Page 5 of Saddles

His knuckles turn white as he grips his left shoulder. “Please, can you just stay? We can talk this out? Or let me put you up here in town?”

The wind whips past me, fluttering the perfect piles of napkins she has sitting on the table awaiting their guests.

I catch her eyes narrowing at his suggestion.

“No. I don’t need a fucking thing from you. Enjoy the bed you made, Dad.” Turning on my heel, I slam the house shut behind me.

My light hoodie and thin jeans don’t give any insulation against the bite of late November.

I have to drive at half speed out of his subdivision until my Subaru warms up enough that I can see out of the windshield.

Where the hell am I going? Maybe towards campus?

I really am not in the mood for people. And everything will be shut down anyways with Thanksgiving being next week.

Guess I’m lucky Norma showed her hand this week, so I don’t have to pretend I like her snobby judgemental friends when they come over for dinner.

They didn’t even know Dad before she came along. It’s her constant, desperate search for attention that has him suddenly entertaining senators and celebrities.

It’s gross.

My eyes burn from hours of crying over my steering wheel when my gas light flickers on.

Shit. Where am I?

I don’t even remember if I was on the interstate before, I must have pulled off one of the exits.

It’s eight more miles before I spot the glimmer of a small station.

Thank goodness. Montana can be hundreds of miles between fuel spots.

When I pull up to the empty pump, there’s a handwritten sign that says “see attendant”.

“Figures.” I dig a twenty out of my purse and shove it into my pocket before climbing out of the heat of my car.

A tinny bell announces me when I push the swinging glass door open to be greeted by the cloying smell of bleach and grease.

At least the guy behind the counter is kinda cute. He reminds me of the men in my field classes.

Studying animal nutrition has the perks of being around the farm boys.

I think I like them more because I know it pisses my lawyer father off.

Making a short detour to the single bathroom piled high with cases of toilet paper, I head to the counter with a bottle of Mountain Dew.

“Hi, I need this and some gas.” I unfold the bill and slide it across the counter.

The clerk has to be around my age, with short hair hidden beneath his dirty ball cap. “Yea, sure.” He ducks to look out the window and squints. “Um, in what?”

“My car.” Duh.

His lips thin into a sideways smile. “What car?”

A sinking feeling takes my stomach to my knees.

In a panic, I fling the door open to stare at the empty lot.

“No. No. No—” Running out to where I had parked it, I can see the faint outlines of the tire treads left on the frosty pavement. Chasing them onto the highway, they disappear into the darkness.

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