“But we’re not near an exit.”
In the backseat, Marnie came to life. “What’s going on?”
Laverne, barely conscious, groaned.
Before anyone could answer, the car faded. It was like, Rita thought, a huge windup toy grinding to a halt. She was able to coast to the side of the road before it died completely. The car thudded over the line that delineated the edge of the lane and came to a complete stop.
“You can’t stop here,” Marnie said. “Someone’s going to hit us.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Rita said sharply. It wasn’t like her to snap at someone, but the circumstances forced it out of her. She’d driven all day, while the rest of them slept and read and looked at their phones, and suddenly they were criticizing what she was doing? “I lost power.”
“Is it a dead battery?” Marnie said.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. The battery is fairly new.”
“It’s the alternator,” Jazzy said with conviction.
“What makes you so sure?” Rita asked, wondering if Jazzy’s psychic messages included mechanical mishaps.
“This exact same thing happened once to me and a boyfriend when I was in high school,” Jazzy said. “I wound up being like three hours late getting home. Man, was my dad mad. I was grounded for like a month.” She shook her head at the memory.
“So now what do we do?” Marnie said.
Rita turned to Jazzy. “Do your spirits have any suggestions?”
“No, I’m not getting anything.”
Marnie said, “Speaking of spirits, it would have been nice if they warned us about this ahead of time. We could have had the alternator replaced before we left.”
Jazzy said, “You know, this is exactly why I hate telling people about being psychic. I swear to you that I don’t have any control.” The mood in the car changed. Jazzy, who was usually upbeat, looked irritated.
“Oh, never mind,” Marnie said. “I just thought I’d mention it.”
But Jazzy was on a tear now. “The spirits—they come, they go. It’s not usually convenient. And they nag at me and sometimes I don’t know what in the hell they want. Some days it feels like being spiritually stalked, if you want to know the truth.”
“Whoa,” Marnie said. “I’m sorry to have upset you.”
“I’m a little sensitive about it, is all.”
Rita reached over and gave her a motherly pat. “Don’t worry about it. We’re all tired.”
“And I really have to pee,” Marnie said, something that surprised no one.
“So what are we going to do?” Jazzy said.
Rita ticked off a mental list of strikes against their situation: it was late at night, dark, they were from out of state and not entirely sure where they were. What did someone do under these circumstances? Call the state trooper or 911? Look up towing services in the area? She wasn’t sure.
In the lane next to them, only inches away, a pickup truck roared past. To make matters worse, the driver blasted his horn in one continuous scream as it went by. As if they were at fault for being stranded by the side of the road.
The noise woke Laverne, who raised her head in confusion. “What’s going on?” she asked groggily. She rubbed her eyes like a child and blinked.
“The car broke down,” Marnie said. “The alternator is shot, we think.”
“Did you call Triple A?” Laverne asked, the first good suggestion they’d heard yet.
Rita groaned. “I used to have it, but I didn’t renew my membership.” There had been no need to have it; she only drove locally and always had her phone with her, so she had let it lapse. But maybe it could still be helpful. She knew from experience that AAA covered the driver, not the car. “Does anyone else have it?”
Jazzy and Marnie shook their heads. Laverne said, “I don’t even drive.”
Marnie said, “I thought about getting it after Brian died, but I never got around to it.”
“It would come in handy right about now,” Rita said, her voice weary.
A few cars whizzed past in quick succession, perilously close. “You should put the four-way flashers on,” Laverne said.
“We. Have. No. Power.” Rita didn’t know how to make it any clearer.
“Oh,” Laverne said, and sank back in her seat.
“I don’t know about any of you,” Marnie said, “but I have to go so bad I’m about to explode. Jazzy, do you still have those napkins from McDonalds?”
Jazzy opened the glove compartment and handed a wad over the back of the seat. Marnie grabbed her purse, opened the door, and headed into the darkness.
“What in the world is she doing?” Rita said.
“Going to pee would be my guess,” Laverne said.
With no lights on the expressway and no headlights, the only illumination came from the almost full moon and Jazzy’s cell phone. They watched Marnie maneuver her way down the embankment and through the tall grass until she merged with the darkness beyond and they couldn’t see her anymore.
“If this was a horror movie, we’d never see her again,” Jazzy said, brightly.
“Don’t even talk like that,” Rita said.
Jazzy turned her attention to her phone. “I’m going to start Googling emergency roadside service in Colorado. Someone will come.” She sounded confident, but Rita wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marnie hadn’t urinated outdoors since Girl Scout camp when she was twelve, but in retrospect she was grateful the scout leader had covered the subject. She walked far enough that she was certain she was out of view of the expressway, but she could still sort of see the car on the incline above by the glow of Jazzy’s phone in the front seat. Every now and then a car drove past. Should they be flagging one down? Maybe the rest of the group would figure out a solution in her absence.
She was more upset about the car problem than she let on. It seemed personal, this delay in the trip. Like the universe was conspiring against her. Or maybe it was Kimberly. She didn’t even know the woman, but over the years she’d given Kimberly a lot of power. Brian talked fondly of her and still sang her praises years after they’d been divorced. How often did you hear that from a divorced man? She always wondered if he secretly pined for Kimberly, if he’d take her back in a minute, tossing Marnie out to the curb without a second thought. Even though the idea was ridiculous, she felt like Kimberly chose to live in Las Vegas knowing full well that Marnie would never set foot on an airplane. It made Kimberly untouchable and unreachable for Marnie.
When Brian and Troy went to visit her, always flying, Marnie was left behind. Brian insisted it was just for Troy, that the boy should see his parents together. But why was it that Kimberly hardly ever came to Wisconsin? And when she did come to visit, why was it she never came to the house (which was probably just as well)? Instead, Troy and Brian met up with Kimberly at her hotel.
Marnie would have suspected that Brian was still romantically involved with Kimberly, if not for the fact that Troy was there. Nothing got past that boy. Brian always said that including Marnie would make Kimberly uncomfortable, something Marnie at first thought was flattering. Later she wondered, though. Was it that Kimberly felt replaced by Marnie, or that she just didn’t want to deal with her? She speculated that Kimberly, having moved to Las Vegas, now felt superior to her and the entire state as well. She probably told her new friends that Midwesterners were dull and shapeless. That all they ate was potato salad and bratwurst. That weekends were spent going to gun shows and monster truck rallies. Kimberly was all about glitz and glam. Marnie had never seen a bad photo of Kimberly, and she’d looked at all of them, trying to find one, just one, that was even a little bit unflattering. No luck. Brian took plenty of photos on their summer trips, and in every one—it didn’t matter if Kimberly was eating or talking or laughing—she looked beautiful. It was unnatural, really, for a woman to be that photogenic.
Marnie finished her business and then zipped her shorts and tossed the d
amp napkins off to the side into the tall grass. Biodegradable, thank God. No need to feel guilty about littering. She opened her purse and took out her antibacterial hand sanitizer and squirted some into her hand, then rubbed her palms together. Once she was done, Marnie walked slowly back to the car, feeling her way back so as to avoid the odd rock or bump in the ground, not wanting to add the tragedy of a fall on top of everything else. She had enough problems already, although it occurred to her that showing up in Las Vegas in a cast might be a dramatic way of illustrating her emotional pain.
She heard the rumble before she saw the lights; over the embankment and behind the car she saw a group of motorcycles, no, a gang of motorcycles pull up to Rita’s car. Marnie froze. There were four bikers, and now they were on both sides of the vehicle, two of them having pulled around to the front. Their machines were loud—athumpa, athumpa, athumpa. The smell of exhaust filled the air. A bug flew in front of her face and she swatted at it, suddenly aware that her legs had a few itchy spots.
The motorcyclists shut off their machines, and one of the men came around to the driver’s side. Marnie craned her neck. He was a big man with broad shoulders and a confident stride. He wore a dark-colored jacket and had a red bandanna wrapped around his head, his helmet tucked under his arm. He leaned against the car, his face aimed down at the window. She couldn’t make out the words, but his voice sounded more calm than threatening. She walked up the incline, the weight of her purse pulling at her shoulder. One of the men did a double take when he spotted her walk up over the berm. It must have looked like she’d appeared out of nowhere. Before she could get back into the car, Jazzy opened her door and came out the passenger side. “Hey, Marnie,” she called out, waving her arm. “Guess what? Help has arrived.”
The men got off their cycles and clustered around the front of the car. One of them turned on his bike’s headlights for illumination; another gestured to Rita to pop the hood. Jazzy stood next to the group, telling the story of the car failure with exaggerated gestures. She said, “And the next thing you know, we had no power and the car was dead by the side of the road. I mean, it was dead. Nothing worked. I think it’s the alternator.”
Laverne came out now, eager to see what was going on. She slammed the car door and came up to Marnie and grabbed her arm. “Isn’t this exciting?” she said. “I think they’re Hells Angels or something.”
Marnie took a closer look at the men, their heads bent over the engine conferring among themselves. It was true their bikes were huge—Harley-Davidsons if she had to guess—but nothing about them said they were part of a gang. Three of them looked to be in their forties or fifties. Only one wore a leather jacket. The youngest of the group, a man of about twenty-five, wore a T-shirt under a tattered denim vest with khaki shorts. His right forearm sported a prominent skull tattoo, but it looked more cartoony than menacing. He looked up at Marnie and smiled as if he knew she’d been sizing him up. “It’s a good thing our dart tournament was tonight or we wouldn’t have been out this way.”
“Good thing,” Marnie said, not entirely convinced.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said. “My dad knows all about cars.” He gestured to the big guy, who had his head ducked down under the hood.
“Glad to hear it,” she said, giving him the thumbs-up. Marnie leaned down and whispered to Laverne, “I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think they’re Hells Angels.”
Laverne craned her neck to see. “They look like Hells Angels to me.”
The big man shut the hood of the car and said, “I think you’re right in saying it’s the alternator, although we won’t know for sure until morning.” Now Rita got out of the car to talk to the men. She waved Marnie and Laverne over to join the conversation. All for one and one for all.
“Thank you for taking a look,” Rita said. “Are you familiar with the area? Is there a mechanic shop we can call for a tow?”
“You’re not going to get anyone to come out here tonight, ma’am,” said the younger man. “It’s late and there’s nothing open at this time.”
“How about a hotel?” Marnie asked. “We’d pay for a cab, if we could get one.”
Another man, a bald-headed guy with a goatee, said, “We live in the area, and I can tell you there’s no hotel and no cabs.”
“Well isn’t this a fine how-do-you-do,” Laverne said.
“I’ve got a thought,” said the big guy. “My wife and I live fifteen minutes away, and we have plenty of room. If you ladies would like to be our guests, you’re welcome to stay overnight and we can take care of the car in the morning.” Seeing their hesitation, he added, “I’m Mike Kent, by the way, and this is my son Carson.” The other two men—Bob and Charlie—gave their names too. It was good to know who these men were, but that didn’t mean they could be trusted. Even serial killers had names, after all. Mike Kent said, “It’s entirely up to you. I know my wife wouldn’t mind having you ladies stay over at our house.”
Just as Marnie was about to say they couldn’t possibly accept his invitation, Jazzy said, “Thanks so much, we’d love to.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sitting on the back of the motorcycle, her arms wrapped around a strange man’s waist, Laverne thought she’d never been so terrified or so exhilarated. Her heart pounded as all of her senses peaked beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The vibration of the bike, the smell of exhaust, the ear-splitting thrum of the engine, the feel of the wind whipping against her face, the sensation of hurtling at top speed with nothing between her and the road but two wheels and a place to sit. That’s how it felt, anyway. One of her sons had a motorcycle, but he’d never offered her a ride and she wouldn’t have thought to ask. Too dangerous. And now she was on one, hanging onto a complete stranger. Her kids would have thought she was a complete birdbrain, if they knew. But maybe she wouldn’t tell them. At least she had a helmet—each of the men had insisted the women use theirs, something about it being state law for passengers.
The men had suggested they give them a ride to Mike’s house, each lady getting a ride with one of the men, and then they’d come back later with a truck for the suitcases. Rita had been reluctant; Laverne could tell by the way she clutched her purse tightly to her side and kept coming up with different ideas of things they could do.
None of her ideas was workable, that was the problem. No taxis, no mechanic, no hotels in the area. They’d landed in the boonies and everything was closed for the night.
“Maybe we could call the highway patrol?” Rita said.
“You can do that ma’am,” said one of the men, “but you’ll have quite a wait, and I think they’ll just tell you the same things we did.” Rita looked a little frantic then, and Marnie had patted her arm and whispered something to her. The expressway looked like it stretched endlessly on, just the pavement and them.
They’d probably still be standing there debating their options if Jazzy hadn’t charged over and climbed onto the back of Carson’s bike, gesturing to the others to do the same. “Come on, it’s going to be fine. This is all good.”
Rita went up to her and said something Laverne didn’t catch, but she heard Jazzy’s reply. “Trust me; this is the way it’s supposed to be. I’m getting that this is absolutely okay.” Her tone was positive and firm. Lately it seemed like Jazzy was the default setting for the group. Her cheerfulness gave everyone a lift; backing her decisions was now a given.
Rita and Marnie must have felt the same way, because Laverne saw them consider it for a moment before exchanging shrugs of resignation. The next thing she knew, they’d locked up the car and each of them was on the back of a motorcycle roaring down the road. It occurred to her that these men might be leading them to some kind of lair, an underground pit where they robbed and killed trusting women, but this thought came to her only after she was already on the bike. Luckily, her purse, which was draped around her neck and pressed to her front, contained the handgun still in its secret compartment.
Laverne clos
ed her eyes at first, but after a minute or two, curiosity got the best of her and she lifted her head to see where they were going. The moon and the headlights did a fairly good job illuminating the other vehicles, and she could see Marnie and Rita on motorcycles ahead of her. After a minute or two her fear turned to pleasure. She didn’t feel like she was going to fall off at all, which was odd. She felt fairly secure. Who knew riding on a motorcycle could be this much fun?
Another motorcycle pulled up in the lane next to them—Jazzy and Carson. Laverne snuck a glance in their direction, and what she saw made her grin. Jazzy had her head resting against Carson’s back. Her long hair rose out of the bottom of the helmet, swaying and twisting in the wind.
Laverne was almost disappointed when they exited the expressway and slowed down to turn onto a country road. Her driver, a man of about forty, turned slightly and said something she thought was, “We’re almost there.” Sure enough, a minute later they slowed and turned into a long driveway. At the end of the drive was a two-story farmhouse with a wide porch. Lights dotted the ground leading from the driveway to the house. Shining light fixtures on either side of the door cast a clear view of the porch with its wicker furniture and potted flowers. The whole setup reminded her of something she’d see in Country Living magazine.
The motorcycles came to a halt. With the engines off it was eerily quiet. “Nice house,” Laverne said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jazzy got off the bike, removed her helmet, and smoothed her tangled hair. Carson hopped off the bike and propped it up, then faced her, his thumbs in his belt loops. “I hope the ride was smooth enough,” he said, almost shyly. “I tried to avoid the bumps.”
Jazzy tucked her hair behind her ears. She’d done the best she could without a comb. Good enough for now. “It was great,” she said. “Really great, thanks so much.” She gave Carson a long look, trying to size him up. On the motorcycle ride, resting against him, she’d tapped into something profound. He was an interesting guy, this Carson who rode a Harley, lived in the country, and who, at the age of twenty-five, enjoyed hanging out with his dad and his dad’s friends. He was good-looking in a rugged way, like a cowboy in an old movie. He loved animals and small children, and read good books. Every day, he tried to do at least one nice thing for someone else, a habit he’d started in college. He felt that if everyone did it, the world would be a better place and that he was obligated to lead by example. Carson never told anyone about this particular belief of his, but Jazzy picked up on it. She got all that and more in the fifteen minutes they’d been on the bike together. As usual, she had no idea why some spirits felt compelled to share this information with her, or what she was supposed to do with it.
The Long Way Home Page 11