Page 15 of The Singing Trees
He said more gibberish, and she tried hard to make sense of it. Something about her cousin’s car. Leaving a note.
“A big ugly brown car near the back,” she said. “With a pineapple air freshener.”
More gibberish.
“Home, please,” she muttered. “I want to go home.”
Thomas took her hand. “I’m taking you back to the Mills. You remember Mitch from the game? He’ll make sure your cousin knows what’s going on.”
She heard his words, but they made little sense, as if he were saying things at random. Either way, his voice was comforting and reassuring, and he seemed to have a much better grasp of the situation than she did, so she nodded.
A moment later, he picked her up again and carried her down the hill, telling her everything would be okay. For some reason, she trusted him and let her eyes close. The next few minutes were doors opening and closing, a car engine coming alive, Annalisa finally able to sit back into a chair, some sharp movements until things were smooth—and then the darkness of her eyelids consumed her.
Annalisa peeled open her eyes and saw with foggy vision the highway lines lit up with headlights. She looked around, assessing her surroundings. She was in a car. The windows were cracked, letting in a welcome stream of cold air. Looking left, she saw Thomas, one hand on the wheel and the other resting against the door.
“There you are,” he said. “How ya feeling?”
Some of what had happened came to her like a movie playing in slow motion. She could see him in the barn, approaching her under the strobe lights. She remembered talking to him before falling backward. Then he was carrying her out.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her mouth feeling like she’d been sucking on cotton. She sat up in the yellow-and-white-striped seat. Was this a VW? She pulled off her scarf and let it fall to the floorboard. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“I’m taking you home,” he said. “We’re about halfway back to Payton Mills.”
“What about my cousin?” Nino would kill her for disappearing.
“My friend Mitch went to find him. Tall Italian guy with a crucifix, beat-up brown car. If he can’t, he’ll find the car and leave a note. Don’t worry; Mitch is good like that.”
“But the concert. Why did you leave? I...” She was still out of it, feeling overwhelmingly nauseated.
“It’s no big deal,” he assured her. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble, and you kept asking me to take you home.”
Was she out of her mind? Why would she have asked him to take her home? Had she led him on? Her memory was hazy; even putting thoughts together was a task. God, she never wanted to drink or smoke again.
He pointed at a pack of Clark’s Teaberry gum on the mesh parcel shelf hanging under the dashboard. “You want a piece?”
Her nausea worsened. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Serious? You want me to pull over?” He let his foot off the gas.
Annalisa nodded, feeling embarrassment coat her stomach.
He came to a stop on the shoulder of the road. It was probably close to midnight, and there were no other cars. If he wanted to take advantage of her, he could have easily done so. Thinking about the Zodiac killer, who was back in the news, she felt the thought clawing at her as she opened up the door and tumbled out.
Running a few feet into the grass, she bent over. It took a few seconds, but then it all came up, her dinner and beers.
When she was done, she wiped her mouth and eyes and turned back. He stepped out of his banana-yellow VW Beetle and asked her if she was okay. Of course she wasn’t okay. This sucked. Considering he’d left the concert for her, though, and that he looked far from threatening, she thanked him and said she was fine.
Back on the road, she took him up on that piece of gum. She was feeling better, and as a wave of clarity returned, shame overwhelmed her. This is exactly how her father might have acted, and her mother would be disgusted. She wondered what Jackie Burton would think of her now.
Thomas left her alone and sang along quietly to “Tell All the People” by the Doors. A Texaco gas station came up on the right, and he pulled in. “I’ll go grab you a soda and something to eat. Any preference?”
“No, thank you,” she said, still trying to process what an idiot she’d been. She was such a mess. And here she was being prickly to a guy who was trying to take care of her.
He returned to the car with two brown bags. Once he sat, he dug into one and said, “You pick. I have ginger ale or Coke.”
She reached for the ginger ale and took a big, long sip, feeling more grateful by the minute.
“As far as food,” he said, digging back in, “not sure what’s good for your stomach, but I got two red snappers, one with ketchup, one with mustard and relish. If that doesn’t work, I’ve got saltines, Ring Dings, pretzels, and a Twinkie. Have whatever you’d like.”
