Page 29 of Hide My Heart
I fiddle with the dashboard display to check the outside temperature. It’s hovering right above freezing with the rain melting the snow just enough to make driving even more dangerous.
I slow to a crawl and keep my hands front and center on the steering wheel. Chills slip down my spine, battling with my heart’s soggy, swishing beat.
I should have chanced hitchhiking. I don’t have my wallet or any money. But maybe I would have found a nice trucker who would take me back to California.
Then I could have regrouped and figured out how to see my grandmother. This might be her last Christmas and here I am, fighting my way up a lost and lonely road.
I grit my teeth as the truck slides on a patch of ice, my heart pounding, then overcorrect. Snow tires, even with four-wheel drive, don’t do a damn good thing on ice.
Does Hunter have chains in back?
Probably, but I don’t know how to put them on. And I’m too afraid to stop. It’s getting darker by the minute.
I shift to a lower gear to gain more traction, but I can feel the tires spin and the truck isn’t listening to me. When I turn one way, it slides the other way.
I take my foot off the gas, hoping the wheels will grab, but the entire truck shifts sideways toward the edge of a cliff.
I turn the wheel the other way, but I can’t slow the slide. The front end of the truck spins and points straight down toward the drop off.
I floor the brakes, my heart pounding rocks in my chest. But nothing stops the truck from sliding closer and closer to the tops of the snow-laden trees.
Oh, God, help me, I pray. Should I ditch the truck? Jump out at the last minute like they do in the movies.
Please. Please. Please. Dear God. Please.
I let go of the brake and spin the wheels on reverse, then ease off, hoping to catch, but I’ve a feeling I’m only digging the wheels in deeper. That’s it. I spin and spin the wheels. I want to be stuck. Please, please, stop.
Miraculously, the forward motion subsides and I feel like I’m hanging on the edge of a seesaw over the cliffside.
Treetops glisten in the beams of the headlamps, and everything is fuzzy with the mixture of rain and snow swishing off the wiper blades.
What do I do now?
Maybe I should have called the police. But what would my parents say if they had to bail me out of jail? Is Hunter dead? Oh no!
I cover my face and gasp. After I threw him off the truck, he was lying face down, very still on the driveway. I should have gone back to check on him, but I panicked and kept driving.
What kind of person would leave him lying there like roadkill? I wouldn’t even leave a raccoon in the ditch.
Even worse.
I can’t even claim self-defense. They would say he was trying to stop me from stealing his truck.
Fat tears leak from my eyes, and I wipe them hurriedly, pissed at myself. What can I do? I’m lost, and Hunter’s cell phone is dead.
All I have is a sliver of gasoline, and I need to keep the truck idling so I can run the heater until Nate comes by.
If he’s coming.
What if he’s called the police?
Or worse, he’s not coming.
SEVENTEEN
Nate
I keep redialing the numberAmber called from, but there’s no answer. Horrible movies flash through my mind.
