Page 7 of In Knots

Chapter 3

I’m soon out in the countryside, away from the sweltering heat of the concrete city and out into the fields and copses. I find that straight single-laned track again, passing the spot where I’d broken down. I keep driving, the wind sweeping through my hair and over my face.

What am I doing here? What am I searching for?

Except there’s no fooling myself. My eyes scan the road ahead and flick frequently to the rear-view mirror. The road in front and behind is empty, though. Just me out here in the sunshine today.

The blown tyre meant I never got to explore the full stretch of this road last time, so I have no idea where this road leads. I’m just contemplating turning around and driving back – considering spending the whole of my afternoon cruising backward and forward along this stretch of road – when I spot a glint of metal. As I draw closer, I realise it’s a diner, one of those American style ones – flat-roofed with large windows. It nestles in the crook of a hill, and I can see it must be a popular place for walkers, cyclists and motorists alike.

My stomach rumbles. There won’t be anything I can order to eat in a place like that, but I swing the car into the car park, joining just two other vehicles.

The air has that heavy feel about it now. Muggy and dense. I hurry into the diner, happy to find fans revolving in the ceiling even if there’s no air con. A couple sit in a booth in the corner, a man on a stool by the counter, and a waitress runs a wet cloth over one of the tables.

She straightens as I enter and flashes me a friendly smile.

“Take a seat,” she tells me. “I’ll bring you over a menu.”

I swing my gaze around, noting the old-fashioned jukebox all lit up against one wall and the ice cream counter against another. I choose one of the tables at the front, sliding in to sit by the window. From here, I can see the road and countryside beyond, heavy clouds now looming on the horizon. I peer at the car. I should’ve put the roof up. I sigh and lean against my elbow.

“Bad day?” the waitress says with a sympathetic smile, offering me a laminated menu.

I smile back, but don’t answer. It’s not an especially bad day. It’s a day like any other. That’s the problem, they’re all alike.

Apart from the other day. Apart from when I broke down.

I take the menu out of courtesy, knowing I’m not going to order anything. “Could I get a black coffee?” I ask.

“Anything to go with it? We’ve got some brownies, freshly baked this morning.”

“I’ll take a look at the menu,” I say.

Her gaze flicks over my form and I can read the thoughts in her head. What’s a girl like me, an omega, doing out here on this lonely road all by myself? She doesn’t ask me though. She turns and disappears into the kitchen.

I place the menu out flat in front of it, running my eye down all the calorific dishes – not a salad in sight. Nothing I can eat. My mother would baulk at this menu. She’d baulk at the whole place. I can see her face now, eyebrow lifted, lip slightly curled, that look she makes when she’s unimpressed with me and my choices.

My view shifts to the window and I watch those clouds slowly rolling my way, trying to deduce whether they’ve come from the direction of the city or are headed there. The belly of the cloud is so dark it’s almost black and as I stare, I see how it swirls and churns.

The waitress returns, sliding my coffee onto the tabletop without a word, not bothering to ask me about my order.

The coffee is as black as the clouds, vapour crawling into the air from its surface. I lift it to my lips and take a sip of the bitter flavour. My stomach continues to rumble. The coffee will help.

Then my eye catches something at the window. That same puff of dust on the horizon and my stomach leaps. I grip the handle of my cup tightly.

I’m being silly. The chances that it’s him again are slim. In fact, I suspect the vehicle motoring this way will glide right past without stopping.

But if it is him, I’ll catch my glimpse. That’s why I’m here after all, isn’t it?

I rub at my forehead.

Pathetic, Alexa. Really pathetic. You’re not sixteen anymore.

The cloud overhead means no light catches the vehicle today. I must wait until it’s much closer to discover that it is in fact a motorbike. A lone one today. Cruising on his own. I wait with bated breath. Sure, with growing certainty, as the bike draws closer that it’s the same bike, the same man.

He won’t be able to see me at the window. Then I remember, he’ll see my car in the car park. Will he recognise it? Will he even remember? Will he stop?

I hold my breath, digging the fingernails of my left hand into my thigh, hidden under the table.

The bike continues at speed. And I know he’ll sail right past. But then it brakes right before the diner and swings into the car park, stopping next to my own car.

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