Page 17 of Red's Peril: Part 1

By midday, even I’ve had enough. I pull in to stop outside a diner.

“I-I-I’m fr-fr-free…zing,” she stutters, as she gets off.

“Me too.” I take the saddlebags off the bike, then grab her hand and pull her with me as we head for shelter. We enter, looking like two drowned rats. At least she’s dry once she takes her outer clothing off. Me, I’m soaked through to the skin.

The waiter looks at us dubiously.

Raising the saddlebags I’m holding, I ask him, “Mind if I change in your bathroom?”

A grin starts to curve his lips. “Go ahead. I’ll get your lady seated.”

I wait only until I can see where he’s taking her, then go find the men’s room. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, I head to a narrow cubicle where I contort myself to get my clothes off. Every part of me is saturated, right down to my boxers. I strip off, vainly trying to dry myself, before struggling to get some clean clothes on over my wet skin. I swear I’ve bruises on each elbow and knee before I’m finished. Finally, I scrunch my wet clothing into my saddlebag, which immediately becomes ten times heavier.

The whole process has taken several minutes. By the time I’ve finished and am heading back into the restaurant no longer dripping water everywhere, I’m feeling semi-human again. Deciding I’ll treat myself to a bowl of hot soup, I approach our table.

Instead of glancing up to greet me, Cheryl’s staring blankly down at the table as I slide into the seat opposite her.

“Have you ordered yet?”

“What?” Her eyes are glazed as she glances up. I notice her phone’s on the table in front of her.

“Food,” I clarify.

“Oh, no. I was waiting for you.”

Something seems off. I narrow my eyes. “What’s up, babe?” Reaching my hand out to take hers that’s lying conveniently on the table, I notice she’s still shivering.

“I was thinking soup to start with,” I tell her. “Warm us both up.”

Even those words seem alien to her, as she looks at me with no comprehension. Then suddenly she blurts out, “I can’t do this, Red.” She whips her hand away from mine.

I frown at the menu. “Okay then, not soup. What do you want?”

“Red.” My name is spoken with more than a slight amount of anguish. Putting the menu aside, I give her my attention. “What?”

“I want to go home.”

What the fuck?What could have happened in the short time I was in the bathroom? “What the hell are you talking about?”

Shaking her head, she looks down at her hands. “I can’t do this, Red. This thing between us, well, it’s not working.”

My brow furrows. It’s working fine from where I’m sitting.

She gestures toward herself. “I’m wet.”

Not so much as me.

“Cold,” she continues. “And sore. I thought travelling with you would be an adventure, but we’re just going from motel to motel, with lots of boring scenery in between.”

I don’t think I promised her anything more, but I force myself to look at it her way. I’m a man on a mission, my ride to go south before winter hits. My goal, a new life in the sun. to me, the journey is something to be undertaken. It’s a means to an end, not an end in itself. Sighing, I reclaim her hand.

“I wanted to travel as far as I could to outrun the risk of snow.” I’ve told her that already. “But what if we take it slower? Ride less, stop off and sightsee more.” I know I don’t want to lose her. Just the thought is turning my insides sour.

Her lips thin. “I’ve got three changes of clothes, Red, and a few toiletries. I suppose I was naïve, expecting it wouldn’t take long to get to where you wanted to go.”

“A few more days, a week, not long,” I assure her.

Again, she takes back her hand, and pairs it with the other as she throws both into the air. “And where is there? You don’t even know that.”

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