by Lois Lavrisa
“It gets my adrenaline going.” She tapped my arm.
“Take up jogging. That’ll rev you up,” I added, tapping her back. Francesca always sought out danger, while I was the incessant voice of reason.
“This is our last night together. I mean even Ken knew we had to make this night spectacular-right? He bought us the concert tickets and everything. So c’mon. Live a little? I know you hate anything that shakes up your safe little world. But please, for me?” She put her head on my shoulder.
It had been thoughtful of Ken to get us the concert tickets. And I know how tight money is for him. He’s in college, and soon off to medical school, and even with scholarships, there is still a lot he has to pay for. But he also knew how much Francesca meant to me, and that she’s moving tomorrow and this would be our last night together for a long time.
“What haven’t I done for you?” I sighed.
“Is that a yes? What can happen, right? I mean we can always leave.”
“One beer? But we go right after.” I patted her back, “You’re spoiled rotten.”
She squealed. “I knew you’d give in, you always do.”
“Call me a sucker.”
“Sucker.” Francesca hugged me.
We walked to the trucker who had just stubbed out a cigarette. He gave us a thumbs up. “You gals ready?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
We followed him to the back lot. Several big rigs were parked, engines growling, on a large expanse of gravel.
The trucker opened the door to his silver cab. The driver’s side of the cab had a license sticker from California and an airbrushed design depicting a scantily clad woman sitting astride a horse, with the words ‘Born to be Wild’ written above. Alongside was an airbrushed picture of a boy and a dog with the caption ‘Man’s best friend.’
Francesca pushed me toward the door. “Do you mind getting in first, ‘cause I want to sit in the middle?”
I climbed the two metal grated steps into the cab. When I hitched up my leg, my jacket caught on the door. I tugged it loose but it tore. Francesca followed as I scooted to the window on the passenger side of the cab. The trucker got in last and slammed the heavy door closed. I tried to evaluate the damage to my silver windbreaker. A piece of the fabric had been torn off.
“Here’s a couple cold ones. Since you two have gloves on, I’ll open them for you,” the trucker said as he popped the lids and handed a beer to both Francesca and me. We both took a swig. I’d rather have had hot chocolate.
The inside of the spacious sleeper cab was warm and smelled of motor oil, cigarettes and Fritos. Fast food wrappers and crushed soda cans littered the floor. On the driver’s side visor, above the grimy windshield, were stickers of naked men and women having sex. Only the men were grinning.
As I situated myself, I kicked something on the floor. I looked down and saw what looked like a long steel rod. Or gun barrel.
I began to sweat. Bile bubbled up from my stomach. Every cell in my body stood at full alert.
Leaning toward Francesca, I whispered, “I think there’s a gun or something.”
“Where?” Francesca asked.
I pointed down by my feet, and in a low voice said, “There.”
Francesca frowned. “I don’t think it’s a gun.”
The trucker started the engine. He cleared his throat and looked over at us.
“This whole thing is giving me the creeps,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Not yet.” Francesca squeezed my hand. “Trust me.”
The trucker said, “Here Blondie, scoot over by me. I’ll show you how to toot the horn.”
Francesca giggled and leaned in close to the trucker. “This?”
“Here let me help you.” The trucker reached his arm around Francesca and tugged her close to him.
Francesca pulled the horn. “Happy birthday to me!” She pulled again.
“So how old are you Blondie?” the trucker asked.
“Eighteen tonight,” She said as she pointed to a button I had given her that read ‘Eighteen going on twenty-one.’ She wore it on the lapel of her jacket. She took it off and showed him the button.
“Legal huh?” He put the button on the dash.
“Not being legal has never stopped me,” Francesca added.
“You’re a wild little thing aren’t you?” he added.
“No, she’s a good Catholic girl. We made our first communion together,” I added, hoping that throwing that in there would take away his thoughts of her being wild. Briefly, I thought of Father O’Doul at our first communion, and also how kind he had been to me my aunt Estelle over the years. He often called to check on us, or he would stop by to drop off a new cookbook or recipe for Estelle.
Francesca laughed. “Yes, I’m the Virgin Mary herself.” She pulled the horn again.
The high-pitched shriek of the horn echoed in the night.
I glanced around at the other trucks parked next to his rig. No one came out to see what the racket was. As far as I was concerned, we were done. This whole situation gave me the creeps, big time. “Thanks for the beer. We’re going to get on our way now.”
“What’s your hurry, girls? I’ve got a son your age, it’s his birthday too. He’s in the diner right now.” The trucker motioned toward the building behind us.
“Is he cute?” Francesca asked.
I jabbed her in the side.
“He’s as handsome as his old man,” the trucker said as he rubbed his chin.
“We need to get back home because it’s very late. I mean early in the morning, and …” I stumbled. Words were flying around my brain screaming, ‘Get out, get out.’
“So tell me about your son,” Francesca interrupted me.
I shot her the evil eye.
“I was thinking you girls could help me out. You see, he’s still a virgin. Maybe we could all do a little partying together? Help him become a man.” The trucker winked.
“We’ve had all the partying we can take,” I said as I pulled my jacket closed and slid closer to the door. “Thank you for the beer. But we have to be on our way.”
“I guess we should head out,” Francesca added. Her eyebrows were scrunched, her mouth drawn in a pinch as she fidgeted with her hands. “This whole thing has gotten too weird.”
“C’mon, now Blondie, you can’t go. We’re just getting started.” He grabbed Francesca’s breast.
Francesca jerked away as she whacked his hand off her breast. “Back off Mr. Happy Hands.”
The dark cab felt like it was shrinking. All I could think about was escaping. I wrapped my fingers around the door handle next to me. I felt the cold sticky metal handle and jiggled it.
He lunged at Francesca, taking another swipe at her chest.
“No means no.” Francesca slapped his face.
“You’re pissing me off. I’m not letting you or your mousy friend go without giving me a little something,” he snarled in a low voice as he massaged his cheek.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened and my head spun. Yanking Francesca’s arm, I murmured, “Jump out my door.” I wiggled and pushed the door handle. Nothing happened. I started banging on the window. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as my body overheated.
“That door is broken.” The trucker grinned showing his tobacco-stained teeth. He hit his door. “This is the only exit.”
Francesca and I locked eyes.
“Now if you ladies do me a little favor, I’ll let you out my door no problem. Do we have a deal?” He dove forward clutching Francesca’s shoulders, pinning her down on the seat.
Francesca grunted as she struggled under him. “Get off me.”
“Hey, you asked for it. You came on to me. You knew what you were getting into,” the man yelled.
“A beer. Not this,” Francesca screamed.
I balled my hands into fists and pounded on his back. A piercing scream left my throat, shredded and raw. “Stop it!” I continued shouting as I battered the
trucker, my fist hammering into his spine. He smelled vile, a combination of sweat and tobacco. The sounds of screams and heavy breathing resonated in the cab.
Francesca kicked and pummeled him as she struggled to get out from under him.
He fell sideways on the seat. Francesca crawled under the steering wheel.
Sweat beaded on his greasy face as he reached into his jacket. In the moonlight streaming through the window, the blade of a knife glistened.
Francesca shrieked. She reached up and grabbed his arm.
Turning, I pushed my back against the door, pulled my knees to my chest then kicked my legs out at the trucker’s arm.
He dropped the knife. “You bitches are going to pay.”
As quick as I could, I seized the steel rod from the floor.
Francesca snatched it out of my hands and slammed it against the trucker’s forehead.
He reached for the weapon in her hand. Francesca thrust the rod at his skull again like a pool player hitting a cue ball. Crack. His head fell with a sickening thud against the steering wheel, his body went limp and lay motionless.
My mouth sprung wide open. I froze.
Blood trickled from his ear.
“Oh my God!” I screamed.
“Go!” Francesca shrieked. Hair stuck on her perspiration soaked face. She looked over at me with tears in her eyes.
She panted and pushed the trucker aside.
We had to crawl over his limp body, crouching between his back and the seat as we maneuvered our way out of the cab.
Francesca tugged my arm. “Keep moving.”
She flung open the driver’s side door. We jumped out and ran.
The cool night air hit me like a blast from a freezer. The sound of my heart echoed in my ears. My face was chilled and my clothes were soaked with sweat. My stomach cramped as I hunched over and vomited onto the gravel.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry I got you into this,” Francesca said as she pulled my hair back. “But we have to go. Can you make it?”
I nodded and stood up.
Francesca’s BMW glowed under the fluorescent parking light. She fobbed open the locks on her car doors and we hopped in. I glanced behind to see someone standing outside the diner. Did they see us? I prayed they’d find the trucker and call for help. Maybe he was alive. But in my gut I knew he was dead.
The hum of the car engine and the swooshing of the wipers filled the air. My head spun, my stomach felt like it was filled with rocks, and the smell of the car’s heater made me queasy. I focused on the road as the highway’s white dotted line disappeared under the car.
“We have to make a pact.” Francesca said firmly. “This never happened. It has to be sealed between you and me.”
“But …” I tried to stave off the tossing in my stomach and the hammering in my head.
“Never.” She stuck out her hand. “You have to promise me.”
My body trembled.
“Absolutely until the end of time,” Francesca insisted.
Tears ran down my face as I shook her hand.
One dead body.
Two girls with a secret.
Chapter Two
July, four years later
We were docked at the pavilion, on Round Lake. The tour company we worked for ran the mail boat and a Jet Ski rental company. There were two Jet Skis tied close to the mail boat, available for employees to use.
A breeze triggered goose bumps from my arms to my legs as Mark Stevens and I readied the mail boat for the Friday morning eight o’clock Round Lake tour. It was a well-paying summer job that we both loved.
The sun peeked through the clouds draped over the fifty-two hundred acre lake. A few fishermen cast their lines as small waves nudged their boats up and down. A flock of screaming birds overhead broke the early morning stillness.
Dew had collected on the white folding chairs lining the decks on the double deck boat. Taking a rag, I wiped them down, aisle by aisle, making sure that they were dry and clean for the passengers.
Mark and Samuel Quinn, Mark’s captain apprentice, checked the boat gauges. For the past few weeks while Mark trained Samuel, I had been training Annie Beckman to take over as the jumper. Annie had practiced her jumps dozens of times with just Mark, Samuel and I watching. Today I thought it would be good to let her do a few jumps in front of the tourists. While we got set up, I had her restock the coolers with beverages.
A few minutes later, Mark shouted, “Everyone ready?”
“Aye, aye captain,” I responded, straightening the chairs into rows and putting a trashcan near the bow of the boat. “By the way, thanks for saving Estelle’s bridge game last night. If it weren’t for you killing that wasp, I think they’d still be locked in the closet.”
He smiled and placed the captain’s hat on his head. Tufts of red hair poked out beneath the brim. “No problem. It was easier than getting that snake off your porch the last time. He was a slippery fellow.”
“You’re our superman. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I said.
“You’re going to have to make do without me soon. I don’t think your fiancé likes me. He won’t want me around after the wedding.”
“Ken feels threatened, I guess. Plus he’s got a double dose of ego. One, he’s a male and two, he’s a doctor. But you and I’ve been best friends since college. You’re always going to be in my life, whether he likes you or not.” I zipped my windbreaker over the top of my white polo shirt.
For the past few years, Mark had heard all about my love life. It was a two-way street. I was his go-to girl for the female perspective on things. I pulled my hair into a ponytail. “Speaking of Ken. Maybe I should wait.” Ken continued to be attentive and protective the first few months of our engagement. It made me feel needed and loved. But over the past few months, he had changed. He seemed distant and distracted. This made me feel like he had turned into a person I no longer knew. Yet, I understood that he was under a lot of stress, and I hoped that he would be back to normal once the hospital’s expansion project was complete. Which could take years. And I had very limited patience.
“For the wedding?” Mark asked as he walked on the lower level. At six-foot-four, his head nearly scraped the boat’s ceiling.
“Yeah. It’s been bothering me for some time now. How can I marry someone who doesn’t like you, too?” I asked. As the words came out of my mouth, it struck me that I really meant it. Mark was more important to me than Ken. Not good.
“It takes me a while to grow on people. I just haven’t sprouted on Ken yet,” Mark said.
“I guess so. But you better start germinating soon. You’ve got less than a year before I tie the knot.” I squeezed his arm. “You know I love you, Big Red.”
“Love you too.” Mark rang the boat’s bell, announcing departure. Samuel lowered the gangplank.
Mark pushed the boat’s gate open and the tourists made their way on board. He and Annie collected their tickets. “Good morning, watch your step.”
“Good morning.” I smiled at the passengers as I helped them get situated.
Samuel and Annie untied and then hauled the ropes from the dock. After the last passenger boarded, they pulled in the plank.
“CiCi, and crew, ready to go?” Mark called from the speaker.
I gave him thumbs up. He nodded from the control room in the back of the boat. It was comforting to see his face behind the window, that goofy crooked smile I loved so much.
Mark rang the bell again, and then pulled the mail boat away from the pavilion dock as we headed toward our first delivery. Passengers talked as the boat chugged through the blue-green water. Annie offered sodas to the passengers, while Samuel helped Mark. I grabbed one sack full of mail and an empty sack for mail I would collect. Dampness hung in the air. The two dozen tourists were seated on the lower level, instead of sitting on the breezier upper deck.
Mark’s voice came over the speaker: “Good morning, and welcome aboard the historic Round Lake mail boat. One
of only two still operating in North America. I’m Captain Mark. I’ll be narrating this mail run tour on this fully restored 1960’s double-decker steamboat. Next to me is my assistant Samuel. He’ll be taking over as captain next summer. The mail jumper is Cecelia Coe. We call her CiCi. Watch as CiCi leaps off the boat onto each dock, delivers mail, collects the outgoing and then jumps back on while we are still moving. Yes, ladies and gentleman, this is a highly skilled athletic feat. She performs it flawlessly. And our new jumper is Annie. We’re going to let her try out a stop or two. While they jump, I will narrate histories of the famous mansions as we pass them. Round Lake is known for the dozens of affluent families who built sprawling mansions on this picturesque lake. Now look on your left. You will see the Wrigley Mansion, the very same of chewing gum and baseball field fame. This historic Round Lake Landmark was built in the late 1920’s…”
I tuned out the rest of his speech; I could say it in my sleep. I walked around to the side of the boat to line up the mailbag. Sorting out the first delivery, I grabbed a handful of mail. I held onto the waist high bar that stretched the length of the right side of the boat. I used it to hang onto while waiting to jump off the bow. I would use it again when I jumped back on the stern.
I hitched my leg over the railing-and then swung the other one after. Standing on the running board, I readied myself for the first stop.
The first dock was a few feet away. Small waves lapped against the shore. Nearby, a cluster of ducks bobbed for their morning meal. Positioning myself, I jumped off the boat and landed firmly on the white wooden dock.
With practiced precision, I flipped open the mailbox, collected outgoing correspondence, and slid in a handful of mail. I shut the lid, then quickly turned and ran and jumped back onto the stern of the boat. The group on board clapped.
In Round Lake, I was known us as “the jumper,” and Mark as “the captain,” celebrities in our speck of the world. Mark continued with his narration. I jumped on and off the boat delivering mail as the tourists oohed and aahed over the magnificent mansions fronting the lake.
