or anything to keep you company?”
“Oh, no. Not this time. I really just wanted some time alone
to get my head together.” She gave a dry laugh. “Guess I didn’t do a very good job, though, given that I was so absentminded, I got myself robbed.”
Colleen’s face softened. “Well, all isn’t lost. Just a few hours. You can still salvage your trip, especially since you’re flexible about it.”
“Yes.” Firm nod. “I’m going to finish what I started. I just need to find another way.”
“Hm. Maybe we can give you a ride to the next big town or airport or something, so you can rent a car,” Colleen suggested. “I doubt there’s a place here, and if there is, it’s probably not open right now. Which way were you headed? You must have some idea where you wanted to go, right?”
“South,” the woman answered, though it sounded like she was talking more to herself than to Colleen or, obviously, Tamara. “To … Florida. Though I was open to anything interesting along the way.” Again, it sounded like a bullshit answer without serious planning behind it, but if she was pissed off at her husband and his blond floozy mistress and showing him two could play at his game, then maybe it didn’t matter to her where she went, as long as he was left wondering. That was kind of understandable, actually.
“No kidding! We’re going to Florida!” It was obvious that the words flew out of Colleen’s mouth before she’d really had a chance to stop and think. By then it was obviously too late, and the words just kept coming: “Why don’t you just hitch a ride with us? The police have your number, right? Come along, and if you see a stop you prefer to Florida, just rent a car.”
The woman balked immediately, much to Tamara’s relief. “No, no. Thank you,” she added, though it seemed like an afterthought, “but I don’t want to impose.”
“It wouldn’t be an imposition—we were good friends once.” Colleen’s voice had changed, but it seemed to be working back toward supportive. Sincere, anyway. She was obviously a chronic savior. “Some strange coincidence brought us both here tonight at the same time. I don’t know how long it’s been since you were here, but it’s been years for me—”
“Me too.”
“—so maybe it’s fate.”
“Or hunger,” Tamara tried. She didn’t want to ride in that little car with this woman for God knows how long. Awkward conversation with Colleen was bad enough; she couldn’t even imagine adding this particular brand of discomfort to the mix.
Driving With the Top Down Page 8
