“I'm doing the speed limit.”
“You sure?”
“I can read the signs, Steph.”
A few seconds more and the cruiser filled Jack's mirror as if he were towing it. He could see the cop's iron-jawed countenance behind the wheel, reflective black sunglasses obscuring the eyes.
Highway patrol.
Jack double-checked the speedometer, then slowed to sixty, hoping the cop wouldn't rear-end them.
The sedan inched closer.
He was going to rear-end them!
Jack smashed the gas pedal to the floor, and the Mustang shot ahead.
“What are you doing?” Stephanie cried.
“He was gonna hit us!”
The car fell back ten yards. Its red and blue lights flashed to life.
“Oh, great,” she muttered, turning and flopping back against her seat. He could hear the blame in her voice. Always the blame.
But you're the one who walked away, Steph.
The cruiser veered into the oncoming lane and pulled up beside them. The uniformed officer turned his face to Jack. Met his eyes. Or so Jack imagined. Black glasses. No expression. Jack forced his eyes back to the road.
The two cars were side by side, locked in formation at sixty miles an hour.
“What are you doing, Jack? Pull over.”
He would if he could. Jack strained to see an opportunity. The forest, a thick tangle of maple, oak, and birch draped with kudzu, encroached like an advancing wall. “I can't. There's no shoulder. I can't just . . .”
He slowed. There had to be a turnout somewhere. Forty miles per hour. Thirty. The cruiser matched his speed.
Jack saw a break in the foliage, a sliver of a shoulder, just enough room. He began to veer off.
The cruiser surged and left them behind, lights blazing in silence. Fifteen seconds later it was a dot on the road between the towering trees, and then it was gone.
“What was that about?” Jack asked, checking his mirrors, rubbernecking, and easing back onto the highway. He wiped a sweaty palm on his jeans.
“You were speeding.” She fixed her gaze on the highway, fumbled with a map, avoided his eyes.
“He didn't pull us over. Why was he so close? You see how close he was?”
“That's Alabama, Jack. You don't do things their way, they let you know.”
“Yeah, but you don't ram someone in the tail for speeding.”
She slapped her lap, a release of frustration. “Jack, will you please just get us there, legally, in one piece? Please?”
He chose silence over a comeback and concentrated on the road.
Save it for the counseling session, Jack.
He wondered what she'd been saving up, what new claims she'd unload tonight.
She shook out her shoulders, put on a smile, and started humming.
You really think it will work, don't you, Jack? You really think you can save something you just don't have anymore?
If smiling and singing could bring back those days, he would laugh like a fool and even sing Stephanie's lyrics, but he was fresh out of illusions. All he had were the memories that stole his mind away even as his eyes remained on the road: her arms about his shoulders and the excitement in her eyes; the inner dawn he felt whenever she entered the room; the secrets they shared with a glance, a smile, a wink; all the things he thought life and love should beâ
The accident changed everything.
He imagined himself sitting in the counselor's office, being honest about his feelings
. I'm feeling . . . like I've been had all my life. Life is pointless. If there is a God, he's the devil, and . . . What was that? Oh, you mean Stephanie? No, I've lost her too. She's gone. I mean, she's here, but she's checked out . . .
He couldn't put away the idea that this whole trip was only a formality, another nail in the coffin of their marriage. Steph would sing her way to Montgomery and back and still get the divorce she wanted, go on her merry way.
“Jack, you're lost.”
I sure am.
“Jack.”
With a start, he returned his attention to driving. The Mustang purred along at sixty-five, gobbling up the highway. The forest was breaking up now, giving way to crude homesteads and stump-filled pastureland.
She was scanning the map, studying all those little red and black lines. Did she say
he
was lost? Right.
She
was holding the map, but
he
was lost.
He caught the sarcasm before it escaped. Hurtful words came so easily these days. “What do you mean?”
“Didn't you see that highway marker? It said 5.”
He glanced at the mirror, then twisted to see the back of the receding sign. “5?”
She studied the map, tracing a route with her finger. “We're supposed to be on Highway 82.”
He leaned and tried to read the map. The car swerved. He shot his eyes forward again, corrected the wheel.
“We're going to be late,” she said.
Not necessarily.
“You see Highway 5 on there? Where does it lead?”
She dragged her finger over the map and stopped about three inches out of Montgomery. “Not to Montgomery, unless you have a week to sightsee. How could you possibly have gotten off 82?”
Dare he defend himself ? “I was a little distracted by a cop eating up my bumper.”
She pulled her cell phone out of a cup holder and checked the display clock. “There's no way we'll make it.”
Was that hope in her voice? He checked his watch. If they turned around now, maybeâ“I canceled a gig to go to this appointment with you.” Stephanie hunched in the seat, arms folded.
There it is again. My fault.
She started humming.
There it is again.
Red and blue lights flashed up ahead.
“Oh, great,” Stephanie said. “We
really
don't need this.”
Jack slowed as they approached the patrol car parked just beyond a turnoff. Orange cones and a sign blocked the road ahead. “Repaving Operation. Highway Closed to Through Traffic,” Jack read. “Well, we have to turn around anyway.” Jack pulled onto the gravel shoulder but had a second thought. “Let's ask. Maybe there's a faster way.”
Jack eased the blue Mustang forward, up to the turnoff, and stopped a few feet behind the patrol car. The cruiser's door swung open and an officerâthe officerâstepped out, aviator sunglasses still hiding his eyes.
THE PATROLMAN ROLLED HIS HEAD TO CRACK his neck, then kept his face pointed at them as he donned a broad-brimmed smoky-colored hat. He wore a short-sleeved gray shirt, and pants with a black stripe running down the outside of the legs. A breast badge flashed in the late-afternoon sun. His large leather holster hung on his right hip, his baton on his left.
The man touched his hat as if by habit and walked toward them, confident. Cocky. The man's pants looked a tad tight.
“Good night,” Stephanie said.
Jack rolled the window down. A hot breeze blew into the Mustang, chased by the sound of crickets. The officer's black leather boots were silent on the pavement.
The patrolman stopped by their window, hand on the butt of his gun. He leaned over and gave them a close-up view of his black lenses. Morton Lawdale, the badge said.
“You mind showing me your license and registration?”
“Weâ”
“License and registration. Now.”
Jack leaned over to the glove box, dug out the papers, and handed them through the window.
The cop took them with a gloved hand and straightened, scanning them at his leisure. “You mind stepping out of the car?”
Jack wasn't sure what to make of the request. “Why?”
“Why? Because I want to show you something, how's that for why?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Are all you Alabama boys so dense? An officer tells you to step from your vehicle, you argue as if you're the king of the hill. I have something you need to see. Get your butt out of the car.”
Jack exchanged a glance with Stephanie, opened the door, and swung his legs out.
“There, was that so hard?”
“We took a wrong turn,” Jack said, looking up. He was at least a head shorter than the patrolman. “We were headed to Montgomery on 82.”
Lawdale pulled out his billy club and waved Jack to the back. “Come 'ere.”
A chill slipped down Jack's back. How'd he end up here, out in the middle of nowhere with this character, a trigger-happy, blow-'em-away-and-ask-questions-later kind?
He hesitated.
“You gonna make me say everything twice?” The cop slapped his palm with the stick.
“No.” Jack walked toward the trunk.
He stopped by the fender, facing the cop who stood with feet spread, staring directly at him. As far as Jack could tell.
Lawdale swung his black stick down to indicate the left rear brake light. “Were you aware of the fact that your brake light is out?”
Jack breathed. “It is? No.”
“It is. I nearly crawled up your backside. I oughta know.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” the patrolman mimicked. Sweat stained the man's shirt around his collar and under his arms. “And I'd suggest you start driving your car the way it was designed to be driven.”
The passenger door opened and Stephanie stepped out, smiling like a ray of sunshine. “Is everything okay?”
“My taillight's out,” Jack said.
Stephanie tilted her head playfully. “We'll get it fixed in Montgomery. Right, Jack?”
“Of course. As soon as we get there.”
The patrolman tipped his hat at Steph and evaluated her low-rise jeans and silky blue tank top. “And who might you be?”
“Stephanie Singleton.”
The man's eyes dropped to her ringless hand. Her taking that off last month had cut Jack more than anything else she'd done. “Siblings? Cousins?”
“Husband and wife,” Jack said.
The cop looked at Stephanie. “You let this maniac drive?”
“Maniac?” Jack asked.
The cop dipped his head, pulled down his shades, and stared at Jack over the silver frames.
Blue eyes.
“Are you trying to be smart, boy? No, you're not, are you? You're just a bit thick.”
It occurred to Jack how much rudeness one must stand and take when the other person is wearing a uniform.
The patrolman removed his sunglasses and gave Jack a stony blue glare. “Not only
like
a maniac, but a maniac who doesn't
know
he's driving like a maniac, which would make you an idiot. But I'm going to pretend I'm wrong. I'm going to pretend you're not an idiot and can understand what a maniac does. How would that suit you?”
Lawdale expected an answer. Jack could think of several but limited himself to “Fine.”
“Fine. Then I'll tell you what a maniac does around here.” The cop tapped Jack on the head with a pointed finger, hard enough to hurt. “A maniac doesn't watch his speed, and he doesn't use his mirrors. Use your mirrors, Jack. I was following you for five minutes before you saw I was on your tail. A truck could squash you flat and you'd be dead . . .”
The cop snatched his revolver from its holster, fanned the hammer, and fired into the nearby field like a gunslinger.
Blam!
Both Jack and Stephanie jerked.
“. . . just like that.” Lawdale blew the smoke from the end of the barrel and slipped the gun into its holster with a precise little spin. “Making a point, my friend. These are dangerous roads out here.” He jabbed Jack in the temple again. “Watch your speed and use your mirrors.”
All things considered, Jack thought it best to answer succinctly. “I will.”
“Good.” The patrolman returned Jack's license and registration, then pointed down the road. “Now we got a little detour here. Next three miles of highway is all torn up. Where'd you say you were headed?”
Jack's heart sank as he answered, “Montgomery.”
“Montgomery.” The cop almost smiled, obviously amused. “Can't you read a map?”
“We missed a turn.”
The officer snorted, his way of snickering, Jack supposed, then pointed. “I'd take the detour. It's maybe one hour faster than backtracking to 82âif you know where to go. It's not marked too well, and you don't want to get caught out in the dark.”
“Could you show us?” Jack asked.
The man walked back. “You do have a map, don't you?”
Stephanie held out their map, which he unfolded on the trunk of the Mustang and studied briefly. “Old map.” He refolded it with a grunt. “Okay. You follow me clearly, you hear? You think
I'm
a bit pickled? Trust me, couple city folk like you don't want to be caught waltzing through the backwoods asking directions from the inbreds. You never know who you'll run into. Now you start hereâ”
“Inbreds?” Stephanie's smile contradicted her tone.
The cop dismissed the word with a wave. “Backwoods rednecks. Idiots like Jack was trying to be a moment ago. No understanding of any law but their own. Evil folk. Type who haven't discovered the toothbrush, much less the law.”
He pointed down the turnoff. “Now you go south on this road until it comes to a
T
. Go left, that'll take you past the flats, back into the forest a ways. You'll be on a dirt road for a good forty miles, but don't worry, it'll dump you out on 82. Should take about an hour.”
Jack looked at the gravel road headed south. It disappeared into tree-covered hills topped with heavy clouds. “You sure?”
“Do I look unsure?”
Not again. Jack grinned. “No sir.”
Lawdale acknowledged with a slight nod. “Now we're beginning to understand. That's the road I take home every morning. If you break down, just stay on the shoulder. One of us will find you.”
“You say that like it's happened before,” Jack said.
“It has.”
Stephanie followed their eyes, her smile faltering. “Jack, maybe we should just get on back home.”