Roadside Attraction

by M. G. Higgins

  He smirks. “Glad you caught her. I knew something was fishy. Is she your sister? A cousin?”

  “No.”

  He gives me a long look. I’m not going to explain.

  He refunds the penalty, thankfully. But it should be forty more than what Brooke gave me. She must have kept it. I pocket the bus ticket. Get a black coffee and three waters. Pay for them and leave.

  Jethro’s leash is tied to a bike rack.

  Brooke is gone.

  “Damn it.”

  Jethro gazes up at me.

  “Where did she go?”

  He wags his tail.

  I wasn’t in there more than ten minutes. Fifteen at the most. She can’t have gone far. I jump in the pickup with Jethro. Drive down Main Street. Don’t see her on the sidewalk. The highway is close. I suppose she might have gotten that far.

  I pull onto the onramp. Have to speed up to avoid a big rig. Did I miss her? I look in the rearview mirror. Don’t see a thing. It’s too dark. Shoot! There won’t be another exit for twenty miles. I pound the steering wheel. There’s a crossing road up ahead. It’s for emergency vehicles only. I can get a huge fine if I use it.

  I slam on the breaks. Make a sharp turn onto the sandy road. Dirt flies from my tires. In seconds I’m driving west. I check the mirror for flashing lights. Then I search the other shoulder for Brooke.

  Did she get a ride already? I wasn’t joking when I told her it’s more dangerous at night. The worst slimeballs slither in darkness.

  I take the exit into San Bueno. No one’s behind me, so I drive slowly. Search both sides of Main Street. I check the pickup’s clock. It’s close to eight thirty. Is it possible she’s at the Stop ’n’ Save? Maybe she took a leak when I was in the store. Slipped by me.

  I’m such an idiot.

  The tires squeal as I pull a U-turn at the next intersection. I race back to the Stop ’n’ Save. She’s not outside. I park and run into the store. “Brooke?” I call.

  “Not here,” the cashier says from behind the counter.

  “Has she been in here at all since I left?”

  “Nope.”

  I comb my fingers through my hair. Try to think what to do.

  “It’s none of my business,” he says. “But are you sending her to rehab?”

  “What?”

  “Happened to a niece of mine. Family had a heck of a time getting her to go. She kept running away.”

  “She’s going to her grandmother’s.”

  He snickers. “Must hate her grandmother something fierce.”

  “Of course she doesn’t.”

  But I don’t know, do I? Maybe she does hate her grandmother. But why would she run away to a place she doesn’t want to be? And why would she rather hitchhike than take a bus? The only thing that makes sense is the shoplifting. And the money she stole. She’s broke.

  “Where did your niece run off to?” I ask, desperate for clues.

  “To her friends. Anywhere she could get her hands on drugs. There’s a local bar. You might want to check it out.”

  “She’s too young for a bar.”

  He shrugs. “Not for this place. It’s the Rockin’ Pony. Two blocks south.”

  I don’t thank him because I hate what he thinks about her. I charge out of the store. Then run back in. Grab a large empty coffee cup. Don’t look at the cashier as I leave.

  I drive two blocks south. The whole time I’m wondering why I’m bothering with this girl. She’s a thief. Hasn’t thanked me once. She may be a drug addict on top of it.

  I guess the reason is exactly what I told her. I can help, so what would it say about me if I didn’t? This is just something I need to do.

  I pass the Rockin’ Pony on the right. Pull over. Open the window a crack for Jethro. Lock the pickup’s doors.

  The bar’s harsh smell hits me when I open the door. Stale beer. Cigarette smoke. Urine. It’s not possible she’s here. Then I hear a girl’s laughter. I’ve never heard Brooke laugh before. I wouldn’t know her laugh from a hyena’s. But my gut tells me it’s her.

  I pass the crowded bar. Head to the back. There are a couple of pool tables. Brooke is holding a cue. Leaning over a table and lining up a shot. She’s playing with some guy. Two men are using the other table.

  “Brooke?” I say.

  She looks up at me. “Oh my God. Really?”

  “You can still make the bus, but you’ll need to hurry.”

  She levels her eyes down the cue again. Shoots. The ball goes wide of the pocket. She straightens. “Thanks. You messed up my concentration.”

  “So, are you coming?”

  “No.”

  I tap the edge of a table. “I wish you would. You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I wish you’d leave me alone. Stop acting like you own me.”

  The guy she’s playing with steps up next to her. Maybe mid-twenties. Taller and beefier than me. “Is this guy bothering you?” he asks.

  “Yeah, he is.”

  The guy looks at me. “You should go.” He rests his hand on the small of Brook’s back. Slides it down to her butt and squeezes.

  Brooke quickly moves away from him. Stands with her back against the wall. Takes a long drink from a bottle of beer.

  “She’s underage,” I say.

  He angles his cue across his chest. “Well, aren’t you a Boy Scout? Seems like she can take care of herself.”

  This is getting hairy. More than I bargained for. Maybe she can take care of herself. Maybe this really is none of my business. If she’s hell-bent on self-destruction, maybe I should let her. I look at Brooke for a sign. If this is really what she wants.

  She stares at her beer. Shifts her feet. Tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s nervous. Scared. I think his hand on her butt shook her up. That bad-girl thing? I’m pretty sure it’s an act.

  I’m not leaving her here.

  CHAPTER 7

  Brooke?” I say to her. “Come on.”

  She stands there, frozen. Finally sets down her beer. Picks up her backpack and shopping bag. Steps toward me.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” The guy grips her arm as she passes. “We were having a nice game. I thought you were having fun.”

  “Let me go,” she murmurs.

  “Let her go.” I stand tall. Stare him in the eyes. Try not to shake. If it comes to a fight, he’ll kill me.

  The guy looks from her, to me, and back again. Pushes her away. “Jail bait. I don’t need the hassle.”

  I grip her hand. Pull her out of the bar.

  She shakes my hand off when we’re outside.

  I point up the street. “The pickup’s over there.”

  She trots to the pickup. Jumps in when I unlock it. Jethro moves to the back.

  I start the engine. Brooke buries her face in her hands. Is she crying? I’m not sure. Jethro rests his chin on her thigh.

  I drive to the Stop ’n’ Save. The bus is there, idling in the parking lot. I pull the ticket from my pocket.

  She looks at it. Takes it. Her cheeks glisten with tears.

  “You’d better hurry,” I tell her. “It won’t wait long.”

  She reaches for the door handle. “Then I guess I’d better go.” Her voice is flat. Sad. Exhausted.

  I grab an old receipt. Write my phone number on it. Hand it to her. “Call me if you want to talk.”

  She opens the door. Grabs her stuff. Gets out. Takes a few steps.

  I sigh. “Brooke?”

  She looks back at me. “What?”

  “Hold on a second.”

  “You said I needed to hurry.”

  I pull out my phone. Decide whom to call first. Grandpa may still be at Dad’s. Two birds with one stone. I call my home number.

  Grandpa answers with, “Hey, Logan. What’s up?”

  “I have a favor to ask. I don’t exactly feel like coming home. I was thinking of a road trip. I’ve got cash with me. You’ve been telling me to take a vacation.”

  “Well, yeah. But a lit
tle warning would be nice. We need to get someone to cover for you at the store.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry. I’ll head back right now.”

  “Not so fast! Jeepers. Give me a second to think about it. How long are we talking? Days? Weeks?”

  “A couple of days.”

  “Okay. Bev has been wanting extra work. She can pull a double. I think Alex is available. We’ll work it out.”

  “But there’s Dad,” I think aloud. “Maybe I shouldn’t do this.”

  “Logan. He may be your father, but he’s our son. We’ll take good care of him.”

  “I should talk to him.”

  “He’s already in bed. I was just leaving. I’ll tell him in the morning.”

  “But what if he wakes up in the night? And I’m not there?”

  “I’ll leave him a note.”

  “I don’t want him to freak out.”

  “None of us want that. But there’s not much you can do to prevent it. Unless you can get inside his brain and rewire it. Can you do that?”

  “No.”

  “Right. Didn’t think so. So where are you going?”

  “Um … I’m not sure yet. East.”

  “San Antonio’s nice. You can visit the Alamo.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Enjoy yourself.”

  “Okay, Grandpa. Thanks. I’ve got Jethro, by the way.” I end the call. Look over at Brooke. She’s back in the pickup. Petting my dog.

  “Looks like I’m driving you to Oklahoma City.”

  She nods. “The bus already left.”

  Sure enough. Except for us, the parking lot is empty.

  She closes the door. Picks up my hoodie off the floor. Wads it up. Stuffs it under her head.

  “I have to buy gas,” I say. “I need the money you didn’t return.”

  She sighs. Rummages inside her backpack. Pulls out two twenties and hands them to me.

  “Do you have a drug problem?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Is that why you were at that bar? Looking for drugs?”

  “Hey.” She glares at me. “I didn’t ask you to buy me a bus ticket. Or give me a ride. Or save me from that idiot. All of this is your choice. I don’t owe you any explanation.”

  “All right. I was just …” I shake my head. “Never mind.”

  I pull up to a gas pump. Step inside the store.

  “Forty dollars on pump three,” I tell the same cashier.

  He glances outside at my pickup. “So you found her. Too bad you wasted all that money on a ticket.”

  I leave without comment.

  I pump gas. Clean the windshield. Pour water into the Styrofoam cup I took earlier. Hold it while Jethro licks sloppily.

  “Yuck,” Brooke says.

  I get in. Point at the water bottle in the cup holder closest to her. “That’s yours if you want it.” I buckle my seat belt. “Buckle up,” I tell her.

  “Okay, Dad. Whatever you say, Dad.”

  I take a sip of coffee. It’s cold. I drink half of it anyway. Would prefer to not see that cashier ever again.

  Brooke takes something from her backpack as I pull onto the highway. I hear plastic wrap and smell tuna. Hard to believe she took that sandwich from my store earlier today.

  She hands me half. I take it. The bread is soggy. It’s probably not fit to eat at this point. But it tastes surprisingly good.

  “Aren’t you going to say thank you?” she says.

  “I bought it.”

  “Oh. So I guess I should thank you.” She tosses the empty container into her plastic bag. Curls into her seat. Uses my sweatshirt as a pillow.

  I wait for a thank you that doesn’t come. Turn on the radio.

  The highway stretches into darkness.

  CHAPTER 8

  Brooke’s left foot jiggles over the edge of the passenger seat. She snores lightly and mumbles in her sleep.

  It’s one thirty. I’ve been driving for four hours. Four hours of second-guessing myself, wondering again what in the hell I’m doing. Wasting vacation days on this juvenile delinquent. I glance at her bare legs. Her sunburn is turning brown already. She must be one of those lucky people who tan instead of blister. Her skin is really smooth. Soft. I look at her face. She seems even younger when she sleeps.

  A semi passes. A whoosh of air rocks the pickup. I breathe in and focus on the road. The yellow divider line starts playing tricks on my brain. Is the pickup moving? Or are we standing still and the road’s moving?

  I blink a few times. Need more coffee. Or sleep. Brooke’s bag is full of caffeine drinks. But that would require leaning over and taking my eyes off the road. I could pull over and stop. But don’t want to wake her.

  I turn up the radio slightly. Tap the steering wheel.

  We’re suddenly bouncing across dirt.

  A semi blasts its horn.

  Brooke screams.

  Jethro barks.

  I slam on the brakes. Wrestle with the steering wheel. Try to keep from fishtailing. Bring the pickup to a stop on the right shoulder. My heart is hammering.

  “What happened?” Brooke’s voice shakes.

  I take a couple of deep breaths before I try to answer. “I went to sleep. I’ve been up over twenty hours. It’s still a long way to Oklahoma City. I won’t make it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I need to sleep.”

  “Where? Here?”

  “At a motel.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  I look over my left shoulder. Speed up and pull the pickup back onto the highway.

  She takes a can from her shopping bag. “Drink this.”

  “That won’t do me any good. Not at this point.”

  “Do you have enough money for two rooms?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “I’m not staying in a motel room with you.”

  “Then you can sleep in the pickup with Jethro.”

  She crosses her arms. Stares out the window. “Where are we?”

  “East of Albuquerque. Don’t know where exactly.”

  “We’re still in New Mexico?” she asks.

  “Had to go north before we could head east again.”

  The driving mishap wakes me up a little. Enough to drive another ten miles to a chain motel just off the highway.

  I leave Brooke in the pickup. Go to the empty lobby. Press my thumb on the night buzzer. It takes a while to rouse a clerk from the back. I pay cash for a room with two double beds. At least it’s cheap. Which is good, because I’ll need another motel on the way back. Plus gas and food.

  “Room 213. Checkout is eleven,” the young woman says. She can’t be much older than me. “Breakfast is six to ten.”

  “Thanks.”

  I park the pickup closer to room 213. “It’s got two beds,” I tell Brooke. “I’m going to walk Jethro. You can join me in the room or not. I’m too tired to argue.” I give her a key card.

  She sits there while I leash my dog. I take him for a pee. I’ll need to find him something to eat in the morning. I’ll figure it out later.

  I let him back in the pickup. Open the window a couple of inches. Say, “Be good, doggie.” Then I drag myself upstairs. Fall on the farthest bed. Don’t bother undressing or getting under the covers.

  I’m barely aware of the door opening and then closing. A light turning on. The bathroom door opening. Closing. The room turning dark again.

  I wake up from a dream. Tires sliding across dirt. A terrified scream. Only it’s Mom screaming, not Brooke.

  I sit up. Slivers of sunlight filter through the blinds. A form curls under a blanket on the other bed. Brooke’s dark hair peaks out the top. It just now occurs to me. I’m in a motel room with a girl.

  A motel room.

  With a girl.

  My mind goes straight to places it shouldn’t. Like crawling under those covers with her. And more. Crap! That’s not why I’m helping her. I cannot think like this. But now the thought is lodg
ed in my head. I can’t get rid of it.

  I go to the bathroom. Take a long shower. Wash my hair with the little bottle of motel shampoo. Leave enough for Brooke. Pull on my dirty clothes. They feel gross. My mouth is gross too. I swish some water and spit it out, but it doesn’t help.

  I step out of the bathroom. Brooke is sitting on the side of her bed, her back to me. Her head lowered.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  She sits up in a hurry. Quickly shoves something under her blanket.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Whatever it is you just hid in your bed.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes you do.” I can’t shake the idea of her doing drugs. I know it’s none of my business, but I charge over there. Flip the blanket back. Something flies and lands on the floor.

  I pick it up.

  A razor blade?

  She steps over to me. Holds out her hand.

  I give it to her. Narrow my eyes.

  “It’s nothing,” she says. She opens a small plastic box. Slips the blade inside. Turns away from me. But I can see her in the mirror on the wall. She lifts her T-shirt. There’s a fresh cut about two-inches long next to her navel. She dabs the blood with a tissue. Her stomach is striped with scars.

  “Did you just cut yourself?” I ask in disbelief. My insides twist. I think I’m going to be sick.

  CHAPTER 9

  Brooke notices me in the mirror. Quickly lowers her shirt. “Leave me alone.”

  “How can you do that?”

  Her cheeks redden beneath her tanning face. She doesn’t answer.

  Everything else I can handle. Her being a runaway. Maybe a druggie. But this? It’s crazy. Which means she’s definitely crazy. Which makes me want to jump in my pickup. Drive back to Ferris. Forget about her.

  Then she says softly, “It makes me feel better.”

  “Hurting yourself makes you feel better? I don’t get it.”

  “Of course you don’t. Nobody does. Except other people like me.”

  “Well … I’d like to understand.”

  “Really?” she says sarcastically. “Really and truly?”