Birthmarked

by Maria Violante

  Except for Lydia, it never went anywhere. No man was perfect—wasn’t almost perfect enough? “I know . . . but that was so long ago. And you wouldn’t do it again, right?”

  He paused for so long that I heard my heart stop.

  “No, I haven’t done that . . . but I can’t promise I never would. I just don’t love you like I should.”

  A spike of righteous anger flared through me, a klaxon that roared for immediate damage control. “Do you really want to be that guy? Thirty-something, texting girls in chat rooms?”

  He didn’t answer. His silence was brutal—it pinched the air out of me, punched my heart into a gallop. “What about your mom? What would she think if she knew that she’ll never have grandkids or see her son married, because he’s too busy avoiding me to screw our waitress?” I flinched, horror overtaking me, as time froze. I hadn’t meant to say that. It had a ring of truth to it—but then again, it didn’t really make a whole lot of sense, either. “I’m—I’m. . .”

  Finally, I heard the phone hiss as he took a breath. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You act like the only reason you took this job is for me—but we both know that isn’t true.”

  My remorse snuffed out like a candle. “What are you imply—”

  “Like you would have done this if your Daddy hadn’t been a trucker? You think I don’t know that you’re looking for him? I may not have been the best boyfriend, but I know you better than anyone—than anyone—”

  I winced, my protest sticking in my throat. Now that Mom was dead, that was true—and to be honest, it might have been true before.

  “—and this whole thing has been a cracked-out trip to work on your Daddy issues since the get-go. Except that you were too scared to do it by your damn self.”

  I tried to cut in, but he was a force unstoppable now. “I don’t know what I want. But I know for sure now that it isn’t you. Thanks for confirming that for me.”

  How had this gotten out of my hands so quickly? How had it gone this far? I could feel myself shutting down, and I switched tracks. “Hey . . . don’t say that.” I blew out, hard, trying to relieve the pain and pressure in my chest. “I shouldn’t have said that last thing. . . I’m just tired and stressed. I’ve been running hard three days straight. I’ve got another nine months on this contract, and you know I can’t afford to pay it out and leave early. Can’t we just try it, see how it goes?”

  Two years together had taught me all of his moods. I could read his silence. He was steeling himself, pulling away, getting ready to bring it to a close. Another mean cramp tore through my stomach.

  No. I’m not ready to let go. Not like this. Not yet.

  “Don’t do this—”

  There was a slight click, and for a moment, I didn’t understand. Where was the drama? Where were the curse words, the tears, the phone slamming, the angry dial tone in my ear?

  He was gone.

  It took me three fumbling tries to pick him out from my contacts list, but it went straight to voicemail. He’d probably pulled the battery.

  I stared at my phone for a little while longer, willing it to ring, even though I knew it wouldn’t. Eventually, the sound of running water faded back into my mind, and I realized the shower was still on.

  I turned around. The room had misted over with a fine film of steam, water droplets clinging to tile and glass. I closed my eyes, shutting out the light that was suddenly too bright, and tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

  He couldn’t have been right, could he?

  I know you better than anyone.

  I stepped into the shower. From the steam, the water was hot, but I could barely feel it. It ran over my skin, over my aching limbs and throbbing head. It ran over the sore, empty hole in my chest that I knew would hurt if I let myself feel.

  I bluffed my way through the rituals. Shampoo. Toothbrush. Conditioner. Soap. I left out the parts that weren’t necessary: the loofah scrub, the razor. Finally, I shut off the water and stumbled over to the bench. I managed to dress myself, although not without dropping everything into the pool of water that was gathering around my feet.

  I progressed, like a flower girl, back to my truck, shedding something from my arms with each aisle passed. I knew them from the sounds they made as they hit the ground—shampoo bottle, wet washcloth—but I couldn’t stop, because if I did, I would have toppled then and there, screaming and crying in a puddle on the floor of the Glass Hitch. I just kept moving, ignoring the cries of “Hey, lady!” and “Are you deaf?”

  There was a half-second, when my truck was in view, that I felt an electric snap, sharp enough to penetrate through the fogginess in my head. I knew somebody was watching me, but I just kept going, right until I shook the key into the lock and climbed up the running board and into my truck. I scrambled into the bunk, shutting the black-out curtains behind me.

  And when I was finally alone, in the dark, a thousand miles from home, I let myself break.

  The knock at my door sounded like a pissed-off horse trying to kick it down, but that was normal. The roar of the reefer behind me vibrated through the walls and shook the whole cab. Standing outside, the condenser rendered you half-deaf, as if you were next to a waterfall, and the only way to make your presence known was to wallop on the door.

  Thump thump thump.

  Sorry, pal. I’m not getting up. You’re gonna’ have to park somewhere else.

  Thump thump thump.

  Nope.

  Thump thump.

  “Charlie? Just let me know that you’re okay, and then I’ll go away, all right?”

  Jeff.

  I paused, and my stomach clenched. I could just hide here, act like I had just left the idle running while I was in the shower. . .

  But he had brought me a cupcake on my birthday last week—complete with a candle—and he had even scrounged me up some cold medicine on my first week on the road—that week where I didn’t think I would make it.

  I crawled through the curtains, the magnetic catch parting around me, and Jeff’s grizzled face came into view through the passenger window. As soon as we locked eyes, his wrinkled visage relaxed with obvious relief.

  “Are you okay? What’s going on, sunshine?”

  I pushed the button, and the lock disengaged. His head was topped with a pinstriped fedora. He disappeared as he stepped down off of the running board, and then the overhead light blinked, and the reefer roar tripled as he opened the door. He climbed into my cab, too spry for the obvious age of his body, and shut the door behind him. The noise dropped back to a thrum as the papers on my dash suddenly quit fluttering.

  “Hey, sunshine. Thanks for letting me in. It’s cold out there.”

  He winked, and I had to laugh. Even up in Ontario, it was at least seventy degrees out—a more beautiful night there never was.

  “I was worried about you. Word is that you were spotted running out of the Glass Hitch in tears. Told them I didn’t believe it, what with you being a tough girl and all.”

  I sucked in air, and my cheeks warmed slightly. “Drivers are such fucking gossips.”

  He chuckled, the laugh ending in a deep smoker’s cough. “Yeah. They don’t tell you that in the academy, but it’s awfully true. Can you blame us, though? It’s lonely out here.” He fished a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and trailed the end into the corner of his mouth.

  I fought the sudden burning in my chest, as if I could force my tears back through an effort of will. “Yeah, maybe even a lonelier than I thought it would be.”

  He shook out the match—an odd way of doing it, as all drivers used lighters, but Jeff was old-fashioned through and through—and his brows went up. “I take it your fellow. . .”

  “He’s not coming.”

  Jeff nodded and pushed his fedora back far enough to light his cigarette. The cab filled with the acrid scent of smoke, and I instantly felt torn. There was no good way to ask him not to smoke in here—and part of me also liked it, in a way. It was so familiar, so intimate
. I didn’t smoke, and yet, since I started trucking, I was pretty much bathed in it. I didn’t want to stand outside, either. “Say, did I ever tell you about the goose we housebroke?”

  I smiled. At least six times. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, you know, we had a houseful of pigs for a while. We were training them to go outside. Pigs are real smart, you know. . .”

  Maybe I could call Luke back, convince him to still come? Just for a week? I bet if he tried it. . . The hope died as easily as a fresh-picked flower. He wasn’t coming, and the reaffirmation of something I knew, then forgot, then knew again crushed me as hard as it had the first time. Worse, the idea of looking him in the face made my stomach flip over. How much of what he had said had been true, and how much just designed to hurt me?

  The problem was, I wasn’t really sure.

  Jeff paused in the story and regarded me. His eyes twinkled. “I’ve told you this one before, haven’t I?”

  “Maybe. You told me a lot of stories while we were driving team.”

  He snorted. “When I was training you, you mean? I don’t remember you doing a whole lot of driving for half of that.”

  I blushed and swatted a hand at him. It was true—new drivers had to build miles up gradually. Sitting in a chair all day didn’t come naturally to anyone. But Jeff had been there, showing me the ropes, easing me through every maneuver until it started to feel like second nature. “I almost quit a few times. I got homesick.”

  He chuckled, the sound warm and somehow buoyant, as if it could float me up over my own pain. “Everybody does. That would have been a shame. And I did tell you a lot of stories, but what better way is there to pass the time? After all, they pay us—”

  “To be bored.”

  Jeff smiled at my memory of his catchphrase.

  There were things I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how to say them. The silence grew into something that edged on uncomfortable. He sighed and nodded, and pointed back out the window. “All right, well—I’m parked on party row. Pulled in too late to get anything better. At least the weather’s nice tonight. Hope it doesn’t cool down too much, I’d like to just use the windows tonight.”

  I nodded. “At least it’s not Jersey.” That state’s anti-idling laws didn’t exactly give drivers a choice.

  “You think I listen to that environmental crap? I’ve been driving for forty years, sunshine. I’ll idle when I damn well feel like it, and FLEX can pay the tickets. I ain’t baking to death.” He touched the brim on his hat. On a different man, it would have been cheesy, but Jeff wore it with distinction. “Come and see me if you want.”

  I felt a flash of regret as the door closed behind him, but I didn’t get out. Instead, I crawled back into my dungeon of a bed.

  They pay us to be bored.

  Maybe, but for the next few weeks, they’d be paying me just to keep it together.

  Chapter Two

  When I came to, I had a few luxurious seconds of stretching in the bunk before two thoughts hit me in rapid succession. My first was there had been no phone call or text from Luke in the night. I didn’t think I had been expecting one, but the little throb of hope that pricked and fizzled away said otherwise.

  What had I been expecting?

  Then, of course, there was the fact the sun was leaking through the cracks in the curtains and the bunk window covers, which was not a problem in and of itself, except I was supposed to be up by six because. . .

  Fuck! I missed my drop appointment!

  I bolted upright and jumped. Pain exploded through my forehead. With a string of curses, I fell back on the mattress to ruefully regard the top bunk through tears.

  Every. Goddamn. Time.

  I crawled, belly-down, and made it as far as the aisle before I tripped on my coverlet, which had somehow followed me out of bed. I kicked hard, putting myself far enough off-balance to ram my arm into the hardback-sized PeopleNet computer that stood between the two seats.

  Another flash of pain, and a few more tears. I took a deep breath. I should just give up.

  Another glance at the sun changed my mind. This trailer was for Elijah Foods, well known to consumers because they didn’t use pesticides or hormones, their produce was brighter and sweeter than the competition, and they had great customer service. Among drivers, though, they were known for one thing and one thing only. They were assholes about appointment times.

  I crawled off the floor, pushed in the clutch, and turned the key. The tractor protested but rumbled to life. Lights flickered and sensors beeped as the PeopleNet booted up, the blue progress bar inching across the screen.

  “Go!” I shook my hand at it. “Go!”

  When it finally switched to the home screen, I held my breath. Nothing yet . . . maybe we’re clear.

  Ding!

  Ding! Ding!

  My stomach sank as the emails came in. Three, four, six—oh God. My fingers shook as I thumbed through the clumsy interface. Lynn, my Driver Manager, was well known for her friendliness, her flexibility, and the way she understood the needs of her drivers.

  Unless, of course, she felt like you were dropping the ball.

  I mashed the keys to start my pre-trip. That would give me the sixteen minutes required by law to sit and do my “inspection” (like hell, the truck could be on fire right now, and we were still going to Elijah Foods), which was enough time to get through my emails.

  Where are u? This is Lynn. Call me.

  Next.

  GPS says u r still parked. U need me to call rd service? U got a flat or smthng?

  Next.

  Y aren’t u answering phone?

  Wait, what?

  My cheeks burned as I pictured myself as I had been last night, asleep, the damn thing next to my pillow in case—

  Pathetic.

  It couldn’t be dead, could it? How long had Luke and I talked in the bathroom? I ran back to the pillow and grabbed it.

  The dead screen mocked me.

  I bolted it to the charger in the front. It took me a couple of tries to get the adapter plug in right. The splash screen loaded and my background came up, a cute picture of me and Luke that hit me like a belly-flop on ice water, and then—

  Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

  Four voicemails, seven texts, and counting.

  Fuck. Maybe I could just drive into a concrete divider. Judging by the texts that would hurt less than the upcoming conversation with my Driver Manager.

  Kicking u off the Canada team

  Never drive for FLEX again

  Going to take back that truck TODAY

  I checked the clock. My sixteen minutes was up. I hit the proper buttons to enter in my inspection results, threw that bad boy into third, and dumped the clutch. It was time to go.

  “Look, er. . .”

  “Charlie.”

  The gate-guard cocked an eyebrow at me. “That’s a man’s name.” He gave me the quick once-over that I’ve come to identify with someone checking me for signs of a sex-change.

  I bit back my sarcasm—I’ve never heard that one before. I really needed this man’s help. So instead, I just swallowed and took a slow breath.

  “We don’t take late loads.” The guard tapped a chewed pencil against his clipboard.

  I pressed my hands together, prayer-style, in front of my face, and gave him my saddest puppy-dog eyes. “Come on, please—I cut off like, half of Ontario to get here. I almost died three times.”

  He snuffed. “You’ll have to schedule a new appointment.”

  My heartbeat was racing, and I could hear the roaring in my ears. Any moment now, I was just going to lose it. “That could take days . . . weeks, even!”

  If I could have knelt in the driver’s seat, I would have. As far as I was concerned, this gate-guard was God Himself.

  His royal highness checked off something on his clipboard and shrugged. “What do you expect? You’re two hours late, and that’s not how Elijah Foods does business.”

  I scrambled.
“But the traffic . . . and the um, construction—”

  “Should have planned better.” He reached for the handle on his window, and I heard the heavy clunk of a death knell in the background.

  “Please. . . I’ll do anything.” My voice broke, and I felt hot tears well into my eyes. “You don’t understand. My DM is so pissed, I can’t lose this job. My boyfriend just broke up with me—he was supposed to come on the truck—”

  My vision was blurring. Any moment now, snot would start gushing out of my nose. I tried to connect with his eyes—was he even listening?

  His disgusted expression threw cold water over me. I felt my heart stop, one breath, two—and then a light-bulb went on in the back of my brain. I heard myself, the way I must sound to him, hell, the way I sounded to me—pathetic, broken, begging.

  Was that how I wanted to be seen?

  Was I going to let Luke ruin everything for me?

  Stop it. You’re better than this, and you’re making him uncomfortable. This isn’t going to get you anywhere.

  My gaze raced over his form. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but he was going to close that window, and then I’d be screwed. I took in the shagginess of his haircut, the weathered look of his hands. For a gate-guard, they were sure beat up—moonlight somewhere else, maybe? And there was the gold band on his finger.

  A wheel creaked to life in the back of my mind.

  There was a little stain on his shirt collar . . . food? Trying to feed a kid? And although the vest hid a lot of it, the shirt was pretty weathered too—

  I closed my eyes, took my last breath, and tried again.

  “Hey, look.” I tried to keep my voice calm, light. “It was wrong of me to go all emotional on you like that.”

  The cords on his neck settled back flat, and I knew I was on the right track. I shrugged nonchalantly, but my mind was flying. What are you afraid of? Losing . . . losing what? Security? “If my DM finds out that I was late on this appointment, I’ll get canned. I just got out of the academy, and I’ve never delivered here before. If I lose my job, I’m going to owe something like eight thousand dollars. I can’t let that happen—especially since I’m all alone.”