Roadside Attraction

by M. G. Higgins

  I hear a click. Then a floorboard squeak. The room is dark, and I can’t see far. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me.” Brooke’s voice.

  “Is something wrong?” I’m only in my underwear. Quickly pull up the blanket.

  “I want to say goodbye.” She crawls into bed with me.

  “Whoa!” I jump out the other side. Back away. “What are you doing?”

  She laughs. “You’re such a coward. You’ll never lose your virginity this way.”

  “I thought you just wanted to say goodbye.”

  “And this is how I’m saying it.”

  Oh God. All the reasons I’d been telling myself to leave her alone are gone. I can’t remember a single one.

  She pats the bed. “Come here.”

  I slowly return. Sit with my back to her. Grip the edge of the mattress. Can’t shake the vague sense that this isn’t right. But why isn’t it right? What harm will it do? She says she’s not a virgin. This is her idea, not mine. Seth would tell me I’m a dumb ass to pass this up.

  I lie down, facing her. My eyes find hers in the darkness. She’s holding the blanket under her chin. I stroke the back of her hand with my finger. “How old are you? Really?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me.”

  She sighs. “Fourteen.”

  I go to pull my hand away. She grabs it. Holds on. Laces her fingers through mine. “I like you, Logan. No one has ever treated me as nice as you do.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  “Exactly. Which is why—”

  She leans in. Kisses me. I let her. Damn it. Her skin is as smooth as I imagined. Her lips soft. Gentle. I pull her against me. Kiss her harder. She’s like a bird in my arms. A tiny, fragile bird.

  All the reasons for leaving her alone suddenly rush through my mind. She’s just a kid. We don’t have protection. And she is fragile. That cutting. The way she acts. I don’t think she’s emotionally stable. I gently push her away. “You need to leave.” I hear the heaviness in my voice.

  “Why?”

  “You just do.”

  “God, you really are a Boy Scout.” She jumps out of bed.

  “Brooke, wait.”

  “What now?” She sounds angry.

  “I respect you. That’s why we can’t do this. I’m not rejecting you.”

  “Oh yeah? It doesn’t feel that way.” She leaves.

  “Brooke.” I get out of bed to follow her. But I reach the door and stop. I can’t explain myself any more than I already have. She’ll just have to get over this.

  CHAPTER 15

  It’s four thirty when I wake up. Still dark. I get dressed. Tiptoe downstairs. Don’t want to wake up Brooke or her grandmother. Make things any more awkward.

  I’m hungry. Think about stopping in the kitchen. There’s got to be a box of cereal somewhere. But McDonald’s is good. I need to get out of here.

  Jethro’s standing at the glass door. He’s wagging his tail. I go outside. “Hey, doggie,” I whisper as I click on his leash. “Let’s go.”

  I lead him through the side gate. He leaps into the pickup. Heads directly to the jump seat. I pat the passenger seat. “You’re with me today. No company.” He happily moves up front. Sits with his back straight, looking out the window.

  I stare at the house a second. Wonder which room Brooke sleeps in. Wonder if I did the right thing last night. If I’d had unprotected sex with a fourteen-year-old girl, I think I’d be feeling pretty crappy right now. And I don’t feel crappy, I feel fine. So, yeah, I did the right thing. I’m sure Brooke has figured that out by now too.

  “My time will come,” I say to Jethro wistfully. “Let’s go home.”

  He whacks his tail against the seat.

  I drive out of Oklahoma City. Relieved to see it grow smaller in the rearview mirror. Stop at a McDonald’s drive-through. Buy a large coffee. Three Egg McMuffins. Give one to Jethro. I’m just pulling out of the driveway when my phone rings. I pull over. Quickly answer it before it dies. “Hello?”

  “Logan?” I think it’s Brooke. But she sounds strange. Breathy. Like she’s barely awake. “I did something stupid. I need you. Logan …?”

  The line goes dead. I look at the screen. No charge left. “Crap.”

  What was that all about? What stupid thing did she do? My mind flashes to her razor blade. Did she cut herself? What if the cut was too deep? By accident, or …. Would she do that on purpose? Because of last night? A wave of guilt slams me.

  I need to warn someone. Claudia. But my phone’s dead. I don’t know Claudia’s phone number anyway. Or even her last name. I pound the steering wheel. “Crap!”

  I head back to the highway. Drive east. My stomach knots, threatening to send my breakfast back up. I agonize the whole time I’m speeding. What am I doing? This is not my problem. She has family to take care of her.

  But what if they don’t know? What if it’s my fault?

  I pull onto her grandmother’s street. An ambulance is parked in front of the house. Cop cars with their lights flashing. My heart pounds. I automatically roll the window down a crack for Jethro. “Stay here.” He whines as I close the door.

  I run to the house. The front door hangs wide open. I step inside.

  Loud voices upstairs. A cop downstairs. “Who are you?” he asks.

  “I’m a friend of Brooke’s. Is she okay?”

  “What’s your name?” He gets out a pad and pencil.

  “Logan Monroe.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “Why are you questioning me? What’s going on?”

  There’s a commotion on the stairs. We both look up.

  Emergency techs carry a stretcher. My breath catches when it comes closer and I see Brooke’s face. Her pale skin. Closed eyes.

  “Is she okay?” I ask as they lower the wheels.

  They roll her toward the waiting ambulance without answering.

  “You!” Claudia stands at the top of the stairs glaring at me. Blotches of red stain her bathrobe. Her cheeks are flushed. She’s down the stairs in a second. In my face. “What did you do to my granddaughter?”

  “Nothing.” I step back.

  “You must have. She cut herself. Almost bled to death. Would have if I hadn’t heard her talking to you on the phone.”

  I can’t tell her Brooke wanted to have sex with me last night. That I told her no. She’ll never believe me. “I was thirty minutes out of Oklahoma City. Brooke called. She sounded strange. I didn’t have your number. So I drove back to warn you something might be wrong.”

  Claudia presses her hand to her forehead. The redness drains from her face. I think she believes me.

  “How bad is it?” I ask.

  “They’re not sure yet.” She staggers into the living room. Sags onto the arm of a chair.

  “Ma’am?” the cop asks. “Anything else I can do?” He looks at me.

  She shakes her head. “Thank you, Officer.”

  He asks for my phone number before he leaves.

  Claudia gets to her feet. “I need to call Brooke’s mother. Change my clothes. Go to the hospital.” She’s talking to the air, not to me.

  “Did you know she cuts herself?” I ask. Brooke may hate me for this. But someone needs to know. She needs help. “Not just today,” I add. “All the time, I think.”

  Claudia lowers her eyes. “I thought she’d stopped. Like I thought she’d stopped shoplifting. That’s what she and her mother told me. I should have known they weren’t telling the truth. They never do.”

  She gazes out the still-opened front door. “As soon as she’s out of the hospital, I’ll get her into another treatment program. Near me, this time. So I can keep an eye on her. Her mother …” Her voice trails off. She squares her shoulders. “They don’t have a good relationship. That’s probably what upset Brooke. She just wanted time away from her. But my daughter wouldn’t listen.”

  “Which hospital ar
e they taking her to?” I ask. “I’d like to visit.”

  She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. This is a family matter.”

  I open my mouth to argue.

  She holds up her hand. “Enough.” She walks to the door. Stands there, waiting for me to leave. “I paid you a nice sum. Be happy with that.”

  I gape at her. “I don’t understand.”

  She stands there.

  I walk out. Stop on the porch. “Can you at least tell her hello for me? That I got her message?”

  She closes the door.

  It doesn’t matter. I’ve got Brooke’s number on my phone. I’ll call her when it’s charged.

  I get in the pickup. Lean my head back and take a deep breath. Jethro gives me a worried look. I pat his head. “It’s okay. At least I think it is.”

  CHAPTER 16

  I drive through Oklahoma. Then Texas. I’m in a daze, worrying about Brooke. The highway is a blur. Four hours go by. I see a billboard.

  T-REX!

  FOSSILS, GEMSTONES, AUTHENTIC INDIAN JEWELRY!

  GAS, WATER, AIR!

  FRESH CINNAMON ROLLS!

  20 MILES, EXIT 382

  There’s another sign two miles later. Another two miles after that. I don’t need gas, but I do need to pee. And the ads remind me of home.

  The last T-Rex billboard comes up. Exit Now!

  I pull off the highway.

  It’s a small place. Six pumps. Someone’s built a life-size T-Rex next to the store. Must be made of concrete. The pea-green paint is chipping. Lots of graffiti. Tom + Emily. Kurt Cobain 4VR.

  The poor dinosaur looks more sad than scary.

  The station sits among pine trees. A few houses nearby. Post office. Except for the scenery, it’s not all that different from Ferris.

  I go inside. Use the restroom. The store’s arranged a little different from ours, but not much. Women’s and kids’ clothes near the restrooms. So women can browse while they’re waiting in line to pee. Souvenirs on the way from the restroom to the counter. Their thing here is rocks and fossils. Big boxes of colored stones. Geodes. Petrified wood.

  I head to the cooler. Grab a water for Jethro and one for me. A bag of chips. A chicken and cheese sandwich. I’ll split it with Jethro. And a cinnamon bun. Probably made this morning, so not all that fresh at three in the afternoon. But it looks good enough.

  Out of habit, I glance up at a fisheye mirror. A guy is standing behind the counter. Looking back at me and frowning. That’s because I’m a red flag. I might be using the mirror to shoplift. Keep track of employees.

  I set my stuff on the counter. “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.” He’s older than me. Maybe mid to late twenties. Still frowning.

  “This your store?” I ask.

  He eyes me. “No.” He starts ringing up my order.

  “I work at a place down in Arizona, on I-10. Kind of like this one.”

  “Uh-huh.” He bags my stuff.

  “How long you been working here?”

  “Ten years,” he says. He takes my money. Gives me change. “One of the only jobs in town. I’ve got a kid and wife to take care of.”

  “Yeah, I get it.” I take the bag. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  An older man steps behind the counter. Says to the guy, “Men’s room needs toilet paper. Then Sue can use your help in the back.”

  The guy leaves. Does what he’s told.

  I return to the pickup and walk Jethro. Pour him a cup of water. Feed him half the sandwich. Think about the guy in the store. How he already has crow’s feet. Frown lines. Stooped shoulders. A beer gut.

  I get back on the highway. Think again about the guy in the store. Then about Brooke for the hundredth time. Wonder if she’s okay. And I think about Dad. Hope I get home before he goes to bed.

  My chest feels heavy for some reason. Tight. I turn the radio up loud. It doesn’t help. The heaviness doesn’t go away.

  The last two hours are the worst. My butt hurts, and I keep fidgeting. My eyes are sore. Jethro knows when we’re getting closer. He sits up. Pays attention. Gets to his feet when I pull into the driveway. Whines. Wags his tail. I let him out. Open the gate. Barney barks next door. Jethro barks back.

  Bark.

  BARK!

  Bark.

  BARK!

  I fill his water dish from the hose. Open the back door. Pour him a bowl of kibble. Step inside. “Dad?”

  The TV’s on, but he’s not on the couch. I check the clock. It’s after nine. Almost his bedtime.

  “Dad?” I check the bedroom. Bathroom. He’s nowhere. I start to panic. Did he go outside? Trip over something? I run out the front door. Hope I don’t find him on the ground, injured. Unable to get up. He’s not in the front yard or the back.

  I go next door and knock. Grandma greets me with, “Logan! That was a short vacation.”

  “Have you seen Dad?”

  “Is that my boy?” Dad calls from the living room.

  I take a relieved breath. Step inside. He and Grandpa are sitting together on the couch watching TV. I hear gunfire. Must be a cop show. “Hi, Dad. Hi, Grandpa.” I take a good look at Dad. He seems okay. Relaxed.

  “You missed dinner,” Grandma says. “But there’s leftovers. I can heat something up for you.”

  “That’s okay, I’m not hungry. It’s after nine. I should probably get Dad home.”

  “Have a seat, Logan,” Grandpa says. “We’re in the middle of a program.”

  “I don’t know. Dad?”

  “Sit down,” he says. “I want to finish this.”

  Grandma comes back with bowls of ice cream. The sugar will keep Dad awake. Might affect his mood. But he digs into it like a little kid, so I don’t say anything.

  It’s late when I finally get him home. He brushes his teeth. Changes into his pj’s. I turn out his light. “Good-night, Dad.”

  “G’night.”

  I go to my room. Plug in my phone. Lie on my bed. My very own bed. It feels like more than two nights since I last slept here. It feels like a lifetime.

  CHAPTER 17

  I take my charged phone with me to the store. All morning I wonder if Brooke is still in the hospital. Or if she’s at her grandmother’s house. Or if her mom’s got her on a plane to the Bahamas already. Or maybe she’s at a treatment program. I wonder if she even has her phone with her.

  It’s a busy morning. The store is packed the second I start my shift. Dad’s at the registers with me. He seems okay today. Better than usual, in fact. I should feel good about that. But it makes me wonder. Am I not taking care of him as good as my grandparents? Am I doing something wrong?

  I finally take a break at eleven. I walk down near Geronimo’s last stand. It’s just a small cave with a rope across the opening. A plaque describing Geronimo’s life. How he hid from Mexican and American soldiers and then attacked them. Inside the cave are pottery shards. Bows and arrows. A fire pit. A mannequin dressed as an Apache. None of it’s real. People steal stuff all the time. We just replace it.

  There’s a bench near the trail. I sit and get out my phone. Brooke’s the last person who called. I press her number. The phone rings. Rings a few times more. Maybe she doesn’t have it. Maybe it’s not charged.

  Then someone answers with, “Hello. Who is this?” It’s not Brooke’s voice. Doesn’t sound like Claudia either.

  “I’m Logan. Is Brooke there?”

  “Logan. This is Brooke’s mother. How do you know my daughter?” She stops talking. I hear voices in the background. Can’t make out words.

  “Logan? This is Claudia.”

  “Hi. I’d like to speak to Brooke.”

  Silence. Then, “She’s gone.”

  Gone. As in dead? My heart freezes. “What?”

  “Actually, I was about to call you. She ran away from the hospital early this morning. Is she with you?”

  It takes me a second to wrap my head around this news. “No. I drove to Arizona alone. That’s where I am now
.”

  She’s quiet. Probably wondering how she can check out my story. “Do you have any idea where she may have gone?”

  Yeah, I do. To New Orleans, to find Anthrax and join the Bashing Pancakes. I should tell her that, but I don’t know for sure. Brooke could be anywhere.

  “Well?” Claudia asks.

  “I don’t know where she is.”

  “If you hear from her, will you please call me? Use this phone number. Now I must go. I have other people on her phone to contact.”

  “Sure.”

  “Logan,” she says. “You left six hundred dollars in the envelope I gave you. Why?”

  “Um … you wouldn’t understand.” I end the call.

  I sit on the bench. Imagine Brooke on the highway, thumbing for a ride. I fear for her. Getting to know her didn’t change that. She’s still a kid. Still vulnerable. But she has a mind of her own. And there’s nothing I can do for her right now.

  The heaviness comes back. The tightness in my chest. I don’t know what it is. I feel like I can’t take a deep-enough breath.

  A family hikes down the trail. A dad and mom. Three kids. They stand in front of the cave. The dad reads the plaque aloud. They’re quiet for a second. Then one of the kids says, “This is really lame.”

  “Yeah,” the dad says. “Pretty much.”

  They march back up the trail.

  It is lame. I almost feel like I should apologize. But for what? This roadside attraction wasn’t my idea. I just work here. I get to my feet and slowly follow them.

  “Logan?” Grandma asks. “Your customer asked you a question.”

  I focus on the guy on the other side of the counter. “Sorry. What?”

  “Can you give me fives and ones?” he asks.

  “Sure.” I give him his change. He leaves. Finally, there’s no one in line.

  “You feeling all right?” Grandma asks. “Seems like you’re not all here.”

  “I’m okay.” I’m just thinking nonstop about Brooke. About why it feels like something inside me isn’t working right.

  Melody walks into the store. She’s wearing shorts. A tank top. Hannah’s not with her. “Hi, Logan.”

  “Hey.” Seeing her lifts my mood.