Page 1 of Knot So Sweet
1
VIOLET
“Better get to livin' 'cause life ain't long," I belt out, drumming my fingers on Dolly's steering wheel as we cruise through another mountain curve. "Better start singin' this freedom song!"
Even after eight hours of driving, I’m still feeling exhilarated, belting out every Dolly Parton song. My voice is getting hoarse, but I don't care. For the first time in five years, I can sing as loud as I want without someone telling me to shut up.
The road winds between trees so tall they look like they're trying to swipe stars right out of the sky. Their branches sag with snow and sparkle in my headlights.
Cold air zips through the crack in my window, crisp enough to sting. Way better than the exhaust-choked city smog I've been gagging on for years.
Every breath tastes like freedom. Like defiance. Like I finally slipped the leash Mark kept choking me with.
"Right, Dolly?" I pat the dashboard affectionately. "We're doing this. Freedom suits us."
Dolly responds with a troubling cough, as if trying to clear her throat of antifreeze and metal shavings. I ease off the gas, but this is the second bad noise she's made.
"Come on, girl. Don't let me down now."
Steam begins to rise from under the hood, like she's having a hot flash, then thin wisps at first, followed by thick billows that obscure my view of the road ahead.
"Dolly, no! We talked about this!" I plead with the dashboard as if my old Ford could care less about my concerns. "Texas is still hours away. Emma's couch is waiting for me. You can't give up now."
But Dolly’s had enough of my pep talks.
I yank the wheel into the first open lot I see, gravel crunching under her tires. She jerks once…twice…and then lets out one last offended wheeze before the engine cuts off with a sound that can only be described as a mechanical death rattle.
Steam erupts like an angry kettle.
I grip the wheel, my breath fogging the inside of the windshield. My throat’s tight, but then I laugh. Sharp, breathless, on the edge of losing it. Because if I don’t laugh, I’ll scream. And if I scream, I might not stop.
So I sing because it’s the only thing I’ve got that feels like mine. My voice cracks, my chest aches, and still I keep going since it helps me not to breakdown too and cry.
“Perfect timing,” I mutter between verses, patting the dash with one trembling hand. “Seriously. Nailed it.”
The dashboard clock blinks 4:23 AM.
That god-awful hour where nothing good ever happens and even the silence feels like it’s judging you.
I saw a sign a few miles back that said Cedar Ridge. Never heard of it. All that matters is Dolly’s dead and I’m stuck.
The town’s dark. Street lamps flicker like they’re not fully committed to their job, casting sickly yellow halos onto the empty sidewalk. Mountains loom in the distance, jagged shadows against a star-punched sky. It’s way colder than my jacket was ever meant to handle.
Every breath cuts. Frost, pine, and…alpha.
I go still.
Across the square, one storefront glows like it forgot the rest of the world shut down hours ago. A bakery.Rise & Shine, painted in cheerful yellow script like it hasn’t seen someone break down sobbing in their car lately.
Warm light spills onto the sidewalk, soft and golden. Even from here, the scent hits me: yeast, cinnamon, fresh bread.
My stomach growls like I’ve got a bear trapped in there. Probably since I haven't eaten except a granola bar yesterday. Maybe the day before.
I climb out to assess the damage, boots crunching against the salted pavement, legs numb from sitting too long. My whole body protests the cold, and I wrap my arms tighter around myself as I circle Dolly.
But the real gut-punch comes from the puddle spreading beneath the engine…a viscous green smear that looks radioactive under the streetlight.
Immediately my nose wrinkles. Whatever's leaking under Dolly's hood smells like the last shred of my luck. I swear it's steaming out a message in Morse code that says: you're screwed.
