Once Upon a Road Trip (54 page)

Taking several moments to collect herself, Angie headed down to the guest room to finish collecting her things and loading her car. Whether Scott was still in the mood to caravan with her or not, she was leaving.

  By the time Scott came out to pack his car, his anger was replaced by sullen remorse. Angie did her best to ignore him as they readied their vehicles side by side in the driveway. While she was checking her tire pressure, he brought her a cheese danish. Supposing it was a peace offering, she accepted the pastry but refused to break her silence.

Scott hovered nearby, head down and hands in his pockets. If he’d been working up the gumption to apologize, he was cut short when his mother came out the front door with a wallet in hand.

“Missing something?” Cindy held up the item, penciled brows quirked in a skeptical look.

Scott patted his back pocket and grumbled, walking over to take his wallet from her. “I woulda figured it out.”

“Uh-huh.” Cindy huffed, stepping up to peer in through the widows of his blue sports car. “You can use my card for gas, but that’s all. No junk food. If I find one empty bag of chips, so help me—”

“Got it,” Scott mumbled.

“I put the cards for your grandmother in your backpack,” Cindy continued, her thin arms fluttering at her sides. “Remember to stretch your legs every few hours. And don’t you dare speed. Call me every night—call me if you get tired—call me if you get lost.” Her pallid face pinched in a concerned look that she shrouded in irritability. She rattled off a checklist of supplies — Scott nodding his assent after every item.

“I think we’re good to go, Mom.” Scott wrapped the diminutive woman in a hug, setting his chin on her head. “Don’t be all worried, okay?”

Against her will, Angie felt a tiny bit of empathy return as she watched the exchange. “Yeah, no worries. I’ll look out for him,” she said, offering her hand to Cindy for a parting shake.    

The woman gave Angie’s hand a long look as she took a step back from her son, her expression growing cold. “He can look out for himself just fine.”

“Right.” Angie withdrew her hand, attempting a tight smile. If she’d had a tail, she would have tucked it.
That’s what I get for breaking her baby’s heart.

Ducking into her car, she waited for Scott to pull out of the drive.

August 3
,

On the Road Again

So, Vince and I are official now. Every night I talk to him, I’m more hopeful that he’s got permanency potential. It’s amazing to me how well he’s managed to walk this thin line between not trying hard enough…and stalking. I know that sounds odd, but I don’t know how else to explain it. Guys like Don and Zak might have liked me, but they didn’t care enough to prove it. I know Scott really liked me, obviously. But even if there hadn’t been problems with the way our personalities mesh, he was just too forceful about it. Vince is different; in the best way possible. I finally called Mom yesterday and told her about him. She didn’t sound as skeptical as I was expecting. I think she considers the long-distance thing to be a worthy test; one he’ll either pass or fail.

Today Scott and I got a later start leaving than I would have hoped, but we were on the road by 11 AM. We took turns driving lead. It was a long eleven hours, but it felt a little easier to be following someone while I drive.

We made it into Indiana after dark and looked for a place to stay. I’d originally planned on sleeping in the car, but Scott wasn’t keen on the idea. So we found a Holiday Inn, only to be told that all of the hotels within a 100 mile radius of Indianapolis are booked due to the Brickyard 400 race. The man behind the counter felt sorry for us and offered to check with a local Bed and Breakfast. It’s been so ridiculously hot and humid today...I don’t think he wanted us sleeping in our cars either. While he was making calls, someone canceled a room. We reserved it right away, though it was pretty expensive. Scott told me he had permission to use his Dad’s credit card for this sort of thing. He said his dad is touring Italy and wouldn’t notice anyway.

We went out to find something other than snack food, and Scott apologized for the big argument we had before we left. He told me he didn’t mean what he’d said...he was just trying to hurt me. (I already suspected that much.) But then he asked if I thought there might still be any chance for ‘us.’ I told him no, and he took that pretty hard. He broke down and cried, actually. I told him we should just get some sleep and he’d feel better in the morning. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about Vince.

As for sleeping accommodations… they didn’t have any rollaways left, so we have to share a king-sized bed. Granted the thing dwells in two zip codes at once, but considering how awkward things have been, I wanted to have more assured separation. Scott agreed to sleep on top of the covers on his side and I’m sleeping under them on my side.

Scott seems so dejected. I just hope he can start to see things differently, or I don’t know if we can save this friendship.

Mileage Log: 6,175 mi

~Ang

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This time, Angeli knew she was dreaming.

The foreboding forest felt familiar, though a starless twilight made it difficult for her to make out anything aside from looming shapes. She waded through crackling layers of dead leaves, groping her way from tree to tree. A rustling sound launched her heart into a rapid tempo. She froze in place, fighting the instinct to flee.

This isn’t real
, she reminded herself, craning her head back to search through the murky shadows. Though she couldn’t make out anything threatening, her taut muscles refused to let down their guard. As she struggled to collect her wits and will herself into less eerie surroundings, the sound came again.

“Vince?” Angie whispered, turning as she steadied herself against the nearest tree trunk. Under her hand the rough surface rippled and came alive. An unforgiving force encircled her wrist and jerked her off balance. She thrashed against it as she fell onto her back, yanking her arm free only to sense the other one had been seized.

The shadows themselves were attacking her, flowing like ink and converging into an amorphous mass. She kicked and twisted, but her attempts to scramble backward were nullified by the pressing weight of the entity. Blackness enveloped her, blotting out her remaining vision. It clung to her limbs like tar and pressed her down with a suffocating heaviness.

A perplexingly warm, almost pleasurable sensation began to fill her.
I’m dying
, she concluded somewhere in the back of her panic-stricken mind. She felt and heard something tear near her shoulder. For a split second, she thought her arm was being ripped from her body. And then her sense of reality came flooding back.

Angie knew she was awake now, but her body told her she was still in danger. Sensing motion around her only compounded her confusion. She couldn’t move. The coarse, tearing noise came again and she realized at once it was the sound of her shirt, ripping. Her eyes snapped open. Scott was on top of her, panting, heated lips on her skin. A dizzying shock of understanding lanced through her brain. Suddenly, death didn’t seem so terrible.

“Stop,” she rasped, straining to draw up her arms and push him away. They remained pinned at her sides. “Stop it—” she tried again, but her words were stifled by his mouth crushing against hers. Angie twisted against his weight. He was strong, and she had no leverage. Despair began to mingle with her overwhelmed senses, and she heard herself whimper. Something in her mind suggested she give up and lay still.

The thought settled for a moment, and then ignited her anger.

NO!
She channeled her focus into her arms, wrenching them with all of her remaining strength. Her right arm found freedom and she made the most of it, whipping her face to one side while she lashed out with a clenched fist, catching her assailant in the throat.

“GET OFF!”

Scott grunted, clutching at his neck as he was hurled onto the floor. He rolled onto his back, coughing hoarsely.

Angie sat up and snatched the blankets around. She turned on the lamp beside the bed, clutching at its base as the closest thing she had to a weapon. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, in a shrill voice she didn’t recognize. Her muscles ached from resistance, and her soul ached from betrayal.

Scott held up a hand and squinted against the light, continuing to cough and sputter. He rolled further away until he’d braced himself against the wall. When he looked up at her from behind his tangle of long, wild hair, she saw a flash of something carnal. Fear cooled her outrage. For an instant, she fought the impulse to hurl the lamp at him and bolt for the door. He looked down and then back up, and the feral look was gone.

“I’m…sorry.” He groaned, stretching out his neck as he continued to hold his throat. “What happened?”

“What happened?!” Angie repeated, incredulous. She glanced down at her torn shirt, grateful she had slept in her street clothes. It was then she realized that her hands were shaking. “You—” she clenched her teeth. “You…hurt me. You tried to—”

“I didn’t mean to.” Scott gave her a bewildered look.

“How could you not mean to?” she shot back.

“I dunno.” Scott groomed his dark bangs back from his face with one hand, shifting until he’d reclined himself into the corner of the room. “I musta done it in my sleep. I’m really sorry, okay?”

“No. NOT okay.” Angie pulled the top blanket with her as she stood. It dawned on her then that he was wearing only boxers and a sleeveless undershirt, and she struggled to recall his state of dress when they’d turned in for the night. Hadn’t they both been fully clothed? Her memory refused to cooperate.

Darting around the foot of the bed, she retrieved her overnight bag from the low dresser. The clock told her it was 4 AM. She was exhausted, but she knew she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep.

“Oh, come on, don’t leave!” Scott pleaded.

Angie fished a fresh T-shirt out of her bag. Her thoughts were in such disarray, she wasn’t aware of how badly she wanted to flee the room until he asked her not to. But where could she go? The idea of staying in her car until dawn unnerved her, but so did the thought of staying anywhere near Scott. Though her senses had been pushed to a heightened state of alertness, she knew she was too tired to continue the trip straight through — never mind the fact that the maps were in Scott’s car.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The accusing mantra echoed through her mind.

She turned to face him and snapped, “You don’t touch me. Never again.”

“I won’t.” He raised his hands in surrender, face crumpling into a pained look of regret. “I don’t know what happened, Angie...I swear. I’m sorry.”

She regarded Scott at a distance. Guilt began to worm its way into her cluttered mind. How much of this was her fault? She’d put herself in a compromising situation, after all. There were those that would say she was asking for something like this to happen. She tried to imagine explaining it to Vince, and jolt of dread shot through her. What would he think of her now?

“We should get some more sleep, you know?” Scott said, rubbing his eyes with his palms as he slid down from the wall to lay flat. “I’ll just…stay on the floor. Okay?”

Angie said nothing. Moving to the bathroom, she closed herself in and locked the door. She sank to the cold floor and dropped her head into her hands. Was it possible he’d attacked her in his sleep? It would be so much easier if she believed him. And somehow, less painful than the only alternative.

She shuddered. All Angie could be sure of was that she’d never felt more trapped — or more in need of a shower.

Chapter 32

Angie accepted a plate of cookies from her elderly hostess before escaping to the living room of the archaic farmhouse. Agitated over how nonchalant Scott’s behavior had been since their arrival, she left him in the kitchen chatting with his grandmother. After the long day’s drive, involving incessant tension and repeatedly getting lost in rural Wisconsin, she was eager to wind down with her journal.

Her thoughts were still a jumble. Travel had been a numbing and welcome distraction, but being in the same room with Scott again seemed to trigger a torrent of anxiety. With him so close by, Angie had cut short all of her check-in calls. That included her call to Vince.

The sound of his voice had caused her a forceful upwelling of emotion, nearly bringing her to tears before she could regain control. Vince seemed to realize something was wrong. He’d learned to read her voice too well for her to hide it. She’d made reassuring excuses, promising to tell him everything the following night once she made it back to Minnesota. Before hanging up, he mentioned a present would be waiting for her at home. “Nothing extravagant—just something to remind you where my heart is,” he’d said.

Now, settling down onto the far side of a plastic-covered chartreuse sofa, she let herself wonder about Vince’s gift. It brought her some measure of comfort to think about him. But at the same time, a sense of trepidation had taken hold. As they’d said goodnight, Vince had again said ‘I love you,’ just as he had the last several nights — persevering despite her continued lack of reciprocation. She couldn’t imagine how much her omitted words must be hurting him.

But once she told him what had happened, would he regret having been so vulnerable with her? Would he still even want her?

Angie opened her journal, hoping to sort her thoughts onto paper. She wrote two sentences about the day’s travel and then stopped, rereading them over and over. Knowing it wasn’t what she’d set out to write about, she erased everything.

How do I even start?

She held the mechanical pencil hovering over the first line, dimly aware that her hand was trembling. Whatever had happened the night before...was it even something she wanted a written record of? Every time she tried to review it, her mind bounced to something else. Anything else. To her, it seemed every bit as reflexive as it would be to jerk her hand away from a hot surface.