Late to the Wedding

by Briggs, Laura

  “I’m an art critic, okay?” she said, ignoring the smirk that appeared in the corner of his mouth. “So yeah, I guess you’re right about a few things. But it’s not like you’re such a mystery,” she added, eager for revenge. “Just off first impressions, I’d say you’re a serial procrastinator, a college dropout, or maybe someone who’s just too lazy to get a real taxi license.”

  His brows shot up with this less than flattering assessment. “Well, at least we know you’re not psychic.” Grinning, he flicked the turn signal and steered the vehicle onto another narrow gravel road. “I’m the proud recipient of an incredibly useless degree in public relations, and this hack thing is just a temporary day job. A way of paying for night classes in my newest career ambition–culinary arts.”

  “Culinary arts?” she couldn’t keep the shock from her voice, her perception shifting upside down. The thought of the guy sitting next to her kneading bread dough and cooking delicate soufflés seemed unthinkable, almost ludicrous. “You’re actually studying to be a chef?”

  “Why not?” he asked. “Is there some law against shabby dressers learning how to cook something that doesn’t come in a can?”

  “No. It’s just that …well, shouldn’t you be working in a restaurant then? You know getting some experience in the field?”

  “I tried that already. As a busboy and then a waiter at a cozy little place called Barbette’s Back Door. The tips were lousy, the customers sleazy, and the menu blasé. Not my style and definitely not my idea of getting good food experience. So I decided to take the classes and start at the top next time with my own business.”

  “You got fired didn’t you?” Evelyn quirked an eyebrow, enjoying the satisfaction of a good guess, especially since she’d been dead wrong about everything else so far. But somehow predicting Brian’s interaction with whinny restaurant customers was easier than pegging his secret ambitions.

  His jaw tightened slightly at the sound of her triumph. “Maybe I did get a warning of sorts. But the rest of it sounds pretty convincing, right?”

  She shook her head, turning her gaze back to the road. Miles of untamed field stretched into the distance; Pennsylvania farmland she’d seen only on TV, or from the window of an airplane. Strange to think she’d traveled to foreign places like Versailles and the Louvre, but never to locations within hours of her own home.

  “So this guy must be pretty terrific,” Brian observed, giving her a jolt with the unwelcome change of subject. “I mean, not everyone has the power to make their ex-fiancé come running from five states away when they’re in a tight spot. Assuming he asked you to, that is.”

  Her heart turned over, a nervous tingly sensation invading her mouth. How did he peg the situation so quickly? She didn’t trust herself to speak, letting silence drag the awkward moment out.

  “Because I’d hate to think this was some kind of grandstanding moment,” he continued, sneaking a tentative peek in her direction. “One of the few interesting things about being in the cab business is that people confide in you, like your some kind of portable shrink or something. And from what I’ve heard, big dramatic gestures don’t really work–like when someone proposes marriage via the screen at a basketball game.”

  “Then I’ll remember never to do that,” Evelyn snapped, brushing his advice aside with a weak joke. Clearly, his stint as cab driver had given him some kind of superiority complex when it came to human psychology. Although, she couldn’t deny he’d been uncanny in his analysis so far. Just luck–and arrogance, she told herself, batting away the trickle of self-doubt.

  “It’s a little unusual to stay in touch with an ex,” he mused, undaunted by her tight-lipped appearance. “I’m guessing this was some kind of long distance relationship, or at least a recent breakup. Which would make this whole wedding thing really sudden–”

  “You know, I’m feeling kind of tired, so wake me when we get somewhere with pit stops again, all right?” With that, Evelyn turned to face the window, her eyes squeezing shut to discourage any further exchange.

  Apparently sledgehammer hints were the only kind this guy responded to. With the speculation on her love life temporarily suspended, Evelyn managed to doze in and out of sleep. Only vaguely aware that they were looping through a seemingly endless series of rural roads. That the car jolted each time they changed from gravel to pavement, that a thunderstorm was simmering somewhere in the distance. And that Brian was poking her in the ribs, demanding she wake up and find a certain spot on the map.

  “Are we lost?” she asked, surveying the rural landscape with its acres of forestry and dark clouds hanging on the horizon.

  “Check for what comes after Red Fox Road in Brewster County,” he said, flipping on the windshield wipers as if cued by a premonition. A roll of thunder punctuating the statement for a strangely dramatic effect.

  “We’re still in Pennsylvania, right?”

  “Maryland,” he replied. Enjoying her look of surprise, as he patted the steering. “Not bad for a clunker, right?”

  Bleary eyed, Evelyn fumbled with the map, tracing the curved lines of already-traveled road, until she spotted the current location. “This says we should be on something called Long Pine Lane.”

  “Perfect,” he said, flicking the left hand turn signal.

  Evelyn hugged herself against the stream of cool air from the vent, the A/C having kicked in with a vengeance sometime after she fell asleep. The atmosphere outside didn’t help, with its low-hanging gray skies, and long tree branches stirring in the wind.

  Rain drops speckled the car’s dusty hood, a blip of lightening flashing in the distance. “How do you moderate this thing?” she asked, studying the faded labels for the temperature selections. “Is there a secret code, a special rotation, like a safe?”

  The only answer was the wind whistling loudly against the windows, which seemed helpless to block any kind of noise from the outside. She glanced over to find her driver seemingly oblivious, eyes narrowed at the dark scenery ahead. “How do you work the air?” she repeated, this time at a volume he couldn’t possibly miss.

  “Not by screaming in my ear, when I can already hear every word you say. Including the one’s you murmured in your sleep this afternoon. His name’s Jared, right?”

  She gasped, losing her grip on the map laying across her knees. “That–that’s eavesdropping! And everyone knows dreams don’t mean anything, anyway.” Her face was flaming as she turned back to the dashboard. “Are you going to help me with the air, or should I roll the window down?”

  “Stop fiddling with it,” he said, batting her fingers away from the knobs. “You’ll make it worse. I know all the car’s quirks, and you’re only confusing its system by changing the settings every two seconds.”

  “But it’s freezing in here.” She inched the switch towards the heating side, a worn red stripe giving a clue to its purpose. “I keep expecting to see my breath.”

  “Quit exaggerating.” A blast of wind jerked the car to the side, edging it over the center of the road. “Besides,” he added, “I’ve got a jacket in the trunk if you’re really that cold. The next time we stop I’ll get it out.”

  Lightening crackled, the old Sedan struggling to regain its correct lane. “C’mon,” Brian muttered, spinning the wheel around. His foot tapping against the brake as a sizable tree branch blew across the road a few yards ahead.

  Evelyn waved her hands in front of the vent system. “I think it’s working. Or maybe it’s just getting weaker.”

  “Turn it off, alright? You’re gonna burn us up putting on the heater and I don’t–”

  Whump!

  The sound of a dead chicken hitting the windshield.

  Their screams were simultaneous, with Evelyn digging her fingernails into his arm, as the car swerved towards the ditch. It skidded back onto the road seconds later in a wild U-turn motion, Brian whipping the steering wheel hard against the force of the ever-increasing wind. The motor picked up speed in time for a sudden downpour of ha
il, which dinged against the metal vehicle like a torrent of ping pong balls.

  For the next few minutes, they tore along the dirt road at sixty miles per hour, the car’s rickety frame bouncing off gravel and groups of rocks. “Maybe you should try aiming for the potholes instead,” Evelyn yelled above the roar of hail and thunder, clinging for dear life to the door handle.

  “Hang on!” he called. “We’ve got to outrun this storm. I think it must have rotation or something.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, mouthing a prayer. Her deep breathing exercises from yoga sessions forgotten, as a tight feeling gripped her chest, her heart pounding out of control. She couldn’t die like this–trapped in a car with a guy she barely knew, stranded on a stretch of forgotten roadway. All while the love of her life prepared to say ‘til death’ with someone else.

  Something seized hold of the Sedan, spinning it in swift jerks like a giant child's hand operating a top. With a scream, Evelyn seized the door's arm rest and held onto it tightly; beside her, Brian gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, face set with grim determination. She was aware that he was no longer controlling the car, but that another force was–the same force that tossed a tree trunk across the road, dissolved the barn in the field ahead like a cloud of debris swept away.

  The car spun towards the ditch, Evelyn's eyes closing as protection against dizziness. She felt the thud of impact as the tires struck dirt, jerking her body forward in her seat.

  A hand touched her arm. “It’s okay,” Brian’s voice was muffled, the words barely audible above the roar of the wind. It died to a gentle murmur after a moment, along with the roar and crackle of the storm. Brian's free hand rested upon the steering wheel.

  "What was that?" Her voice was weak. It was a long moment before Brian spoke again, his face noticeably pale.

  "I think that was a tornado," he answered. "Not a lot of explanation for that kind of wind."

  She was quiet again for a moment. "Are you all right?" she asked. The statement emerged from her lips without thought, surprising her. She glanced towards him, surveying the dark eyes and five o' clock shadow.

  He cleared his throat. "Sure." Reaching over, he snapped off the air conditioner, its vents ceasing to rattle.

  Evelyn pried her fingers free from their grip on the door. "The storms in the South," she murmured. "I guess maybe that no-fly path was a little bigger than I realized."

  He glanced at her. "Yeah," he replied, slightly sarcastic. "I guess maybe it was." With that, he pressed the gas pedal, rocking the car forward from the ditch.

  They were quiet for the next half hour. Evelyn's interest in arguing over direction had vanished, partly due to the storm and the nagging feelings surrounding Brian's little comment.

  I guess maybe it was. What did he think she was–an airhead? Some ditzy little princess incapable of understanding the danger of this trip? She understood the risks perfectly well–she'd been honest with him from the moment he confronted her on the sidewalk. What more did he want?

  Evelyn argued this issue between them in her head, rather than aloud with the man beside her. Who, in keeping with his policy on sound control, hadn't uttered so much as a whistled tune since their brush with death via nature.

  The car rattled towards the crossroads, faltering as they crossed a battered concrete bridge. A washed-out dirt road on the other side, a heavy tree branch blocking one lane as a sign the storm had crossed this path recently.

  Brian's hands gripped the wheel again as they bounced over potholes. The vinyl grip vibrating with tension until the whine of the engine died away.

  “What are you doing? Why are we stopping?” Evelyn came back to life with the motor's silence. She twisted around in her seat, her fingers finally relaxing their death grip on the door handle. “We need to get back on the main road.”

  “I know.” Brian offered her a weary smile, the usual sardonic gleam hard to read in the gathering dusk. “We’re out of gas.”

  Chapter Six

  "Out of gas?" she repeated. "What do you mean–you didn't fill up when we were in Binghamton?"

  He sighed. "If I had, would we be here right now?" In his glance, she detected irritation. He popped open the driver's door and climbed out. "You ask a lot of questions," he said. "I think you're in the wrong business. You should try being a member of the press, one of those reporters who follows around politicians and hounds them at news conferences."

  For a moment, she was frozen in her seat. Fumbling with her seatbelt, she jerked the vinyl strap free, feeling it catch in the rusted retractor. Pushing open the passenger door, she stumbled out into the road's muddy wash.

  "Excuse me?" she shot back. "I thought as the person who hired you that I had the right to some answers on things like fuel capacity and route choices." Feeling the clay dirt churn beneath her sandals, she tried to follow him as he loped off in the direction from which they came.

  All around them was a thick woods, green branches in contrast to the scrubby fields and blank pastures from earlier. She had the feeling that they were trapped in a surreal place, the dark forests that populated horror movies and fantasy novels.

  "Do you know where you're going?" she asked. He slowed his pace, allowing her to catch up. With his hands jammed in his pockets, he had lost some of the confident, cocky demeanor from the car ride. Evelyn had a sinking feeling that his answer was one she didn't want to hear.

  "Look," he said, "there's got to be a residence along the main road somewhere. If nothing else, the chances are better on a well-traveled road than a dirt path like this one. Any objection?"

  "Of course not," she answered, innocently. "That makes perfect sense. Did I say anything to the contrary?" She ignored the roll of his eyes as he moved on again, keeping his pace slow enough that they were walking side by side this time.

  The hike back to the county’s main road was made far worse by the gathering twilight. The spooky gloom seemed to inspire hoards of mosquitoes to appear from out of nowhere. Swatting at clouds of bugs in the dwindling light, Evelyn groaned as her feet struggled for traction amidst the baseball-sized rocks washed up by the storm. She jerked her arm away when Brian offered to help.

  “Hey, look, I’m sorry about the gasoline,” he snapped. “But I was a little busy trying to outrace killer wind to notice the arrow was leaning towards empty.”

  “I’m painfully aware of that. It just seems like a guy who spends his days driving people around should carry some extra fuel in case of emergencies.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a one -in -a-million kind of emergency.” He kicked a disc-shaped rock and sent it spinning like a top into the pathway ahead. “Try to remember that most of my customers are headed for Queens or Manhattan and not some plantation in rural Alabama.”

  She bristled. “Look, I gave you a chance to back out at the scene of the fender bender, but you insisted–”

  “Shhh.” He placed a hand on her arm, a finger touching his lips. “Do you hear that?”

  Above the chorus of chirping bugs and croaking bull frogs came the sound of a car motor in the road behind them. Moments later, the glare of headlights and the outline of a vehicle appeared from around the corner.

  “Behold–civilization rears its headlights." Brian waved to flag them down.

  “What are you doing?” Evelyn hissed, yanking his arm back down. “Hitchhiking? You can’t be serious.”

  “You’ve got a better idea?”

  She faltered under his challenging stare, aware that she didn’t. But she knew there must be a hundred of them, especially when the would-be rescue vehicle rolled into full sight.

  A seventies-era van with a psychedelic paint job and a curtain of multi-colored beads swaying between the front and back seats. A mini disco ball ornament bobbed from the windshield, strains of Donovan's "Season of the Witch" audible from its rolled-down windows.

  The van slowed as it came beside them, the engine groaning to a halt in a cloud of dust. The driver's seat was occ
upied by an older man with a deep tan and shaggy gray hair tucked beneath a do-rag.

  “Need a ride folks?” he asked, with a friendly grin. Two bird dogs springing up from the backseat at the sound of his voice, their yappy, high-pitched barks, echoing across the remote landscape.

  Evelyn hung back, her eyes narrowed in Brian’s direction with a glare designed to make him think twice about the dangers of the seemingly harmless stranger. Clinging to the hope that even a gypsy cab driver wouldn’t accept a car ride invitation from the first unknown person to appear on a lonely stretch of road.

  “Sounds great,” Brian said, ignoring the fierce pinch she bestowed through his shirt sleeve. “We got caught in the storm a few miles back, and then we ran out of gas, so you’re a real life saver.”

  “Climb on in,” said the smiling hippie, motioning towards the backseat. “Gyp and Pip don’t bite unless I tell them to, so no worries there. My name’s Jake, by the way.”

  Only part of this statement seemed to be true, since the two dogs immediately pounced at on the luckless hitchhiker’s feet. Tiny, jagged teeth latching onto Evelyn’s high heeled sandals, as she dug around for the seatbelt beneath a pile of blankets and old magazines.

  “Where you folks headed?” their rescuer asked, glancing over his shoulder for an uncomfortably long period of time, in which the van weaved aimlessly around the road, narrowly missing the ditch. Evelyn grasped nervously at the seat, a move that quickly inspired the dogs to release her sandals for the chance to nip at human fingers instead.

  “Down, dogs, down,” said Jake, turning back to the road in time to dodge a pile of storm debris. With a good-natured chuckle, he added, “Gyp and Pip love people. That’s why I take ’em pretty much everywhere I go. Work, the grocery store, church services–”