Page 2 of Luka

He places his hand over mine and watches me closely. He’s always like this.Protective. It reminds me of my father. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I tried to leave Mario’s side, if he’d let me.

“American men are dangerous.”

“I know.” I nod.You told me.“But so is dying of heat exhaustion. We’re out of water, my love, and no one seems to be stopping for you.”

His lips purse as he starts to tap his feet. The car passes with him like that, and neither one of us even watch it, let alone try to flag it down. I think deep down inside, he knows I’m right. No one is pulling over for him.

A full minute passes before the sound of his boot tapping on asphalt ceases and he gives me a reluctant nod. We switch places, me hopping down excitedly and him climbing into the pickup with unease. I walk away from him with my thumb prematurely stuck out, mimicking his gesture to passing cars.

I’m twenty feet from the pickup before Mario yells for me to stop.

My sandals slap on the asphalt one last time before I stop on the yellow line and stare down the middle of the road. My hand raises to shield the sun from my eyes, but the unforgiving rays scorch the exposed skin of my shoulders and back.

I don’t know how long I stand until a car comes, but it’s long enough that letting the last car pass feels like a missed opportunity. Sweat collects between my breasts, giving me the strong urge to dig it out with my hands, but I wouldn’t do something so obscene in front of a man. I’m a long way from home, but my upbringing still rules me.

Finally, a car appears in the distance. I lean forward with a sigh and shift my feet farther apart, as if to take up more of the road. The idea of this car leaving me behind makes my heart beat faster, my breaths deepen.

I wave my arms when the car gets closer, my eyes wide with urgency, and when it comes to a stop in front of me, I’m almost afraid to move out of the way. I pause, my arms slowly lowering when the driver side window rolls down and a woman with large square sunglasses pokes her head out.

“You look like hell.”

I blink against the bright sun and try to focus on the woman.

“Well?” she prods. “Get in.”

My spine snaps straight at that, and I hurry to the passenger side while waving for Mario to come. He hops out of the truck and jogs to us.

Just as I go to open the door, it locks.

I jerk the handle anyway, my chest tightening with panic. The window opens just a crack as Mario makes it to us.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice devoid of remorse. “No boys allowed.”

“Please,” Mario begs. “We stranded. We no have water. We get oil for truck, then?—”

The car begins to roll forward as the woman lets off the break.

“No, wait!” I shout.

The woman stops, pushing out a loud sigh as she presses the brake pedal.

I turn to Mario with the question clear in my expression.

He shakes his head. The scar on his cheek twitches as his jaw tics, a tell-tale sign of his temper brewing. I don’t dare correct him when he speaks Spanish. “No. We’re not splitting up.”

“I’ll be back. Iswear.”

His foot starts to tap again.

“She’s a woman. She isn’t dangerous. Please, we’ll die out here if we don’t?—”

My words cut off as the car rolls forward again, this time not stopping at my call. I gasp and jerk my head to Mario whose eyes are just as wide with worry. He knows. He knows the trouble we’re in without her help.

Swallowing, he nods.

“Wait!” I scream, running after the car.

I chase after her brake lights and hurry into the passenger seat, my chest heaving. Cool air blowing from vents in the dash soothes my heated flesh and blasts me with a burst of fruity air freshener that relieves my nostrils of the burnt oil. But myanxiety doesn’t lessen until the woman pulls away with me in the car.

---