The Open Road

by Quinn Loftis

  “There you have it, America,” he said when he’d traced the route all the way back around to New Orleans. “That’s my plan for right now. Nothing set in stone. That’s the beauty of having no job and no family, I guess. I can change my plans whenever I want. I can go wherever I want. I can do whatever I want.”

  Charity saw some of the sadness from the earlier videos creep back into his eyes, but he shook it away.

  “If I stick to this route, I shouldn’t have to backtrack too much, and I can get most of the trip done over the summer. Now, there is one key thing I need to tell you about this trip. I already know there are going to be some bad emotional parts along the route that are really going to test my resolve. I’ve been dreading this part, but one of these places is coming up quickly so there’s no getting around it. During the tough times, I’m really going to need your help. I need you guys to flood the comments section for me. Keep me going. It’d really mean a lot to me.

  “The first bad spot is Las Vegas. Bethany and I took a trip there about a year after we were married. It was a long weekend, just the two of us, before the girls were born. We had a blast and Bethany absolutely loved it. She doesn’t even gamble but she loved all the sights and sounds, the lights and shows. Right before the accident, we’d been talking about going back. I’d even priced some plane tickets and hotels, but we hadn’t settled on a weekend. Visiting without her now, that’s going to be tough. And, uh, if I’m not much mistaken, I should be there around our wedding anniversary. I could alter the trip, I guess, to avoid that, but I won’t. I think there must be some kind of cosmic reason I’ll be there during our anniversary.”

  The familiar tears welled up in Jason’s eyes, but he kept on going.

  “I’ll kinda tell you guys when I’m coming up on a bad spot. Florida will certainly be one. That’s where we took our honeymoon. And finally…” Jason paused. “And finally … well, there’s a reason I saved Louisiana for last. I’ll just leave it at that for now.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head.

  “But here’s another way you all can help me right now. I’m going into Texas next. Bethany and I had been to Texas many times. We both have family there. I debated stopping in to see some of them, but I’ve decided against it. I don’t want to explain what I’m doing at this point. It’s kind of strange, really. I’m putting these videos on the internet for the entire world to see, and that doesn’t bother me. But the thought of facing someone I know right now, a friend or family member, just terrifies me. It’s like I kind of need to put our old life behind me. Everything we were together, the people we knew, all our hopes and dreams. I know I’m rambling right now and none of that makes any sense.

  “Anyway, back to how you can help. I’ve got two choices now. I’m going to end up in New Mexico, but how I get there is still to be determined. I can keep going west, straight through the panhandle of Texas and on to Albuquerque, New Mexico, or I can go south from here into Austin and San Antonio, and then turn west, which will put me in El Paso. I’m going to let you guys decide. Bethany and I went to Austin and San Antonio many times, and they’re both great cities. We loved them, but neither of us had any strong ties to them. So, if you send me down there, I’ll have a great time, I’m sure, eat a ton of BBQ, probably go hit up some hot spots in downtown Austin, and I’ll definitely stop by the Alamo, of course. I’ve never been to El Paso before so I have no clue what I’d do there, and the same goes for Albuquerque. So that’s really the choice you have to make for me, America. Where do you want me to go? Albuquerque or El Paso? I’m posting the poll down below, so make your voice heard. Tomorrow morning, wherever you guys say to go, that’s where I’ll go. Until tomorrow, I’ll see you on the open road.”

  The image on the screen froze as the video stopped. “Wait a second,” said Brent, now ignoring the basketball game. “So, this guy’s wife and kids died and now he’s driving an RV across America to all fifty states to honor their memory?”

  “Yep,” Charity replied. “Quit his job and left his dog with his brother.”

  “Wow,” said Brent. “How did they die?”

  “Tractor trailer accident.”

  “Damn,” said Brent. “That sucks. Gotta give the man some credit. That takes some stones.”

  “What do you mean?” Charity asked.

  “Just dropping everything like that and taking off. I can see where he’s coming from. It’s inspirational in a way.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I was only half-kidding earlier when I said I’d kill myself if something ever happened to you,” Brent said. “I can’t even guess what I’d do if I didn’t have you in my life. Telling the world to go pound sand and taking off across America? Well, that seems about as good a plan as any that I could think of.”

  “It’s certainly romantic,” said Charity.

  “I don’t know about that,” Brent said. “It’s damned desperate is what it is. The man’s on the edge. Anyone can see that. Which is just how any man worth his salt is supposed to feel if he loses the woman he loves. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next video is him driving himself off a cliff in that RV or crashing it into a school bus without his seatbelt on.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Charity said, taken aback. She was shocked at Brent’s words. Her fiancé wasn’t really one to speak about his emotions. If he said he loved you, he meant it. If anything changed, he’d let you know. He rarely got overly emotional about anything. Now she was getting a rare glimpse into a softer side of Brent that he usually kept well hidden. Apparently, Jason’s video had stirred something within her fiancé.

  “Ha,” Brent replied. “You have no idea what he’ll do. You mark my words, little girl. This guy is going to get a whole lot worse before he gets better—if he gets better.”

  “Don’t call me little girl, you know I hate that.”

  “Yes, I know, which is exactly why I do it.”

  He grinned and placed a kiss upon her cheek. She loved that grin. If he kept this up, the next-to-last item on that mental to-do list was going to happen right now.

  “More wine?” Charity asked. Without waiting for him to answer, she hopped up, put her phone in her back pocket, grabbed their glasses, and sauntered into the kitchen. She turned to make sure he noticed her backside swaying as she walked away. He didn’t disappoint. She grabbed the bottle and pulled the replacement cork. She’d just filled one glass and was about to pour the second when she felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. Charity pulled it out and saw a text message from Samantha.

  Back in the living room, Brent heard the sound of breaking glass and his fiancé yell out an f-bomb. He jumped up and ran into the kitchen where he saw her holding the top half of a bottle of wine. The bottom of half lay shattered across the kitchen counter where she’d smashed it. White wine was splattered everywhere. In her other hand, Charity held her phone. Both hands were shaking.

  “What the hell?” Brent asked.

  Charity looked up at him, and there was fury in her eyes. “Derek is back.”

  Chapter Eight

  Brent dropped his own f-bomb. Not because Derek was back, or because he was going to have to clean white wine from half the surfaces in the kitchen, but because Derek’s return meant that the schedule for the rest of Brent’s day, and probably the schedule for many days in the future, were going to be hopelessly wrecked.

  “Let’s go. I’ll drive,” he said, gently removing the broken wine bottle from Charity’s grasp and tossing it into the garbage. “You’re not going over there alone.”

  “Samantha says he’s already gone.”

  “Still, better to be safe than sorry. We’ll make sure and I’ll drop you off. Text me later and I’ll come pick you up.”

  Charity nodded, rinsing off the spilled wine then drying her hand, slipping on some shoes, and grabbing her purse.

  They drove to Samantha’s apartment in silence. Brent could feel the anger coming off Charity in waves. He drove around the building looking f
or any suspicious vehicles. Derek’s old truck wasn’t there, but they had no way of knowing if he’d gotten a new one in the seven months since they’d seen him. Samantha’s beat-up brown sedan was in the numbered spot assigned to her apartment.

  “Do you want me to come in?” Brent asked as he pulled into a visitor’s spot.

  “No, it’s fine,” Charity said. “I’ve talked her off this ledge many times before. I can handle it.”

  “Really? Because her past history with Derek suggests otherwise.”

  “Ha-ha,” she said, flipping him the bird before leaning over and giving him a quick kiss. “Thank you for this. I know it’s kind of a pain in your butt.”

  “Are you kidding me? I was facing an entire afternoon trapped on a couch watching a basketball game with a beautiful blonde stuck to my side. Who wants that?”

  “It means a lot to me,” she said with a mock pouty face.

  “Your friends are my friends.”

  “The thing we talked about earlier…” Charity began.

  Brent grinned. “You mean that little wedding thing?”

  “Yeah, that,” she said. “I want you to know that I’m not going to let this Derek situation derail us again. The wedding’s going to happen, and I’m going to have my maid of honor there with me every step of the way. I don’t care what Derek does.”

  “Oh yeah? How do you plan on accomplishing that?”

  “As much I’d love to shoot him and dump his body in the river, I think that might complicate the wedding plans in other ways. Instead, I’m going to keep this girl so busy with wedding details she’ll forget all about that loser.”

  “Do you really think that will work?” Brent asked, unable to hide the skepticism in his voice.

  “You underestimate my devious side, which is a good thing. If we’re going to be married, I don’t want you knowing all my tricks just yet. I may have to use them on you sometime.”

  “Can’t wait,” he replied, leaning over and kissing her deeper now. He pulled away and admired her full lips. “I’m going to go home and try to figure out some of those tricks. I might just think up some of my own. Text me when you’re ready for me to come pick you up.”

  “Okay, wish me luck,” she said, hopping out of the car.

  Brent watched her bounce up the steps to Samantha’s second floor apartment. He admired her form until he saw the door open and Charity rush inside. Then he cursed his bad luck. He knew an afternoon romantic interlude that was sure to be extremely pleasurable had just slipped through his grasp. At least he’d have more time to study constitutional law. Oh, goody.

  He also knew that, despite Charity’s best efforts, there was no way Derek’s presence wasn’t going to hamper their recently renewed wedding plans. From what he’d heard about Derek, the man sounded like a ticking time bomb. It was only a matter of time before he went off. Brent just hoped when Derek finally did blow that Charity was well out of the blast zone and the damage was minimal.

  * * *

  Samantha opened the door on the second knock, and Charity practically leapt across the threshold, wrapping the girl in a tight hug.

  “What the hell did he want?” Charity asked when she finally released her friend.

  “I don’t know,” said Sam shakily. Sam could see in Charity’s face that her friend noticed her bloodshot eyes. Samantha wasn’t going to pretend she hadn’t been crying—ugly crying—ever since Derek left. Sam was still in the clothes she’d worn drinking and dancing the previous evening. Her hair was a mess, and the tears had caused her mascara to run, leaving twin black trails down her cheeks. Worst of all, she smelled like vomit.

  “I didn’t think you were in such bad shape when I dropped you off last night. But I can tell by the stain on your shirt and the smell of puke on your breath you had a rough morning,” said Charity.

  “I would have been fine, but when Derek showed up, it kind of all hit me, and I threw up on his shoes,” she replied weakly.

  Charity laughed wickedly. “Oh, that’s too perfect. What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything. He just yelled and jumped backward. When he did, I slammed the door and locked it. Then I texted you.”

  “Good for you, girl. I bet that pissed him off.”

  Samantha nodded, remembering the fury in Derek’s eyes as she stared at him through the peephole. “He pounded on the door for a long time, begging me to open it, but I didn’t answer it.”

  “Let me guess. I bet he apologized over and over for what he did?”

  “Yes.” Sam nodded again.

  “And he said he’s changed?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it’s for real this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know that’s total bullshit, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re never, ever, under any circumstances, in this universe or any other, even if you are the last two people on earth, going to get back together with him, are you?”

  Samantha shook her head.

  “Not even if the U.S. government kidnaps you and sends you and Derek to Mars to repopulate, and the entire fate of humanity depends upon whether or not you get back together with Derek?”

  “Never.”

  “Good girl,” Charity said again. “That’s all I needed to hear. Now, it’s well past time you had a shower. You reek. I’ll order us some Chinese delivery and we’ll binge watch home remodeling shows. How does that sound?”

  Samantha nodded and marched to her room to find some clothes that didn’t smell like alcohol, smoke, and upchuck. She decided right then to burn the red shirt she was wearing. Apparently, wearing a garment associated with a demon somehow supernaturally called the denizen of hell out of her past and caused him to show up at her doorstep. Samantha couldn’t risk making that mistake again. She could never be too careful where Derek was concerned.

  A few minutes later, Samantha turned the shower knob as far to the left as it would go and let the scalding water wash over her. She hoped it might somehow wash the memories of Derek away, along with the grime and ickiness she’d accumulated at the bar. Unfortunately, the bar grime rinsed away, but the memories were far too ingrained. She’d need to run herself through a car wash to get rid of the filth that was Derek. When she’d opened the door and seen his face after so many months, their entire relationship flashed before her eyes in an instant, both the good and bad. The night he’d emotionally eviscerated her in the coffee shop parking lot was chief among them.

  The worst part about that night was that she’d never gotten to tell him how she truly felt. She’d never had the opportunity to tell him what a loser he was. She’d been cheated. She’d been deprived of the chance to stand up like the strong woman she was and tell him enough is enough. She was through with him. That was how it was supposed to happen, not the other way around. After being beaten down for so long, she wanted a chance to stand up to her abuser. But deep down, she didn’t know if she was strong enough. She was still unsure if she would have ever been able to break it off with Derek.

  Samantha began to sob. She felt so helpless, so powerless. She hoped the sound of the shower would muffle her sobs so that Charity wouldn’t hear her through the apartment’s paper-thin walls. The couple in the apartment below her repeatedly thwarted the walls’ meager acoustic dampening powers with their lovemaking and domestic violence, both of which was engaged in with equal enthusiasm.

  The good memories with Derek were also impossible to ignore. She remembered all the times Derek had been so sweet to her. She recalled every kind thing he’d ever said and every gift he’d ever bought her. She remembered the plans they’d made together. She heard again every promise of devotion he’d made to her and cursed herself for ever believing any one of them was true. She’d desperately hoped they were true. Every time Derek pledged his love, every time he said he’d really changed this time, she hoped against hope with every fiber of her being that he was being honest. But he never was.

  It wa
s half an hour later and the hot water had long gone cold when Samantha dragged her shivering body out of the shower. Physically, she felt better. Emotionally, she was still a wreck. She toweled off and threw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. When she emerged from the bathroom, she saw the Chinese food had already arrived.

  “Um, no,” said Charity when she saw her friend. “Get back into the room and put on something else. Sweatpants are for pathetic losers who haven’t gotten over their exes. That’s not you. I don’t care if we aren’t going out. I wanna see you in something cute, now.”

  “I’m over him, I promise,” replied Samantha.

  “The sweatpants say otherwise. Sweatpants are the garment of the damned. Until further notice, casual dress will consist of yoga pants, at the very least. I’d prefer holey jeans, but I’ll take what I can get. There will be absolutely no moping, no pining, no brooding, no sulking, no second-guessing yourself in any way, is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Sam, dropping her head and stomping back into her room. A few seconds later, she reappeared wearing a pair of jeans that both fit and made her butt look cute.

  “Much better,” said Charity. “Now we can eat. If you try a stunt like that again, I’m hauling your butt right back to Club Sprocket.”

  Samantha threw up her hands. “No way. I’m going to need a month to recover, at least.” She grabbed a box of chow mein and plopped down on the couch. The food smelled delicious. She’d completely forgotten she’d had nothing to eat since their dinner the night before. Sam snagged an egg roll, as well, and the first bite almost gave her a foodgasm. “You are the best, Charity. I mean it,” she said through a mouthful of food.