by Raj, Carol;
The punk’s voice increased in volume with every word. “Good grief, lady. What are you? The world’s worst driver ever?”
“I haven’t had an accident in ten years. Not even a parking ticket.” That much was true. No need to go into details.
“So now you’re stopped. Get your second question over with before I change my mind and shoot you just for the fun of it.”
Muriel spit her words out before she lost her nerve. “If I’m going to pretend to be your grandma, don’t you think I should know your name?”
The silence stretched between them, thinner and tauter with each passing second.
If he gave her his real name, she’d have something substantial to tell the police when this was over. It wouldn’t be that hard to ID him. Not with his long dark hair and his dragon tattoo. If he gave her his real name, he’d probably have to kill her.
If only she’d accomplished something in her seventy-one years. She didn’t want a funeral like her husband’s. Five people standing around a six-foot grave. It had been embarrassing. Even now tears came to her eyes when she remembered.
Though a bullet to the head might be better than Howard’s slow, agonizing death. Chemotherapy. Radiation. He had suffered through so much at the end. Indignity after indignity. Most disturbing of all were Natalie’s sporadic appearances. Her own father! With just months left to live. And Natalie only came to visit when she had nothing better to do.
It hadn’t bothered Howard at all. He had been so pathetically grateful to see his daughter, his whole face lighting up each and every time she deigned to drop by. He never seemed to notice the fresh salon highlights in Natalie’s naturally blond hair or her newly manicured nails, items higher on her list of priorities.
Muriel sighed such a deep sigh that the punk turned to look at her.
He pushed his long hair out of his eyes. “I’m thinking.”
“So was I. I asked you something, didn’t I? Oh, yes, I asked your name.”
“That’s what I’m thinking about.”
“You don’t have to give me your real name. I won’t know the difference anyway. But it has to be a name you’ll remember. And a name you’ll answer to. Otherwise, we won’t be fooling anybody. Not if you want me to pretend I’m your grandmother.”
If he gave her his real name, she’d have no hope of living through this ordeal. Absolutely none. Why had she ever asked such a stupid question? It was too late to take it back now. One of these days, she’d have to learn to think before she spoke.
The punk slouched down in his seat, his long legs spread out one to each side. “Kevin,” he finally said. “My name’s Kevin.”
“Kevin’s a nice name. I like it. Is it your real name?” Now why had she asked that?
“That’s none of your business, lady. The light’s green now. Just shut up and drive.”
The longer Muriel drove, the more she remembered why she’d stopped driving. It wasn’t just the one time she entered an exit-only ramp and went the wrong way on the highway. She hadn’t known what to tell the police officer who showed up, his patrol car lights flashing. Her husband had died just hours before. How could they have a funeral with only five attendees? How could she manage everything on her own? The policeman was so unsympathetic that she’d burst into tears.
Muriel glanced to her right. Kevin had reclined his seat a little and seemed to be watching the series of industrial parks they passed by. He acted as if they were out for a casual Sunday afternoon jaunt. True, Kevin was rubbing his hands together nervously, but he did not bang his foot on an imaginary brake on the passenger-side floor. Incredibly, Kevin seemed to assume that Muriel was competent.
Her hands began to shake.
Kevin snapped to attention. “What’s the matter with you? You got some old lady disease or something?”
“I don’t drive.”
“Looks to me like you’re driving.”
“I mean I haven’t driven since my husband died ten years ago. I don’t remember the traffic being so heavy then. Would you like to take over? I could just pull into one of these company parking lots. Right in, right out. That should be easy enough. We can change seats. It’ll only take a minute.”
“Sure, lady. That’s a great idea. Why don’t you just pull over and stop the car so you can get out and run for your life. How dumb do you think I am?”
“How far can I run if you have a gun?”
“Good point.” Kevin was silent for a long time.
“I can’t keep driving like this.” And yet she was.
“I can’t drive either,” Kevin finally said. “I’ve never even been behind the steering wheel of a moving car. It’s all my father’s fault. He says I’m irresponsible. He’s such a jerk. I hate him.”
You think carjacking an old lady will make your father decide you’re responsible? The corners of Muriel’s lips curled. The students in her geometry classes had thought in similar convoluted ways. Teen brains were different from adult brains. It was a scientific fact. A teachers’ workshop on the subject had lasted a whole day. No wonder teaching teens geometric proofs was so hard.
“Don’t laugh at me, lady. I’m warning you. I’m a dangerous man.”
“Sorry.” Muriel set her lips back into one straight line. Why, Kevin was just a child. She dared not speak the words out loud. Child or not, he had a gun. She glanced again at the boy. Fuzz above the lips but the cheeks were clean. He’d probably never even shaved. After fifteen years teaching high school, she knew that age group well.
“Watch out, lady! Didn’t you see that man walking his dog? Are you trying to kill someone?” Kevin cleared his throat. “So, lady. You know my name now. Maybe you should tell me your name. I don’t want to keep calling you lady. It sounds weird.”
Muriel could lie about her name. That was a possibility. But then she’d have to remember what the lie was. And she’d have to answer to an unfamiliar name. No, that would be too complicated. Anyway, there were so many Smiths in the world. It would be almost impossible for him to track her down. “My name is Mrs. Smith.”
Kevin clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Well, that’s a likely story. I think I’ll call you Mrs. B. I like that better than Mrs. Smith, anyway.”
“That’s fine, Kevin. You can call me anything you want. You’re the boss.” She’d never had a nickname. Mrs. B sounded like a plump farm wife with pies cooling on the windowsill. She could live with it.
Kevin pointed ahead. “That’s where we’re going. Up that ramp. See that big green sign on the right? We’ll get on the highway there and drive west. I’m thinking maybe Montana. Or Wyoming. It doesn’t much matter. As long as it’s a place my father won’t find me.”
Muriel’s whole body stiffened. “Highway? I don’t think so, Kevin.”
“What do you mean you don’t think so?”
“I don’t merge. Not onto the highway. I haven’t merged for years.”
“You’re going to merge today, Mrs. B. Remember I’m the boss.”
Muriel looked at the cars speeding along the overpass. “Is that the highway all the way up there?”
“That’s the highway.”
“Those cars are going awfully fast.”
“That’s what you do on a highway. You go fast. That’s the whole point.”
The cars followed each other so closely that they looked more like a line of freight train cars than a succession of automobiles. No space existed to squeeze a car in between them. I can’t do this. Her hands, which had been steady, trembled again. Death on the highway or death at gunpoint. Neither option appealed. But at least one would not be her fault.
“The ramp’s coming up, Mrs. B. Put your turn signal on. What’s the matter with you?”
The ramp was only feet away. Muriel took a deep breath and stepped hard on the gas pedal. She zoomed past the entrance to the highway.
“What? You didn’t even try to turn!” Kevin’s head swiveled as the entrance ramp disappeared.
“I did try t
o turn, Kevin. Honest. I tried really hard. I just couldn’t do it. I told you. I don’t merge. It scares me.”
Kevin’s voice went up half an octave. “Merging scares you more than my gun? Are you crazy? Didn’t I tell you I’d shoot? You can’t just say you don’t merge. You have to do what I say. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“I am doing what you say. Mostly. I moved over. I’m driving. And I did think about merging. Even if I couldn’t do it. Please don’t shoot me. My granddaughter’s pregnant. My great-grandchild is due in just a few months. Don’t shoot me now. Please. Maybe you can shoot me after the baby comes. I could give you my address.”
There was a long pause. “Are you crazy?”
Muriel ignored the question. “And please don’t ask me to make a U-turn either, because…”
Kevin banged the heel of his hand on his forehead. “Let me guess. You don’t make U-turns. They scare you.”
“Especially those broken U’s. I’m too slow. Somebody always honks at me. I hate being honked at. It’s so rude. And it’s not easy for me to go in reverse either. I can’t see over the headrest.”
“I can’t believe I picked a loser like you. So what’s your plan?”
Her plan? She didn’t have any plan.
Muriel looked out the driver’s side window. Heavy traffic had disappeared and factories with smoke billowing from their chimneys had morphed into blue horizons with occasional cirrus clouds. In the distance, a herd of black and white Holsteins chewed their cuds. “I kind of like the road we’re on right now. There’s not much traffic.”
“You can say that again. We haven’t seen more than two cars since you missed that entrance ramp.”
“I know.” Muriel leaned back in the driver’s seat and relaxed her grip.
Kevin banged his head on the headrest. His long legs sprawled out so one knee was touching the shift knob and the other was wedged against the door. “I don’t believe this. Of all the people in the world…”
A ringing from the backseat interrupted his complaint.
Kevin twisted around, grabbed his jacket, and took a cell phone out of one of its pockets. He glanced at the display. “My father. So I’m irresponsible, am I? I’ll show him.” He lowered the window and threw the phone into a patch of thick brush. Then he tossed his jacket into the backseat.
Muriel bit her lower lip to keep from speaking. How could Kevin be twisting that much with a gun in his pants pocket? Or was the gun in the jacket? Maybe there was hope to get out of this predicament alive. She had to get possession of his gun. Then she could take control of the situation.
Maybe Natalie would be proud and no longer embarrassed to introduce her mother to her high-society friends. “Only a school teacher. Never accomplished much of anything.” Natalie never used those exact words. Sometimes she didn’t introduce Muriel at all. Maybe now Natalie could brag that her mother had been commended for catching a carjacker. No, apprehending. The word had a nice ring to it. Mrs. Muriel Smith apprehended a fugitive from justice today.
Fugitive from justice.
That was good, too. Better than “carjacker.” Perhaps heroically apprehended. The imaginary headline was sounding better all the time.
Why, Muriel might even be interviewed on the local news at noon. Her story would be much more interesting than their cooking demonstrations and gardening tips. Maybe the station would pick her up in a stretch limousine. Wouldn’t Roxanne be jealous!
So what would Muriel wear? It would have to be something Natalie wouldn’t object to. Otherwise, Muriel would hear about it for sure. “I can’t believe you wore that outfit, Mother. And on TV! My goodness, it looks like something out of the seventies. What were you thinking? I hope nobody from my women’s clubs turned on that dreadful show.” It would be years before Natalie would let such a topic go. She never forgot any injustice, real or perceived.
Muriel couldn’t think of even one outfit she owned that would meet Natalie’s approval. Everything was too dowdy, too modern, too colorless, too bright, too baggy, too revealing. Too wrong. Those were the adjectives Natalie used, rotating them as if they had no intrinsic meaning but just deserved a turn.
Maybe Muriel could find something in her closet for the local news. But if she got on one of those early morning network shows, she’d have to splurge on a wool suit and a strand of freshwater pearls. Something classy but not ostentatious. Maybe something from an upscale consignment store. Clothing was much cheaper used than new.
She did hope Stan would OK the expense. She’d just explain she needed a new outfit for an appearance on national television. Surely even Stan would understand those opportunities didn’t come along every day. Just as Muriel decided the suit should match her eyes, the car started chug, chug, chugging.
2
The car never sounded like that when Roxanne drove.
There wasn’t a bit of civilization in sight. No gas stations, no auto repair shops, no parking lots. Just grass and split-rail fences and, ahead on the right, a copse of trees at the bottom of a moderate slope.
Kevin glared at Muriel. “Now what’s wrong? I thought I told you not to draw attention to this car.”
“I didn’t do anything. Honest. The car just started making a funny noise.”
“We’re on a bit of an incline. Step on the gas harder. Maybe the problem will clear up when we start going downhill again.” Kevin leaned toward the windshield as if, by sheer force of concentration, he could coax the car forward.
“I can’t step on the gas any harder. I’m going as fast as I can.”
Kevin stared at the speedometer. “Mrs. B, you’re barely going thirty miles an hour.”
“Well, it feels fast to me. Remember, I haven’t driven for ten years.”
“I’m not asking you to win the Indy 500. Just try to go a little faster. Step on it.”
Muriel pushed the accelerator down even more. The pedal almost touched the floor. The car should be airborne by now. Impervious to command, it continued to slow.
Just like Natalie. Who would have thought a car could be as contrary as a grown-up daughter?
Kevin tapped his forefinger on the armrest. “The lights are dimming. I can’t even see the time anymore.”
Does it matter what time it is? Muriel held the steering wheel in a death grip. Oh, Lord, just keep the car going until I figure out what to do. It shouldn’t be that hard. She needed to get off the road. Never mind, Lord. I got it. I don’t need Your help after all. She didn’t want to bother the Lord when she could handle it herself. She eased the car onto the shoulder of the road. Just as she straightened the tires on the gravel, the car shuddered and then stopped. Muriel banged her foot on the accelerator. There was no response. She turned the ignition off, leaving the keys dangling.
“Now what?” Muriel and Kevin spoke at the same time as they glared at each other.
“When’s the last time you had this piece of junk inspected?” Kevin asked.
“I’ve never had it inspected.”
“What do you mean never? You have to have cars inspected. It’s the law. My father complains about it every year.”
“I didn’t say the car has never been inspected. I said I’ve never had it inspected. How am I supposed to know when it was done?”
“Mrs. B, don’t you even know when your birthday is? Inspections are always done in your birthday month. Everybody knows that.”
Muriel’s mind went blank. After Howard had to stop working and she gave up teaching, time all blended together. Days, even months, marched on inexorably, sometimes slowing, sometimes speeding up, but never changing the order of their procession. Just like the train her father set up each and every December when she was young. The train ran around the six-foot Christmas tree, going steadfastly nowhere.
This year Muriel scrimped and saved for months so she could take Roxanne out for a proper birthday celebration. Had they gone just after Valentine’s Day? Or was it March? And why couldn’t she remember now? She always remembere
d to buy Roxanne a birthday card. It must be the stress of the situation. She could tell from the way Kevin’s right knee started jiggling that she was taking too long to answer. “I’m not sure when Roxanne’s birthday is. February or March, I think.”
“Roxanne? Who’s Roxanne?”
“Roxanne’s my friend. She owns this car.”
“What? You mean this isn’t your car?”
“Well, of course it’s not my car. Remember when you abducted me? I was sitting in the passenger seat! Have you forgotten how you made me climb over the shift lever? What in the world made you think this was my car?”
“Abducted? Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t abduct you. I just made you drive.”
“I doubt if the police will see it that way.”
Kevin started chewing his lower lip. “So what’s the story? You borrowed your friend’s car for the day?”
Muriel couldn’t help but laugh. “Borrowed? From Roxanne? Not likely. I’m lucky if I can borrow a cup of sugar from her.”
“What time is it?” Kevin asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just answer the question, Mrs. B. Stop messing with me. Remember, I’m a dangerous man.”
Muriel squinted at her watch. “It’s almost five o’clock.”
“You mean we’ve been driving around for two hours in a stolen car? Boy, you’re lucky you didn’t get caught. You’d be in a heap of trouble.”
Lucky she didn’t get caught? Well, that was some attitude coming from a carjacker. Muriel took a deep breath. “Maybe you should get out of the car and look under the hood.”
“Look for what? I’ve never looked under the hood of a car in my life.”
“Look for wires, I think. Or something that’s come loose. You’re a guy. You’re supposed to know about cars, and engines, and all those mechanical things.”
“I wanted to take auto mechanics in school. But my dad wouldn’t let me. He said I had to take a foreign language instead. Bo-ring! Taking English is torture enough. I can’t wait to get out of high school. It’s like being in jail.”
“Really, Kevin? It can’t be that bad.”