The car shudders to an abrupt halt, the front tire deep in a rut and spinning uselessly. She tries to pull forward, to steer left and then right to pull out, but the car doesn’t budge.
“Try backing up,” Brecken says.
She does. She tries half a dozen tricks called out from all over the car. But none of them work.
We’re stuck.
Chapter Twelve
Josh grunts and I turn around, wincing when I see both of his hands on either side of his leg brace. His foot is wedged awkwardly behind the driver’s seat.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He lets out a tight breath, his face red when he looks up at me. “Yeah.” Then he pulls his foot loose and bites back a cry. “Okay, I’ve been better.”
“What can we do?” I ask. “Do you want to sit up front?”
Josh groans. “Maybe let’s revisit that when I’m not in agony?”
“And when we’re not stuck in a snowdrift on the side of a mountain,” Harper adds.
“I have no idea what we’re going to get out of here with,” Brecken says. “We’re going to be digging out with the ice scraper.”
“No, we have a shovel,” Harper says. “In the back in that emergency kit.”
“The kit with the busted snow chains?” Brecken asks, pushing open his door. “Superconfident about that shovel, let me tell you.”
The shovel is actually okay. It’s about the only useful thing in the kit. There are a couple of flares, one of those orange, reflective triangles and a matching vest, and a pouch of cheap-looking tools. It’s the lamest emergency kit I’ve ever seen. Still, I’m glad to see the shovel.
I cross my arms, feeling a little silly for getting out at all. There’s one shovel and three of us, and Brecken clearly has the upper-body strength to get the job done quicker than Harper or me.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
Brecken shrugs. “I don’t know. Stand over there and look pretty or something.”
“Is it 1972 in your mind?” Harper asks, barking a laugh.
“Made you laugh, didn’t it?” Brecken asks.
“Not even a chuckle here,” I say.
“Come on partner,” he says. “You and I have been through things. Help me lighten the mood a little, will you?”
Harper shakes her head like she’s dealing with a younger brother who doesn’t know better. But Brecken should know better. And I can’t help but wonder if there’s a vein of truth running underneath all these shitty comments.
Harper sighs. “Good intent or not, you’d be wise to check that kind of chatter at the door in medical school.”
Brecken tenses, looking down. “It’s not going to be a problem.”
I laugh. “Just don’t call us when you end up in an HR office one day.”
“Duly noted. Let’s start digging.”
Harper frowns, the wind blowing a sheet of her dark hair across one eye. “I feel like we’re never getting home. Do you think I should have…”
“No. You’re doing the best you can and you know it.” Brecken squeezes her shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she says.
I feel like I’ve gone invisible and wish it was true. I hold my breath, hoping they don’t notice me, because the long look they’re sharing feels private. Maybe Josh is right, and this isn’t the first time they’ve met.
But why the hell would they hide it?
Brecken pulls out his phone to hand it to Harper. “Hold this so I don’t drop it?”
I brighten at the sight of it, realizing this could be a good opportunity to call home. It’s been a while since I called, and I’m sure my mom is having a nervous breakdown.
“Brecken, can I use your phone to call home?”
“Help yourself,” he says. “Battery’s low, fair warning. And I’m going to need the charger when we’re back in the car.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
He unlocks it and I start dialing my mom’s number, freezing before I finish the last two digits. I can’t leave her hanging like this, but calling her? What happens then? Do I tell her about the route change? The pileups? The fact that the highway is closed?
My stomach curls in like a fist. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated, but now? She was still skittish the last time I saw her. On the phone she seemed better, but I know her. I can’t stand here on Brecken’s phone talking her off the ledge for thirty minutes. I need her to be calm. And most of all I need her off the phone in five minutes flat.
Which means I can’t call my mother.
So, I call my dad. He doesn’t answer the first time, or the second, probably because he doesn’t recognize the number. But after the third try, he picks up. His voice makes my shoulders sag with relief. That single hello is an open window, allowing my real world to spill through like sunshine.
“Dad,” I say, exhaling in a rush.
“Mira,” he says, clearly alarmed. “What’s going on, kiddo? I’ve been trying to reach you since they grounded the flights. Are you okay?”
“Relatively speaking, yes.”
“So, fill me in,” he says. “Where are you?”
I sigh, relaxing further. “I don’t even know where to start.”
He chuckles. “Well, you’re calling from someone else’s phone. Start there.”
“There’s a lot that happened before that.” I fill him in on the weather delays and me taking a ride, and the disaster detour up to I-80. I don’t invent a family because Dad doesn’t hit the panic button easily. And he doesn’t now. He does a lot of uh-huhs and a few pauses that tell me he maybe doesn’t love my choices here.
Not that I blame him. I’m loving my choices less with each passing mile.
At some point, I start rambling about the I-80 pileup and then I’m all over the map. Talking about the rest stop and the weird guy in the hat. My lost phone. Kayla sleeping all the time. I trail off before I talk about Brecken stealing gas. Some things are just too much, even for Dad.
“So, where are you now?” he asks.
“I don’t know. We’re on some county road. It’s really awful. We’re driving through a ton of snow.”
“I’ve got to say, I’m not a big fan of this.”
“That makes two of us,” I say honestly.
“Why don’t you stop at a service station or a truck stop? Hunker down and call the police. They’ll take you to the station and you can stay warm and safe until the roads clear.”
“I can almost guarantee the police are wrapped up with all the accidents. Plus, we’re in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even see houses.”
“So, what’s the plan from here?”
“We’re trying to head west so that we can get back to I-80 where it’s open,” I say.
“Do you feel comfortable with that? Do you feel safe?”
I take a deep, pine-scented breath and curl my frozen toes inside my boots. “Mostly. I don’t know.”
“Talk to me. Are they driving recklessly?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” I pause, trying to figure out what it is like. “I don’t know, they’re just strangers. And they’re a little…”
“Strange?” Dad supplies.
“Yeah. I guess that feels right. They’re just kind of weird.”
“Weird dangerous or just weird?”
“Probably just weird,” I say, feeling a little silly now that I’m talking to him. “Honestly, I’m so tired I can barely stand up. I’m probably being dramatic.”
“I’m sure you’re exhausted. Not to change the subject,” Dad says, sounding sympathetic, “but have you talked to your mom?”
“Only a little.” I bite my lip. “Actually, that’s my other main reason for calling. Did you know that Daniel left Mom?”
He pauses, so I’m guessing he didn’t hear me
.
“Daniel and Mom split up. Did you know?”
Another pause, but this time I’m sure he heard. Which means he did know.
Before I can ask about it, he exhales. “Mira, we can talk about all that later. Right now, you need to focus on getting home safely.”
“You knew and didn’t tell me? It’s the anniversary of Phoebe dying, Dad! Mom needs me.”
“I know things weren’t good when Phoebe died, but your mom is doing better. She’s okay. We’re both worried about you.”
My laugh comes out sounding sad. “I’m fine! And I know she’s not. There’s no way. Also, I didn’t realize that moving in with you meant I’d be the last person to hear things.”
“That’s not fair. We had our reasons, and we can talk about them later,” Dad says. “What your mom needs is you and these other kids getting home safely, so that’s what you need to do right now.”
These other kids. Sure. Except she thinks these other kids are a responsible, well-insured family of four. I wince.
“Yeah, about that…” I trail off, stamping the snow under my boots. “Okay, so you really aren’t going to like this part. Mom knows I’m with Harper, but she also thinks I’m with Harper’s parents. And she thinks we’re still driving on I-78. I may have fibbed a little.”
“You know I don’t condone lying to your mother.”
“I know that, I do. And you can ground me until I’m forty when I get home. But please. Will you call her? She doesn’t know I lost my phone, and I’m sure she’s really worried and if I call her…”
Dad sighs. “She’ll never let you off the phone.”
“Yes. That. Also, she’ll probably send out the National Guard and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
“Not sure she has those kinds of strings or that Canada would come to your aid,” he says, but his chuckle on the other end of the line is reassuring. I can almost see his crinkled dark eyes and wide smile. “And let’s be clear that I might do it, too, if things don’t turn around.”
“Dad, please,” I say softly. “I just need you to try to help her stay calm.”
“Look, I’ll call your mom, but you can’t worry about her anymore. Take care of yourself and get home safely.”
He makes me promise to check in with him at the next gas station. And informs me he won’t hesitate to call this number back, and maybe the police, if he doesn’t hear from me every couple of hours.
“One more thing, Mira.”
“What’s that?”
“You trust your gut, okay? If you feel unsafe, for any reason, any reason at all, trust it. Just get out of the car at whatever gas station you can get them to stop at. Stay put and stay warm. It might take a while, but we will get you home, so don’t worry about that.”
“Okay.”
“And your mom? She’s going to be fine.”
I resist the urge to disagree with him before we hang up. Dad didn’t see how terrible it got. He didn’t endure the weeks after Phoebe died when Daniel and I would find her in the kitchen in the middle of the night peeling potatoes for no reason. Or standing in the laundry room sweeping the same spot over and over. It was bad.
Bad enough that maybe I should have never left.
I try not to think about how she’ll react to Dad’s call. I try not to imagine her standing in front of the Christmas tree in her bathrobe, with that strange, closed-off expression on her face. Like she’s sleepwalking even though she’s wide awake.
Maybe Dad’s right about her doing better. But what is Christmas supposed to be without Phoebe for us? No more off-key Christmas carols and eating cookie dough straight out of the fridge, salmonella be damned. It’s just…empty.
“Just get me home,” I whisper to no one in particular. “I need to get home.”
It’s as close to a prayer as I’ve uttered in a long time, and there’s a faint layer of desperation in my tone.
Brecken’s phone buzzes, and I notice the battery is at 8 percent before it powers down. I crunch my way down the hill to the car, where Harper is in the driver’s seat with the door open. Brecken has shoveled out the tires and wedged a flattish log underneath the two that are sunk in the worst. In the driver’s seat, Harper guns the engine, and Brecken pushes hard into the front bumper. He’s trying to help her get it backed out.
“Here, I’ll help,” I say. “I’m sorry—I think your phone is about out of juice.”
“No big.” He laughs through his strain. “And I appreciate the offer for help, but I doubt all ninety-eight pounds of you is going to do much.”
I ignore him and take position beside him, bracing my hands on the car. I dig my heels in and lean forward. The bumper is smooth and cold and solid, and I like it. It feels good to brace myself for physical work, to know exactly what I need to do to move forward from here.
Brecken smirks. “Push a lot of cars out of ditches, Mira?” I don’t know how he makes it sound like a dirty joke, but he does.
I cut my eyes to the windshield, where Harper watches from behind the wheel.
“Try it again,” I yell to her.
She does, and Brecken and I push. The car rolls back a few inches. We can tell the second the tires gain traction. The engine’s power kicks in, and the car accelerates, motoring up and onto the pavement in a smooth rush.
“See? We were made to work together,” Brecken says, winking. “Partners in crime.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just heads back to the car to confer with Harper at the wheel. I don’t know what transpires, but Brecken goes to the trunk and opens it.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I’m going to grab my backup battery,” Brecken says.
He unzips the front compartment of his smaller bag and instantly frowns. “Not funny. Who the hell has it?”
“Who has what?” Josh mutters, his voice muffled from the interior of the car.
“My backup battery. It was in the front compartment of my backpack.”
He picks up the backpack and looks underneath it. Checks the side pockets, too.
“Check the main compartment,” Harper says. She’s behind me now, having gotten out of the car.
“I don’t need to. It isn’t in there. I never put my battery anywhere but this pocket.”
“Well, it looks like you did this time,” Harper says, but as he searches the front and side pockets again, ice rolls up my spine like a wave.
He’s frantic, rummaging through the top layer of the main compartment and jerking Josh’s bag out of the way to grab his second bag. I take a step back and Harper looks at me, the reflection of my own unease in her eyes. Because we’ve already done our own frantic searches. We’ve already lost something.
“You must have misplaced it,” Josh says, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it.
None of us do.
Harper’s wallet, Josh’s book, my phone, and now this? Our stuff isn’t going missing—someone is stealing it. And there are exactly four people who could be responsible.
I take a sharp breath and look at my fellow travelers with new wariness.
Someone in this car is lying.
Chapter Thirteen
Brecken throws his backpack down, face red, the tendons in his neck stretched tight like cords beneath his skin. “Everyone out of the car.”
“What?” Josh asks.
“Now,” Brecken says. “We’re searching bags.”
“What are you talking about?” Kayla asks, sounding groggy.
“Brecken lost something,” Josh says, tugging his crutches free of the cargo area. “He wants to search the bags.”
Outside, I stay quiet and still, watching Brecken root around the trunk and check his pockets, inside and out. He’s angry, but thorough, unzipping every zipper, fishing around each pocket with his large, wide hands.
Josh is at the back already, but Kayla is slow, shuffling in the car for what seems like an hour before she finally emerges.
“So, what are you missing?” Kayla asks, frowning.
“A backup battery for my phone,” Brecken says.
Though I’m freaked out by another missing item, I can’t help but roll my eyes. “The world comes to a halt over that, but you thought my actual phone wasn’t a big deal.”
“Let’s just say it’s not the damn battery I’m after.” Brecken looks at Kayla and all of our eyes turn to her.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I don’t give a shit about it, except that it’s high end. It’d fetch more than a few bucks at a pawnshop, just like a phone. Or a wallet.”
“Uh, probably not a book,” Josh admits, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I guess it looks old, but it’s not valuable.”
“Well, as far as I can tell, there’s one person in this car who hasn’t had something turn up missing,” Brecken snaps. “I say it’s well past time we check Sleeping Beauty’s bag.”
If Kayla’s surprised by the question, she doesn’t show it. She crosses her arms over her chest and glares. “Bullshit.”
“Bullshit why?” Harper asks calmly. “He’s right. You’re the only one who hasn’t lost something, and—correct me if I’m wrong—but you don’t seem super keen on us looking through your bag.”
“Maybe that’s because I’m the only one keeping track of my things.”
“We’re searching your bag,” Brecken says.
Kayla reaches for it, snarling. “You’re not touching my bag.”
“What do you think you’re going to do about it?” Brecken asks. Goose bumps rise on my flesh at the confidence in his tone. He knows she can’t stop him. He knows none of us can. He tilts his head. “We’re not going to have a thief sitting in the car with us.”
Kayla’s eyes brighten. “Newsflash, Brecken. We already have a thief in the car.”
“That’s different,” Harper says, but her voice wavers.
“I don’t know that it is,” I say.
“Thank you,” Kayla says.
Five Total Strangers Page 11