Once Upon a Road Trip (18 page)

I’m sitting still in line for the border crossing right now, and the wait looks pretty bad. So, I might as well write.

I attempted to leave Ottawa after dropping Zak off near his friend’s house. After he left, I realized that I couldn’t find my keys. I had myself a little freak-out moment (like the pansy that I am) and went looking for Zak. Since I didn’t know for sure where he’d gone, I ended up disturbing his still very pregnant sister, who happened to live close by. She called him back along with his friend, and we looked all over the place for those keys. Finally, Eve figured out I’d dropped them in the engine while I was checking the oil. I don’t think I had any pride left by then.

Zak and his friend took off right away, but Eve was kind enough to invite me into her home for drinks and a nice chat. She even showed me Zak’s baby pictures. (He was adorable, of course.) When she wasn’t putting up with contractions, she was witty, perceptive, and all around fun to talk to. I think I’d be doing all right if I ended up more like her one day. She’s happy, and she has a functional life. No minor accomplishment there.

Before I left, Eve told me that Zak had gotten into a big argument with his family a few days before I came into town. They were all understandably upset that he was planning on meeting some strange American who he only knew from the internet. But evidently, he was convinced that I was trustworthy and wouldn’t back down, despite the concerns of his sister and mother. Eve sounded like she was proud of him for it, since he isn’t usually assertive about much of anything. It warmed my heart to find out he’d thought well enough about me to defend me to his family... and before we’d even met in person.  

I left Eve, promising to pray she not need a C-section. I can’t blame her for not wanting them to take the baby out through the emergency exit. But with how exhausted she’s been, I’m pretty sure she’ll just be glad to be holding Obie... regardless of how he gets here.

~Ang 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles ached, Angie slowed to make out another street sign. She’d pulled into the small town of Oldwick, New Jersey, well after dark, and her written directions had ceased to be of any use.

Four hours prior, she’d called her next host from a gas station to warn him she would be late. Since then, she’d gotten lost twice while trying to navigate a poorly-lit construction detour. She was stressed to her limit and desperately tired. Her shoulders felt like they were strung together by overstretched rubber bands.

The road to her right looked promising, but she couldn’t be sure. The second half of the street name was covered by a tall bush.

Don’t people around here know how to use hedge clippers?

She turned down the dark lane, straining to read the house numbers as she crept past each dwelling. She was looking for a “weekend home” — whatever that looked like. When Scott told her about it, she had pictured a cabin in some rural setting. But this was clearly a suburban street with average-sized houses. All very nice houses, from what she could tell.

Okay, so they could afford to -hire- someone who knows how to use hedge clippers…

Further along, Angie came across a lone figure walking on the right side of the road. She wouldn’t normally have paid much attention, but it was late for a stroll and the person’s attire wasn’t well suited for the activity. A pair of baggy beige pants stood out as the most headlight-friendly part of the ensemble, while the dark T-shirt blended into the darkness. The vigilant part of her brain suggested she hit the door locks. Catching a glimpse of the young man’s face as she passed, recognition tingled at the edges of her mind. She’d gone on several yards before a muffled sound from outside of the car provided the last clue.

“AAANNNGGGEEELLLEEEEEE!”

The bellowing cry caused Angie to stomp on her brakes. She put the car into reverse and backed up to pull alongside the lone figure. Her passenger side door opened and Scott’s strapping frame slid into the seat beside her.

“I was about ready to call Elsie and see if you’d checked in. You seriously need to get a regular cell phone,” he said, though he wore an easy grin that softened the scolding. “You couldn’t have found another pay phone and thrown me an update?”

“I’m really sorry,” Angie said, awash in relief over having been found. “The highway disappeared on me and I kept getting off on the wrong road—” Her excuse sounded weak. The truth was, she’d been so frazzled over getting lost it hadn’t occurred to her to call him again.

“Hey, I’m just glad you’re okay. You are okay...right?” Scott asked, a vague look of concern lighting his swarthy features.

“Yeah. Just tired is all,” Angie said. Scanning his face, she understood what had thrown her off in identifying him on the road. In all the pictures she’d seen, Scott had been wearing his shoulder-length hair down. Presently, his dark, unruly mane was tamed back into a blunted ponytail — it suited him better, she thought. His hair had called attention away from his face, which was smooth, save for the soul patch that wrapped under his strong, angular jaw. He bore almost no resemblance to his cousin, Elsie.

“Well, let’s get moving.” He gestured ahead. “The house is down here on the right. My dad and stepmom left a couple hours ago to head back into the city, but my friends are still hanging around. We can catch a ride with them.” Scott’s voice came out low and decisive, just as it had in countless phone conversations they’d shared in the last year since Elsie introduced them.

Angie nodded, following his instructions until they’d pulled into a broad driveway. They got out, and Scott transferred her duffel bag into the back of a black Lexus SUV that shared the drive.

“Lock up,” he said. “Your car should be safe here for the week.”

Angie secured a wallet-chain she’d brought along for this part of the trip, then double checked the locks and patted the trunk affectionately. “Thanks for not making me drive into the city. I’m not sure I could handle that.”

“No problem.” One corner of Scott’s mouth tugged upward as he looked from her to the vehicle. “It’s easier this way. Don’t have to worry about you getting stuck in traffic or finding a place to keep your car.”

“Exactly.” Angie nodded.

Scott gave her a curious look and pointed to the link on her belt. “You know, I didn’t picture you as the wallet-chain type.”

“I remember you talking about how tourists get targeted by pickpockets,” she said. “I just thought I should come prepared. I don’t really carry anything valuable—I just can’t afford to lose my driver’s license.”

“Huh.” Scott mused. “It’s kinda punk. I like it.” He flashed a grin, projecting the confident bearing she’d come to expect. “Let’s get the guys and get out of here.” He led the way and Angie followed, the cool evening air reviving her.

The back door deposited them in a warmly lit kitchen, where polished oak cabinets overlooked black granite countertops. A pristine set of copper-bottomed pots and pans hung on display along the wall, and in combination with the studio lighting, made Angie think the place belonged on a gourmet cooking show. The space was open, with only a half-wall separating it from the living room. A sizable island bar sat in the middle of the stone-tiled floor with a trio of tall brass chairs pulled up along one side.

The middle chair was occupied by a bored looking young man, whose attention was fixated on the television mounted over the refrigerator. Like Scott, he was somewhat above-average in height and well built. His complexion was fair, however, and further washed out by the white designer T-shirt and matching baseball cap he wore with the bill cocked to the right.

“Hey James, I found her. We can head out,” Scott announced as he trudged across the kitchen, his nylon track pants making a swishing sound as he moved.

A game controller in hand, James’s focus barely deviated from the first-person shooter he seemed enthralled with. “Kay. Lemme finish this round,” he answered vapidly.

Not waiting for an introduction, Angie followed Scott to the living room. She caught a blur of movement as a figure went sprinting in front of them, hurdled the brown leather sofa and disappeared behind it. A moment later the agile young man popped back into view, craned his arm, and pitched something brightly-colored across the room. The object, which turned out to be a miniature football, was captured just short of its impending collision with a bay window by the bulky form of another young man.

“Guys! What’d I say about throwing stuff in here?” Scott barked.

“Try not to hit the breakables?” The big one offered in a deep voice, tinged with a faint accent Angie couldn’t identify. A mocking grin spread across his rounded face as he feigned a snap throw, which would have been aimed at Scott’s head. His expression ebbed then when he caught sight of Angie. “That the girl?”

Scott, seeming to know the hefty fellow well enough to predict his behavior, didn’t flinch. “Yeah, this is Angie,” he said, looking back at her with a lingering smile. “Angie…Tonga.”

“Your name is Tonga?” Angie asked, uncertain if she’d understood correctly.

“No. Tonga is the country I come from.” The young man beaming smile stood out against his rich, dark skin. He was dressed more formally in a blue button-down shirt with gray pinstripes, paired with black pants. His hairline came to a pronounced widow’s peak above his brow, and his tight, black curls were trimmed to a clean half-inch in length. “My name is long and hard to pronounce. It’s easier to call me Tonga, trust me.”

“Tonga’s a diplomat brat—just like Yosh over here.” Scott motioned to the considerably smaller young man who was crossing the room toward them. “We all went to the same school.”

“Hideyoshi.” The diminutive young man amended the introduction, tapping his fingertips to the center of his chest as he sauntered closer. His face was ovular, with almond-toned skin laid taut over stoic features. Around his head he wore a white bandanna with a red disk imprinted front and center, which Angie recognized as the Japanese flag. His baggy jeans hung low enough to make her wonder what mysterious force was preventing them from falling down around his ankles. His chin jutted upward as he gave her a scrutinizing once-over. “But, I’ll let you call me Yosh-sama.” His dark brows arched and fell as he made the offer, a smirk curling his lips.

“And why would I do that?” Angie asked. “I thought ‘sama’ was a suffix used for addressing someone of higher rank or age.” She was reasonably sure she recalled the cultural morsel correctly, but glanced to Scott in hopes of verification.

Scott broke into a snicker at Yosh’s expense. “I told you, man. She’s smart.”

“It would be either ‘san’ or ‘kun’, wouldn’t it?” Angie went on, quietly pleased that something from her collection of random knowledge had proven useful.

“San’s too formal.” Yosh looked disappointed but nodded once, begrudgingly. “Nice find, Scottie. Tits with wits.” He looked Angie over again before turning back to Scott. “Get her a little makeup and some decent clothes, and she could be a seven.”

It took Angie a moment to grasp that Yosh had not only insulted her, but in the same breath managed to rate her as though he were the judge at a dog show. Even in giving him the cultural benefit of a doubt, she was no less astonished. She had known several Japanese students in her Aikido classes, and had always found them to be significantly more respectful than American students at large. That left her to conclude Yosh was some sort of vulgar anomaly.

“And that’s why he can’t keep a girlfriend.” Tonga rumbled out a laugh, shaking his head as he moved into the kitchen.

“Yeah, don’t mind Yosh.” Scott chimed in after clearing his throat. “He talks first and thinks later.”

Having accepted that she was an outsider, and therefore unlikely to be defended, Angie folded her arms before herself as she sized up Yosh. “Well, since it sounds like you’re actually younger than me, maybe I should be calling you Yosh-chan.” She injected an artificial sweetness into her tone for the suffix, which she knew to be most appropriate when directed toward small children or cute animals.

Scott laughed, and Yosh shot him a sneering look.

“Call me that again, and we’ll see how long you last riding back on the luggage rack.” Yosh cocked his head to one side as his gaze snapped back to Angie.

“Touchy.” Angie clicked her tongue
.
But when it occurred to her that the Lexus parked in the driveway might belong to Yosh, she decided it wasn’t in her best interest to perturb him any further.

“Okay, play nice,” Scott said, stepping between them. “Let’s just get out of here. It’s getting late.”

“This ain’t late—The Yosh can go all night long.” The shorter of the young men bounded his fingertips off of either side of his chest before turning and stalking off into the kitchen.

The Yosh?
Angie mouthed to Scott.

Scott rolled his eyes.

“Right.” Angie sighed. “Well if it’s alright with you, I’m going to hit the bathroom before we leave.”

“Third door on the left.” Scott motioned to the hallway to the right of the kitchen. He turned then, surveying the damage to the living room. “I gotta clean this place up quick, anyway.”

Angie made her way down the hall, pausing to straighten an ornate wooden mask that had likely been bumped off-center by one of the cavalier houseguests. She remembered Scott mentioning that he had some interesting friends. Now, she was beginning to see now why he hadn’t gone into detail.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Angie drifted in and out of an exhausted, dreamless sleep on the ride into New York City. A map put the distance at around an hour’s drive, but that wasn’t taking the city’s traffic into account. Wedged between the back left window of the SUV and Scott’s shoulder, she dozed, catching only pieces of their entry.

They had a long wait at a toll booth while Yosh hunted through the front seats for his EZ-Pass, cussing angrily in both English and Japanese. Sometime later, she had the vague impression of an illuminated suspension bridge in the distance and an endless line of glowing tail lights. She’d glanced up at the clock on the dashboard. Was traffic really this bad at midnight? She heard the muffled refrain of car horns at one point, but found her eyelids too heavy to open.