Page 11 of Even After Sunset

“I’m good, thanks.”

I grind the butt out with the toe of my boot against the cracked pavement.

“I have a spare new toothbrush too,” she says.

Of course she does.

“Anyway, you’re welcome to use it.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

She peers up at me and the left corner of her mouth lifts into a tentative truce-smile. But being the asshole that I am, I look away. And before she has a chance to say anything that might touch on any of the thousand-and-one thingsI don’t want to discuss with her—or with anyone for that matter, I stretch my arms out in front of me and clasp my fingers together, palms out, in a satisfying stretch, and then head back toward the camper. I can hear her flip-flops making those little slapping noises again as she follows close behind.

When I lift my eyes, my vision is assaulted by a wall of banana yellow. It’s a lot to take in when you have a hangover and a throbbing headache. Actually, it’d be a lot to take in no matter whatstate you’re in.

I shake my head. “Fuck me, that’s bright.”

“It’s cheery,” Jackie corrects.

And maybe she’s right—if ‘cheery’ means Pac-Man puking his guts out all over the exterior of her camper. But I don’t say that out loud. I’m saving my energy for the bigger arguments waiting for us back in the camper. Because I know Jackie is just biding her time: she’s on a mission to figure my life out for me. And I’m on a mission to get her to back the hell off.

The air feels warmer in the truck. Muggier.

I don’t mind, though. It’s kind of calming. Jackie’s taste in music, on the other hand, is not. Let’s just say it isn’t just paint colors she picks out based on how cheery they are. Or maybe she has other playlists too, and this one just happens to be her Cheerful Mix. And I just happen to be the unlucky bastard trapped inside her camper-turned-food-truck on the day she decided to put it on a continuous loop.

I’m dying to turn the volume down, but the fact that I single-handedly crashed the first day of her self-discovery road trip, or whatever the hell this is, means I’m hardly in a position to be asking her for favors right now. Plus, there’s the bus ticket she’s pretty much covering. So yeah, I just leave it.

She’s tapping her fingers against the steering wheel now and grooving along with her shoulders, popping them up and down and nodding her head to the beat. New Jackie does ‘cheery’ well. Old Jackie was high-strung and serious and easily stressed.

Oh, how the tables have turned, and all that.

She looks tiny behind the oversized steering wheel, like she’s at the helm of a pirate ship or something. It almost makes her look bad-ass. In the same way that a snail might look bad-ass.

“So, if you don’t play baseball anymore, what are you into, then?”

Great. We’re back to the get-to-know-you questions.

Jackie’s fingers have stopped tapping, and she turns the music down. Guess I should be careful what I wish for next time.

I sigh. “Nothing, really.”

I’m guessing girls and liquor are not the sort of interests she’s looking for, here.

“You don’t play another sport or something?” She tries again.

I lean my head against the window. “Nope.”

She lets up on the interrogation for a few minutes after that, but she also doesn’t turn the music back up, so obviously she’s just re-grouping. Strategizing.

The music pauses briefly and I think maybe God has finally answeredoneof my prayers, at least. But turns out the brief respite is only because her cell phone is ringing. The phone vibrates from the speakers and it doesn’t escape my notice that she pauses for a second before answering, glancing unsurely in my direction. My impromptu presence is awkward on all fronts, whether she tries to hide it from the caller or not. But Jackie’s a good girl, so of course she answers.

“Hey, Richard!” She infuses a little too much enthusiasm into her voice and it sounds borderline fake. Or maybe that’s just part of this new cheery version of Jackie that I’m still not used to.

“Well, good morning to you, sweetheart. How’s the intrepid traveller?”

She glances my way for a brief second, but I pretend to be scrolling through texts on my phone.

“Good!” she chimes. “Really good! I’m making great time. I’m about two-and-a-half hours from Provincetown.”

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