Page 37 of Adam's Rising

10

Adam stood just outside the passenger side of the F-100, door open.

To keep track of the time while getting ready, he’d darted up the steps three times to look outside. Now, the radio was on the marine weather service. The last update at 7:45 reported the skies were clear, and the temperature wouldn’t dip below freezing.

Hopefully it’d be a little chilly, though.

Needing clean clothes, he’d rummaged through the basement closet where Clara Mae had come up with work clothes and rubber boots for him and Peter. Not only had he found some clothes, but he’d also found lawn chairs and a blanket. Although he’d never gone to the drive-in with a girl, he knew how cold it got in the truck bed.

Claire hadn’t said a date… Of course it wasn’t a date. She hadn’t even remembered his name.

Still, there was something about how she’d teased him… as if she’d known he was lying. Then again, maybe she’d been interested in Thomas all along.

He stared down at the stained Wranglers and red plaid shirt. At least they were clean, even if a bit musty. He hung the clothes on the edge of the shower, hoping the steam would release the wrinkles and the old-people smell that clung to them.

Shrugging, he checked his face in the side mirror. “At least they fit. Better than smelling like a barn,” he said to his reflection. Besides, Claire hadn’t seemed to mind how he was dressed earlier.

Peter had laughed, saying he looked like a nerd, then threatened to tell Clara Mae where he was unless he promised to bring him back a pizza, which meant he’d have to drive even farther than he already was.

Adam had playfully shoved him, threatening to shave his hair, which was way too long anyway, if he told. Peter settled with him for popcorn and a Snickers bar.

He lifted his head as the quaking aspen leaves trembled at the slightest breeze. The sound never failed to relax him. In the summer, he often dragged a sleeping bag to the back porch and slept beneath the stars, listening to a symphony of wood frogs, katydids, and a near-constant wind rustling the leaves.

Oncoming headlights lit up the ranch entrance, pulling Adam to the present.

He hoped it was Claire — he still hadn’t come up with a believable excuse to tell Clara Mae why he was waiting outside the fence if she drove up.

Last he’d checked, Clara Mae still hadn’t returned.

He wondered where she went on Sundays.

The large vehicle barreled down the dirt road, headlights too bright to make out the type or driver.

Out of nowhere, his heart thumped harder. “What if it’s them?” He ducked into his truck, the way he’d done two nights ago.This can’t be happening—again.

His hands broke into a sweat. He didn’t even have a gun, not that he’d use it if he did, apparently.

Instead of roaring past him, the large vehicle angled to park along the fence.

Adam glared at the fire-engine red Chevy Blazer.

Bad guys didn’t drive around in bright-red trucks, did they?

The driver’s door opened, and Adam watched as a stylish shiny black boot with turquoise stitching emerged first — sticking straight out like the driver was reaching for something across the seat.

Definitely not the bad guys. Or Clara Mae, for that matter.

Still, Lala showing up wasn’t out of the question.

Actually, the bright-red Blazer screamedLala-ville.

Adam hopped down from his truck and made his slow way to the truck. “Hey! Anyone driving that Blazer?” If it were Lala, he definitely didn’t want to mention Claire’s name.

“Yeah. Sorry. Hang on.”

Sure sounded like Claire.

But she’d saidhang on, so Adam stopped. Maybe she was pulling on a shirt or something.

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