The excursion, p.6
The Excursion, page 6
I need to relax. This is not that bad. I’ve driven in the mountains on snowy days hundreds of times. We’re going to be okay. It’s only a few more miles to the cabin.
Once we’re there, everything will be okay.
“Stop watching the snow,” I say. “It’s too much stimulus. Try closing your eyes.”
“It’s not the snow.”
“What is it? Johnathan?”
He nods.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, but you shouldn’t be surprised. You knew he was never coming back. It’s just permanent now.”
“Why don’t you ever call him Dad? If he’s dead—now that he’s dead, shouldn’t you—”
“No. Dead or alive, he’s not—I’m not going to call him Dad. Not ever. And it doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. He’s dead.” My face flushes.
I’m about to cry.
But I never cry.
Ever.
Jacob stamps his feet, picks up his fidget toy, and throws it at the windshield.
“Stop it,” I plead.
“Dad’s dead. Mom’s going to die. She’s going to leave. You’re going to leave.”
“Stop it!”
“You’re going to leave me again, aren’t you, Charly? You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Stop looking at the snow, and look at me.”
“I want out.” He slams his fist into the windshield. “Out!”
The wind gusts, blowing snow over the hood. I can’t see the road’s edges. “Calm down. Use your toy.”
“It’s not a toy,” he screams.
“Hang on, okay? I bet Amanda and Cam are already at the cabin. I bet they’ve started a fire. Think about how much fun we’re going to have. We can have cocoa.”
He pulls his knees to his chest. Rocks back and forth. “They can’t be in the cabin. They don’t have the keys.” A tear escapes his eye and runs down his cheek. “You said Mom gave you the keys. You have the keys. Dad’s keys. Dad is dead.”
“Calm down. You’re going to be fine. Here’s the plan. We’ll get to the cabin, unpack, have dinner, and go to our room. We’ll keep the lights low, and you can watch videos on your phone while I talk to Amanda and Cam.”
“All you care about is them.” He wipes his nose. “You only care about Amanda. I don’t want to watch videos. I want to go home. You want to keep going because you’re jealous. You’re jealous, Charly. You want something someone else has because you’re jealous.”
“Jealous of what?”
“Of what Amanda has. You don’t think I know, but I do. I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not stupid. I love you, but—I’m not jealous of her. I just want to spend New Year’s with family for once. We haven’t seen them in forever. I want to reminisce and relive our childhood.”
“You’re jealous. You’re jealous of everything Amanda has. She’s a millionaire.” He turns toward me. “I want to go home, Charly. Let’s go home.”
Jacob’s wrong. I don’t care about Amanda’s big executive advertising position in New York. Her wealthy boyfriends. Her looks. Her money. Jacob doesn’t know about the trust fund. When we cash in, we’ll all be millionaires.
“Cam is evil.” Jacob refocuses his attention on the windshield. “I want to go home.”
“You need to let it go. Cam is not evil.”
“But, his cat—he killed his cat. He’ll kill me. He said so.”
“When?”
“When we were little. He said so.”
“That was a long time ago. Let it go.”
“No. I want out, Charly. I want out. Pull over.” He grabs the steering wheel.
I hit the brakes.
The car spins out of control. He won’t let go of the wheel. I pry at his fingers, but his grip is firm. My foot slips off the brake and hits the gas pedal. We speed toward the mountainside.
Jacob promised he would behave before we left home.
I pump the brakes and close my eyes.
We should never have left.
I should never have trusted him.
We crash into the mountain.
Stopped, I watch the snow whirl over the windshield in sweeping spirals. The passenger-side hood and side mirror are demolished. The wind whirs like a jet engine. The mountain blocks Jacob’s door from opening, but he pulls on the handle anyway, repeatedly hitting the unlock button. He pushes on the door, but he can’t open it. He’s trapped.
The blizzard envelops us.
We’re trapped.
“Oh, no,” he says. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.”
“Calm down.” I put my hand on his shoulder and he jerks away. “Everything’s going to be okay. Let me see how bad it is.” I open my door.
“Don’t leave me. It’s cold out there. You’ll freeze. If your body temperature drops below ninety-five degrees, you’ll die of hypothermia within two hours. You’ll freeze to death, Charly.”
“Relax. I’m not going to freeze to death. I’ll be right back. Here, I’ll leave the engine running so you’ll have heat. Promise not to touch anything?”
“Yes.”
I don’t believe him. I love him, but he always runs.
The snowbank has swallowed the passenger side. The fender is crushed beneath the drift. We’re not going anywhere.
I step into the middle of the road and gaze down the hill. Ice crystals form inside my nostrils. I’m not dressed for this. Snow slips into my sneakers and begins to melt, soaking my socks. My tongue stings. My eyes water in the wind. The frozen air is unbreathable.
My cell phone signal is weak but alive.
I try to call Cam, but he doesn’t answer. His phone goes to voice mail.
I hesitate, then call Amanda. She’s going to think I don’t know how to drive.
She doesn’t answer, and her phone goes to voice mail.
There’s no break in the sky. The clouds own it.
Snow swirls around me.
The cabin lies somewhere on the other side of this hill, but it is still miles away.
We’re stranded.
Jacob watches me from the car.
It’s only a matter of time before he tries to run.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHARLY - THEN
“They’re getting a divorce,” Amanda said. “You know that, right?”
“Shut up.” I seethed. “They are not.”
Yelling came from the kitchen. Cam, Jacob, Amanda, and I sat at the picnic table on the deck, listening. My dad had gone inside when we heard Mom drop a pan. She needed help, but now—nothing but yelling.
I looked away. Beyond the boathouse, ripples on the lake made their way to the shore and struck the sand.
“It’s okay, Charly.” Amanda drew my attention back to her. She narrowed her eyes. “You can come live with me. My house is bigger than yours anyway. We have an extra room.”
“They’re not getting a divorce.”
“Whatever.”
Cam stood and headed toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Amanda asked.
“Back to the woods.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Jacob squinted at the sun and took his sweater off. “Amanda is going to win the prize. She’s going to win.”
“No, she’s not.” I stood.
Amanda grinned. “You don’t have a chance, Charly. I already have a plan.”
“She has a plan.” Jacob flung his sweater on the table. “Amanda is a winner with a plan.”
“Stop it, Jacob.”
“He’s right. I have a plan, and I’m going to win. There are winners and losers, and I’m a winner.”
I wanted to rip the freckles off her face. Put her in her place. But the right words didn’t come. Jacob was just being Jacob. I never understood why he liked her, and I still don’t. Anger swelled inside me, and I turned toward the cabin.
“Aw, don’t go, Charly. Just because I’m a winner doesn’t mean you’re a loser. Not exactly.”
My dad had left the french doors unlatched. I slammed them behind me and ran up the stairs. I needed a plan for the game. Amanda didn’t win at everything, and she wasn’t going to beat me. Not this time. I needed an edge. I—
Before I could reach my room, my parents’ voices coursed down the hall like blood from a torn scab. They were still arguing. I heard Dad say my name, but I couldn’t make out the rest. My mom yelled back at him. I crept past my room and rounded the corner toward theirs.
“I don’t understand.” She spoke like she had something stuck in her throat. “Is it me? Because of me?”
“No,” he said. “Not—no. Maybe. Not really. It’s my work. If I go and do this, we’ll be set for life.”
“How often are you planning to come back?”
“At least once a month. Maybe more. I promise.”
Silence.
“Joan,” he said, “I’m worried about you and the kids.”
“What do you mean?”
“When did you start drinking in the morning?”
“I’m fine.”
“When I go, you’ll have to stop. You’ll need to take care of them.”
“How are you going to break the news? Charly’s going to be crushed.”
“I’m taking her canoeing at lunch. I’ll explain it to her then, and we can talk as a family with Jacob later.”
I waited.
She didn’t respond.
“Joan, are you okay with this?”
“Canoeing with Charly? On—on the lake? I suppose so.”
“No. Are you okay with everything else?”
Footsteps sounded inside.
I backed away from the door.
“It might be good.” Her voice wavered. “It might be good for you to go away for a while. I mean, for us.”
The footsteps got louder, and I turned away. It sounded like my father was coming toward the door.
I sprinted down the hall.
What did she mean, good for us?
I didn’t want Amanda to win the game, and I didn’t want Amanda to be right about my parents. Divorce. I vowed to keep both from happening. Dad said he would come back every month, but—how could it be good for us?
How could it be good for anyone?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHARLY
I shut the engine off despite the dropping temperatures outside. We ran the defroster for an hour, but ice crystals still cling to the upper corners of the windshield. The blizzard has intensified. I can no longer see the hill up ahead.
“We will die in two hours if our body temperature drops below ninety-five degrees.” Jacob holds his fidget toy to his chest. “I read about this. We will die. I don’t want to freeze to death, Charly.”
“We’ve got to save gas. There’s only a quarter tank left.”
“What if it won’t start again?”
“It will start again.”
“I’m cold. I want my sweatshirt. We’re going to die.” He leans over the dashboard, his shoulders rising toward his ears. Tense. “Let me out.”
I knew he wouldn’t sit there forever, trapped with his door against the snowbank. “If I let you out to get your sweatshirt, will you stay calm?”
“I won’t run if that’s what you mean. I won’t run.”
He’s said that before.
I open my door. The wind slaps me in the face. I grab Jacob’s hand, and he crawls over the gearshift. His foot knocks my soda out of the cupholder, and he apologizes.
“Leave it,” I say.
Together, we trudge through the snow to the back of the car. The sun has begun its descent behind the mountains, darkening the sky. The blizzard has nearly filled the hole I dug behind the tires earlier this afternoon. My effort was in vain. The front end is buried so deep in the snowbank, there’s no way I could get us out. Someone will have to pull the car with a chain or something. The nearest tow truck places didn’t answer my calls, and only one took messages. I’m hoping they call back soon, but they probably won’t. With all this snow, I’m sure they’re all busy.
I could call the police, but this isn’t an emergency. Not yet. Besides, I don’t trust them. They’d only call a tow truck and give me a ticket for reckless driving. That’s the last thing I need. Worse, they might look up my record.
I push snow off the hatchback and open it.
Jacob stands there, staring at his suitcase.
“Hurry,” I say.
“Will you open it? I hate the sound the zipper makes.”
“Fine.”
I agree, the zipper’s skritch is annoying, but for Jacob, the sound is all but unbearable. He didn’t fold his clothes. He pushes the wads around, searching for his sweatshirt.
A raccoon tail falls out, bounces off the bumper, and hits the ground.
“You still have this?” I ask.
“Yes. Of course, I still have it. I kept it.”
I pick it up. The tail has lost some hairs near the severed end, but the rest is full. Brown and black stripes, soft to the touch. “Is it really the same one?”
“Yes.” He finds his sweatshirt and struggles to put it on over his coat. “I always take it with me. It’s good luck. Amanda gave it to me.”
“I know.” I throw the tail back into his suitcase and shut the hatchback.
Jacob heads for the driver’s door. “I want to show it to Amanda. She’ll like that I kept it. Right? Right, Charly?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“She gave it to me because I was a winner.”
“You are a winner. You don’t need a tail to—wait. Look.” A gigantic black SUV emerges through the blustery snow, coming up the hill the same way we did. I wave my hands. I’d think it was a military vehicle except for the shiny chrome grill. It’s too nice for the army. The headlights pierce the falling snow, and the windows are so heavily tinted, I can’t see the driver, but he must see me because he pulls over.
Jacob frantically pulls on the door handle to my car. “Charly. It won’t open. Hurry.”
“Hold on.”
The SUV’s passenger side window opens. When I see the woman inside, I realize the SUV is a Humvee. It must be worth tens of thousands. She’s about my age, and her platinum blond hair is done up in a braided mohawk. She has full-on lip gloss and heavy mascara. Her green eyes are striking, and I wonder if she’s wearing colored contacts. She smiles as if we’re old friends. “Like, wow. Your car is really stuck.”
“Why are we stopping?” The man in the driver’s seat leans over the steering column. His curly hair is drenched in product. It shines. His broad shoulders bury the steering wheel. “We can’t help them.”
“We only need a push,” I say. “Or, a pull.”
“Charly. Hurry.” Jacob pulls on the door to my car. It won’t open. The auto-locks must have kicked in when we got out. I grab him by the arm and pull him over to the Humvee.
“We’ve got to keep going,” the Humvee driver says. “We’re expected.”
Jacob pulls his arm out of my grasp and repeatedly bends his knees, bouncing up and down.
“Does he have to go to the bathroom or something?” the woman asks.
“No.” I turn to him. “Jacob. Stop it.”
“She’s wearing too much makeup,” he says. “She wears too much. She’s a raccoon. Or a bandit. A bandit raccoon.”
“Shh.” I put my hands on the woman’s door. “Can you help us get our car out?”
The man revs the engine. “No. We don’t have time to pull you out. We’re on a schedule.”
“I’m sorry.” The woman extends her hand. “I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Kennedy McCallister, and this is Barry Rockwell.” She winks as if I should know who they are. “Apparently, we’re late for this thing he’s doing.”
He shifts into drive, and the engine lets out a low grumble. “Someone else will be along soon. There’s nothing we can do for you.”
“Barry, stop. We can’t just leave them here.”
“Yes, we can.”
There’s no sky. It’s a whiteout.
“I’m not riding with strangers.” Jacob bounces. Bends his knees. “Since the eighties, over five-hundred hitchhikers have been murdered. Over five-hundred.”
The man leans toward Kennedy. Gazes at Jacob. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine.” I wrap my arms around myself. “It’s just cold out here.”
“I’m not riding with strangers,” Jacob says.
Sometimes, when he’s nervous or scared, Jacob resorts to quoting things he knows, and he knows a lot. His statistics are usually accurate. I don’t want to be murdered a mile from here by these strangers any more than he does, but we have no choice. Though, thinking about it, the odds aren’t bad. Five-hundred murders over three decades. That’s a pretty small percentage. My bigger concern is how “Barry” looked at Jacob. He doesn’t seem very understanding, if not downright hostile. Stupid jock. “Could we get a ride?”
“He thinks he’s smart, doesn’t he?” Barry says. “Tell me. Since the eighties, how many hitchhikers murdered the people picking them up? Why should we risk giving you a ride?”
Jacob squints. Lowers his chin. “Less than half the murders—”
Kennedy puts her hand on Barry’s shoulder. “Barry, baby, we can’t leave them out here.”
“But they’re weird. Look at that car. Look at him. They’re not going to like it if we show up with unexpected guests. It might screw up the whole trip. Come on, babe.”
“Oh, please. You’re only going hunting.”
“No. I told you, it’s not only hunting, it’s—it doesn’t matter. We’re leaving them here and that’s final.”
“We can’t do that.” She hushes her voice. “If we leave them here, and they don’t make it, and it gets out that we left them . . . what if someone tweets about it?”
Barry pulls her close and whispers something in her ear.
I search my pockets for my cell phone, but I don’t find it. I must have left it in the car. “Jacob, give me your cell phone.” He does so, and I hold it up to the window.
