Chasing the Skip (7 page)

Dad leaned back in his seat, flexing his hands on the wheel. “But he had an obligation to her. So he had to stay.”

As if Dad knew anything about marital obligations. “Whatever.”

“I think that other chick should have ditched him, anyway,” Ian said from the back. “She was too good for him.”

Dad and I were both silent for a moment. I looked over my shoulder at him. “Mattie, you mean?”

“Right, that chick. She totally didn’t need to stick around with that punk. If she’d gone, she wouldn’t have ended up all crippled in the end.”

I turned around to face him. “She gets
crippled
?”

“Sure,” Ian said. “I thought you said you read the CliffsNotes.”

“I didn’t get all the way through.”

Dad shook his head. “My own daughter can’t even finish a set of CliffsNotes.”

“It was a library computer. I had a time limit.”

“Still.”

I turned sideways, lifting my knee onto the seat and leaning against the truck door to get a better look at Ian. “I can’t believe you’ve read
Ethan Frome
.”

Ian smirked. “I went to school once too.”

“Didn’t graduate, though,” Dad said.

“How would you know, old man? Is that in your file?”

Dad chuckled. “You told us so a minute ago.”

“Oh. Whatever. I might have graduated if they gave us decent books to read.”

“And what, in your opinion, is a decent book?” Dad asked.

“Hell, I don’t know.
The Shining
was a pretty freaky movie. Must have been a good book.”

Dad sniffed. I could tell he wasn’t impressed.

“Regardless,” Dad said. “Algebra or
Ethan Frome
. Get on it. Now.”

“Jeez,” Ian said. “Someone needs to get laid.”

Dad slammed on the brakes and jerked the truck off the road. I bounced sideways in my seat, whacking my head on the window.

The truck lurched along the shoulder for a few feet and then stopped. I expected Dad to turn around and slug Ian, but instead he pulled on my shoulder, tilting me back in my seat, his eyes stretched wide with horror.

My hand went to my forehead. I thought I might be bleeding, but when I turned to see my reflection in the side mirror, I saw a pink spot on my temple, nothing more.

“I’m so sorry,” Dad said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine.”

I pulled at my seat belt. It should have locked up or something, but I guessed the truck was too old.

Dad and Ian were both staring at me.

“Look, can we just go?” I asked. “I don’t get why you stopped in the first place.”

“Just don’t fall asleep or nothing,” Ian said. “If you’ve got a concussion, you might not wake up.”

“You,” Dad said, turning around to face Ian. “Shut your mouth. Disrespect me again, and you’re gagged. Clear?”

“You sound just like
my
old man.”

“There’s a common element in those two relationships,” Dad said. “And it sure isn’t me.” He gave my forehead one last look. I could feel a bruise forming, but it didn’t feel concussion-bad.

I dug out my novel. As Dad pulled back onto the road I muttered, “I’m the common element with both of my parents. Maybe that’s why they both walked out on me.”

Dad sighed, but he wasn’t going to get into it with me now. Not in front of Ian. If I thought he would, I’d never have said that out loud.

I wasn’t more than a page in when I felt Ian’s knees pressing into my back through the seat. I could feel his body heat through the disintegrated padding.

I turned to face my window, catching Ian’s eye in the side mirror. He looked up at my forehead like he was checking to see if I was okay. And then at the same moment, we both smiled.

Another breath drifted over my neck, directed and cool, as if Ian was blowing on it deliberately. The only kind of contact we could have locked up in here with my dad.

Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Days since Mom left: 30.

Distance from Salt Lake City, Utah: 441.44 miles.

6

Dad stopped for gas in Cheyenne, between Laramie and Denver, right where we had to switch freeways.

“Come on, Ricki,” he said. “Get yourself inside.”

I looked at the gas station. Dad didn’t like the way I’d watched Ian last time so, unfair or not, there was no way he was going to let me help now. But I still wanted to talk to Ian—to know more about him.

I climbed out of the car.

“We just ate,” I said. “I don’t need anything.”

“Well, I’m going to use the bathroom, so you get something for later, and don’t go back to the truck until I’m done.”

The bathroom door was on the outside of the building, so Dad waited for me to go into the store before he went inside.

The cashier must have seen my hesitation, because she leaned over the counter toward me. “Can I help you, honey?”

Her pink hair was piled on top of her head, and she had on these little round glasses that gave her owl eyes.

I was still pissed at Dad. That’s the only way I know to explain what I did next.

“No, thanks,” I said. Then I walked back out to the truck and climbed into the cab.

Ian shook his head at me. “You supposed to be here? Isn’t your dad going to freak?”

I shrugged. “Probably. Got any shitballs handy?”

Ian laughed. I’d impressed him.

I squinted at him over my shoulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

He shrugged an arm-twisted shrug. “Why not?”

“Did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Grand theft auto.”

Ian leaned forward. “That’s a very personal question,” he said. He dropped his chin, looking me in the eyes.

I nodded. “Well?”

He jerked his chin in the direction of my journal. “So I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Show you what?”

“You’re taking notes for your dad, right? I saw you writing down stuff about me. What are you, the secretary?”

I looked down at a split in the seat where the foam poked through, then picked at the edge of it with my finger. “He keeps his own notes. I just like to list things.”

“Huh,” Ian said. “Well, that’s cool.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “If I wrote things down, I wouldn’t forget so much.”

“Like your court dates?”

“Nah. I missed those on purpose.”

I looked toward the bathroom, but the door was still closed. No sign of Dad yet.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

“You want to know if I stole those cars?”

I blinked at him. So there’d been more than one car. Did that make him guilty? “Yeah,” I said.

“I’m not sure I should tell you. I mean, you’re the bounty man’s daughter, right? They might call you as a witness or something.”

“No one will have to know that I know.”

“I pled innocent.”

“But then you didn’t show up for your hearing.”

“Hell no I didn’t show up. I’m a poor guy with a record. You think they were going to let me off?”

“That depends. Did you do it?”

Ian laughed from deep in his chest, and the skin on my arms tingled. I wondered what I could say to make him laugh like that again.

“You think that makes a difference?” he asked. “What kind of shelter has the bounty man got around you, anyway?”

I shrugged. “Fine, don’t tell me.” I’d learned from Anna that the fastest way to get someone to tell you something is to back off and tell them they don’t have to share. Tell them it’s up to them, and they’ll spill their guts all over your shoes.

“Would you still talk to me if I did it?” he asked, his face growing serious.

I thought about that for a second. “Yes,” I said.

“But only as long as I’m cuffed in the back seat.”

“No,” I said. For some reason I wanted him to trust me. Maybe because Dad didn’t. “If you did it, you probably had a good reason.”

Ian laughed again, more bitterly this time. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I wouldn’t want to make you an accessory.”

I turned my back to him, reaching for my door handle. “Whatever,” I said.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” he said. “Do you think I did it?”

I turned back to him and held his gaze. Did I think he did it? He didn’t seem like a bad person, but he did seem like the kind of person who acted first and ran away from consequences later.

“Yes,” I said. “You won’t tell me if you did it, and I think that means you did.”

Ian nodded, neither of us blinking. My heart pounded faster, and I held my breath as shivers ran over me. “Does that matter?” he asked.

I jumped as Dad jerked open the driver’s-side door. I hadn’t even seen him approach. Ian settled back in his seat, and I whipped around in mine. I expected Dad to chew me out for not waiting for him in the store, but he just glared, first at me, then at Ian. He climbed into the cab and pulled his sunflower seeds out of the glove box, grabbed a gas card off his clipboard, and walked around to the pump.

Ian leaned forward in his seat.

“Hey, bounty man,” he said. “I gotta pee.”

Dad nodded at him but took his time running his card through the pump and putting the nozzle in the gas tank.

A girl in a University of Wyoming sweatshirt pulled up at the next row of pumps, giving us a dirty look. Looking back, I could see that the trailer blocked all three pumps in our row.

“Shouldn’t you pull back?” I yelled at Dad.

Dad shrugged. “Then we’d block the driveway. We’ll only be another minute.”

The girl left her car running and headed into the station.

“Hey, bounty man,” Ian said again. “You don’t want me to go on your seat, do you?”

The thought of smelling Ian’s urine all the way to Denver made me want to heave. I glared at him, but he grinned back. “Kidding,” he said, in a voice quiet enough that only I could hear.

Dad walked around to the passenger side of the truck and opened the back door, unchaining Ian’s feet. He pulled another length of chain out from under the seat and hooked it to Ian’s cuffs, pulling it taut. “Come on out, then,” he said.

As Ian climbed out of the truck, Dad stepped back, letting go of a length of chain so Ian could walk in front of him. Ian looked like a dog on a leash.

Dad and Ian walked toward the building. Dad opened the bathroom door and checked inside. I climbed out of the truck to watch them, leaning against the side of the gas pump.

Dad took the cuffs off Ian’s wrists but hooked another on his ankle, so he’d still be attached to the chain. As Ian walked into the bathroom, he bumped against Dad, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady himself. Dad’s hand went to his side, but Ian just smiled at him and slipped into the bathroom. I wondered if Dad really had a gun in his pocket.

Dad forced the chain under the door and closed Ian in, keeping hold of the leash. A Jeep pulled up to the parking spaces by the station door, and the driver gave Dad a strange look as he walked into the store. Dad gave the guy a nod but didn’t explain himself.

While we waited for Ian, I grabbed a squeegee and wiped the bug splatter off the windshield. The truck was so tall I had to climb up onto the fender to reach the windshield. It wasn’t that I wanted to help. I was just sick of looking at grasshopper guts.

As I finished I heard Dad knocking on the bathroom door. “Come on,” he yelled. “Let’s get moving.”

A moment later the door swung open, and Ian came out of the bathroom with his hands up, chain dragging on the concrete floor behind him.

“Hands together,” Dad said, reaching toward Ian with the cuffs.

Ian turned toward Dad and stuck his wrists together, but then whipped them up and socked Dad in the chin instead. Dad fell backward, and Ian gave him a shove, then twisted away and sprinted toward me. Dad lifted the chain, and I held my breath, expecting Ian to trip when he came to the end of it. The chain pulled taut but then slipped out of Ian’s shoe, clinking to the pavement. He must have unlocked the cuff and then tucked the chain into his shoe so Dad wouldn’t notice.

Ian raced past me and jumped into the still-running sedan, swinging his legs in and slamming the door. Dad reached for his hip and ran forward as Ian peeled out. Ian gave one wave to Dad over his shoulder. I could see his grin in his rearview as he pulled out of the parking lot.

I stared at the car, heart pumping. What would happen now? Dad said no high-speed chases, but Ian had stolen that girl’s car. I’d let him run by me; did that make me some kind of accessory to his crime after all? I didn’t know much about stealing things, but I knew you didn’t want to be around when other people did it.

I looked back at Dad to see if he was worried. He’d know what we could and couldn’t get in trouble for.

Dad was already jerking the gas hose out of the pump. As he leapt for the cab, his hand went to his pocket. He patted one pocket, then the other, and then jumped out of the truck to check the back ones. He swore, reaching for the ignition and checking the crack in the seat, but came up with nothing.

“Son of a bitch stole my keys,” Dad said.

That must be how he got the cuff unlocked. He probably grabbed the keys from Dad’s pocket before he went in.

“So we’re stuck here?” I asked.

Dad shook his head, holding out his hand. “Not unless you’ve lost your set.”

“All I’ve got is the trailer key.”

“There’s a spare truck key in the back.”

I handed Dad my key, and he opened the trailer door, then handed it back to me.

Ian had seen his chance, and he’d taken it. Now he was gone, and I was still stuck here with Dad, no better off than I had been before.

That’s when the girl in the UW sweatshirt came out of the station, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She gaped at the place where the car had been, and then looked around the parking lot at the other cars.

“What the hell?” she asked, looking at Dad. “Where’s my car?”

Dad looked at the empty space where the car had been, and then at the road where Ian had pulled away. He sighed.

I hopped up into the truck and sat back on the bench seat, feeling my heart rate begin to slow. I could tell what Dad was thinking. We weren’t going to catch him, even if Dad had been up to the chase.