Damage (3 page)

The car was stolen. I just knew it. My hands were slick with sweat. I wiped them on my jeans and turned to watch the cop walk the last few feet to our car.

Ronnie was cooing to Zach now. “Come here, baby. I'm sorry I yelled at you. You want a snack, honey? Raisins? Goldfish crackers?” She rummaged in the bag on the seat beside her.

I felt sick. Sure, Ronnie had been my babysitter—but that was six years ago, when she was an eleventh-grader. I knew nothing about this girl sitting behind me. She could be anyone. A car thief. Or worse, a drug dealer. What if the trunk was full of coke or something?

God knows my parents weren't going to believe that I had nothing to do with it.

“Good evening,” the cop said, leaning down to the open window.

“Um, hi. Sorry. Was I speeding? I thought I was pretty much going the speed limit.” My heart was racing, and I had to fight to keep my voice level.
Please, God, I know I haven't been to church in a few years, but if you could just do me this one favor and not let him look in the trunk...

The cop was middle-aged, darkeyed and brown-skinned, with a heavy moustache. I figured he was leaning in to check my breath, like my father always did. “You had anything to drink tonight?” he asked.

“No.” I gestured at the paper cups in the drinks tray. “Just coffee.”

“Oregon license plates, huh? Where are you heading?”

“I'm from Portland. Going to Los Angeles. Um, I have family down there,” I said. It wasn't true, but it seemed like a good thing to say. Like, a responsible kind of reason to be driving through California at night
. Please don't look in the trunk. Don't search the car.
“Um, was I over the speed limit?”

He straightened up with a grunt, hands on his lower back. “You weren't speeding. You've got a taillight out though.”

“Oh. I didn't realize...”

“No one ever does. No one thinks to check their taillights.” He shook his head. “Better get that fixed, all right?”

“Yeah, for sure. Thanks for letting me know.” Zach wasn't crying anymore, and I didn't want to draw attention to him and Ronnie in the backseat, so I kept my eyes on the cop. “I'll get that dealt with right away.”

“All right then. You have a safe trip.”

“Thanks.” My hand was shaking as I rolled my window closed. A cold trickle of sweat ran down my back. I turned around in my seat. “What was all that about?”

She lifted Zach back into his car seat. “What? I just didn't want to get a ticket, that's all.” She tucked Zach's arms back into his straps and fastened the buckle across his chest. Her face was flushed, and she didn't meet my gaze.

“And that business about not using your name?” I started up the engine and rejoined the flow of traffic on the freeway.

“I don't know,” she said. “I just don't like cops, okay?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Forget it, Theo. It's nothing.” She sounded annoyed. “Can we just not talk right now? I want Zach to go to sleep.”

I shook my head but said nothing. I turned on the radio, some bland music that I hoped would get me out of singing more Raffi. Angling the rearview mirror, I could see Ronnie stroking Zach's cheek. It looked like he was actually going to doze off. Ronnie's face was tilted toward him, her eyes downcast, her long dark hair falling loose around her shoulders.

She was beautiful, sure. But there was something seriously wrong with this whole picture. I needed to find out exactly what kind of mess I had got myself into.

Chapter Five

I kept driving, careful to stay just under the limit this time, and listened to Ronnie softly coaxing her son to sleep. Finally, there was silence from the backseat. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Zach was out cold, cheeks flushed and head flopped sideways.

“I shouldn't have had that coffee. I totally have to pee,” Ronnie said. “Can we stop somewhere?”

“Yeah.” I looked at the gas gauge— half a tank. “Might as well fill up too.”

I took the next exit and pulled into a Chevron station half a mile down the road. “Go ahead and use the restroom,” I told Ronnie. “I'll get the gas.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You're a sweetheart.”

“No problem,” I said. My cheeks were hot, and I felt like scum. She could call me sweetheart all she liked, but I had every intention of searching the car while she was gone. I watched her walk away, then quickly flipped through the plastic folder of papers in the glove box. Everything appeared to be in order. The car was registered to Veronica Gleeson, and her insurance was up-to-date. Not much else in the glove box—a pack of Kleenex, the vehicle owner's manual, a container of green spearmint Tic Tacs.

I popped open the trunk, fully expecting to see something illegal, like Ziploc baggies of white powder, bricks of hash, a stack of marijuana the size of a hay bale. Instead, there was Zach's folded-up stroller, a pile of baby blankets, a box of Huggies, a plastic bag of damp towels and swimsuits, and Ronnie's backpack. Pushing down my feelings of guilt, I unzipped her backpack and flipped the top open. T-shirts, shorts, a soft green cardigan, satiny bras in black and navy and pale pink, red lacy underwear...I closed the bag and zipped it shut again. What the hell was I doing?

I shut the trunk quickly. I had forgotten about the sleeping toddler but was immediately reminded by a loud wail from the backseat.

Crap.

I opened Zach's door. “Hush, hush. Your mom will be right back.”

It didn't seem to reassure him much. He stared at me, blue eyes bleary from sleep, and let out another wail.

“Look, I'm going to put gas in the car,” I said. “See? I'm putting my debit card in the machine...”

Ronnie appeared at my side. “He woke up, huh?”

“Yeah.”

She sighed. “Zachy, you want to go potty?”

He shook his head.

“It's stopping the car,” she said. “It always wakes him.”

“Mmm.” That and me slamming the trunk shut right behind him.

She gestured at the car. “I'm going to try to get him back to sleep. If you need the restroom, you'd better use it now. If we keep driving, hopefully he'll sleep right through to LA.”

I went to take a leak. I was starving too. Maybe storming out of the hotel restaurant before eating hadn't been so smart. I bought some pretzels and cashews and a couple of candy bars in the gas-station shop. By the time I got back to the car, Zach's eyes were half-closed again, and Ronnie was singing softly in the backseat beside him.

“Can you drive again?” she whispered.

I nodded. “As long as I don't have to sing any more Raffi.” Though I guessed it would serve me right for waking Zach up—and give a whole new meaning to my parents' favorite phrase,
time to face the music
. I tossed the junk food onto the passenger seat, and headed back onto the highway. LA, here we come, I thought. No drugs in the trunk, and we'll be in Hollywood in the morning. I wondered if my parents had found my note yet, or if they were just sitting in the hotel room, watching
TV
and grumbling about my bad behavior.

I hated the way they didn't trust me, the way they always seemed to assume the worst.

Then again, hadn't I just assumed the worst myself? I hadn't trusted Ronnie. I hadn't even considered that maybe there was some perfectly reasonable explanation for her behavior. Instead, I'd searched her car while she was in the washroom. How was that any better than Mom snooping around my room or Dad looking at my online search history?

God, I was such an asshole. In the rearview mirror I saw that Ronnie's eyes were closed, one wing of silky dark hair partly covering her face. I turned on the radio and scanned through the stations, trying to find something other than country music and eighties rock, but I couldn't shake my sense of foreboding. I needed a straight answer.

“Ronnie,” I said softly. There was no answer, but I didn't believe she was really sleeping. I turned the radio off. “Ronnie. I want to know what's going on. That thing with the cop.” I looked again at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

She slowly opened her eyes, yawned, blinked sleepily. “Mmm. I must have drifted off.”

I gestured to the seat beside me. “How about sitting up here with me? Zach's asleep, and I feel like a cabdriver with you back there.”

Ronnie unbuckled her seat belt and climbed forward between the two front seats, her hair so close to my face, I could smell her shampoo.

“Um, I was going to pull over,” I told her.

“Don't stop driving—Zach will wake up.” She fastened her seat belt.

“That's better,” I said. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There was a long silence, and I deliberately didn't fill it. Let her feel uncomfortable, I thought. Maybe if she got uncomfortable enough, she'd tell me what was going on.

She cleared her throat. “I guess I acted kind of weird back there. With the cop.”

It never failed. Most people just can't handle silence. “Yeah,” I said.

Ronnie licked her lips nervously. “This is kind of hard to talk about.”

I waited.

She sighed. “Okay. Zach's father... his name is Max. We're not together anymore.”

“You're single?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Uh, that must be hard. With a kid and all.”

“Yeah, I'm single.” She grinned at me in a way that made it clear she wasn't fooled by my tone. “Too bad I'm your babysitter, huh?”

“Not anymore,” I said. My face flooded with heat, and I stared at the road ahead. “Anyway, what's all that got to do with the freak-out over the cop?”

“Max is the kind of guy who likes to be in control. He thinks everything should be a certain way, you know? When we broke up, he pulled some crazy stuff.” Ronnie put her hand on my leg. “Theo?”

I looked across at her, my heart racing. Her hand on my leg felt electric. I swallowed hard, trying to sound normal. “Yeah?”

“I'm scared of him.” Her eyes met mine, and I could see the fear in her face. “I don't want him to find me.”

“You're...are you running away from him?”

“I guess so. Sort of.”

“Was he abusive? Did he hit you?” I couldn't imagine anyone hitting her, but I knew it happened all the time. It's crazy how so many men are assholes. I felt a wave of protectiveness so strong, it caught me off guard. I clenched my fists on the wheel. If he was hurting her...

“I don't really want to get into it,” she said, and her voice broke a little.

“Yeah. I mean, of course. I understand,” I said.

“I'm scared of him finding me,” she said again. “Theo? You'll help me, won't you?”

If Max was abusive, this was a no-brainer. “Of course I will,” I told her. “I promise.” I put my hand on hers, lacing our fingers together. “When the cop pulled us over...”

She nodded. “I thought maybe he'd run the license plates.”

“So what?” I frowned. “It's not Max's car. I mean, you said it wasn't stolen.” I didn't think I should mention that I'd seen the registration papers.

She pulled her hand away. “It's not his car,” she said quickly. “It's mine.”

“So why would it matter?”

“Because he's a cop,” she said.

“Duh, I know he was a cop.”

Ronnie shook her head impatiently.

“No. I mean Max. Zach's dad—he's a cop.”

My heart sank. “Please tell me you're kidding.”

“I wish.”

“There's a crazy abusive cop out there looking for you?” I looked in the rearview mirror. No flashing lights. No sirens.

“He probably has all his buddies looking for me too.”

Great. Just great. “I don't suppose he's the jealous type. You know, the kind of dude who might shoot a guy just because he's in the car with his girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Ronnie said.

Which didn't exactly answer my question.

Chapter Six

With Zach finally zonked out in the backseat, Ronnie and I took turns driving and sleeping through the night. By the time we arrived on the outskirts of LA, the sun was coming up. The horizon was streaked with vivid orange, and the darker sky above looked almost purple.

I pulled the car over to the side of the road, since I had no idea where in the city Ronnie's friend lived. “Wake up, Ronnie,” I whispered. “We're here.”

Ronnie yawned and stretched. “Awesome.”

I pointed out the window. “That's some sunrise, huh?”

“It's the pollution,” she said sleepily. “Dirty cities have the best sunrises.”

We switched positions, Ronnie taking the wheel. Zach, thankfully, stirred only briefly before sticking his thumb back into his mouth and slipping back to sleep. As Ronnie drove, I watched the lines of traffic snaking their way into the city and the skyscrapers of downtown beginning to push up along the horizon in a jagged concrete line.

I wondered what Darrell would say when my parents called him. Probably he'd shake his head disapprovingly and mutter something lame about “kids these days
.
” It was kind of hard to believe that Darrell had ever been a teenager himself. According to my parents, he'd always been perfect.
Darrell always did so well in math, Theo. I don't remember Darrell's friends ever getting into the kind of trouble your friends seem to find themselves in. Darrell never spoke to your mother in that tone, young man.

I shook my head to clear the thoughts. I had enough to worry about right now, what with Ronnie's gun-toting ex on our heels. “Where's your friend live?” I asked.

She tossed me a printout of a Google map. “Can you navigate? I've never actually been here.”

“Yeah.” I studied the page for a minute. “Stay on this highway. I'll tell you when we're near the exit.” I traced the route with my finger and hoped I wouldn't get us too lost. Apparently Ronnie's friend lived on Harrison Street, which seemed like a good omen. The name made me think of Harrison Ford, which made me think of Han Solo. “So this friend. You said she works in the movie industry?”