Miles From Home (2 page)

“Sam, I want you to promise me you will get a cell phone as soon as you get to Chicago,” Karen says.

“Karen, you’ve been telling me that for the last two weeks. Even though I hate those things, I promise I’ll buy one as soon as I can,” I tell her, nudging her shoulder.

She tries hard not to laugh and looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “You’d better. It’s my only way of getting a hold of you,” she says.

We pull into the bus station with twenty minutes to spare. Karen hugs and kisses me and I tell her goodbye. As I’m walking away I turn to see that she is crying, and I have to force myself to keep walking. There is no turning back.

As I board the bus, I look for a seat towards the back. I find two seats together that aren’t taken so I throw my guitar case in the empty seat and slide my backpack under it. I lean my head against the seat and I stare out of the window. The bus gets farther and farther away from Oklahoma and I feel sad but excited that I’m finally doing something on my own.

Two months ago my cousin Ryan called me to tell me about the bar he had bought in Chicago, and I jumped at the chance when he asked me if I would be willing to move there and help him out. He said he needed someone he could trust, and he also mentioned that I could do a few sets a week playing my guitar and singing. I had been working at the Ford dealership for the past three years detailing cars. The pay wasn’t great but I managed to save most of my paycheck each week, since I knew that someday I would leave. The timing was perfect.

I suddenly wake up when an older lady shakes my arm. She tells me that the bus is stopping at a travel center shortly. We can get off, stretch our legs, and get a snack if we want. I’m definitely all for that; I must have been asleep for a few hours and I’m hungry. Most of the passengers get off and head into the store, so I pick up my backpack and guitar and follow them in. I get a large bottle of water and a bag of chips. Then I check out the magazine rack. I grab the latest issue of
Guitar Player
and stand in the cashier line. Several minutes pass before I realize the woman in front of me is taking her time picking out lottery tickets, scratching each one off as she buys them. As I look out the window I see the bus is pulling away. The bus I was just on. I run out screaming and waving my arms hoping to catch someone’s attention, but it drives away and leaves me behind. “FUCK! I can’t believe the fucking bus just left me!” I yell, kicking at the gravel as dust sprays up around my feet.

I walk back into the store and ask where the nearest bus station is. “There’s a town about eight miles east of here called Hermann, Missouri. They have a bus station,” the cashier says. I pay for my water, plus an extra one for the road, along with my chips and magazine. Then I head towards Hermann. I’m no stranger to walking, but it’s the middle of the afternoon and the sun is beating down on my back. The longer I walk the heavier my backpack and guitar get, but I figure if I keep up with a good pace, I can make it there in three hours.

AFTER SITTING HERE for thirty minutes I try starting my car again, but still nothing. So, here I sit, in my car, thinking and contemplating my next move when something catches my eye in the rearview mirror. A figure is walking towards my car. My first thought is excitement. Yes! Finally, someone who may be able to help me, but my excitement is quickly replaced with panic. I’m in the middle of nowhere and this person could be a rapist or worse; a serial killer. “Okay, Maggie,” I say to myself. Get it together and stay calm. Just stay in the car with the doors locked.” As the person gets closer, I can tell it’s a guy, and he looks to be about my age. As he makes his way around to pass the driver’s side, I quickly pick up my phone and act like I’m texting someone. I’m not sure I want to make eye contact with him before I have the chance to size this guy up.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap.
I jump as he peers into my window. Crap! What do I do? I can’t ignore him, since that would be rude and I don’t want to open my door to a stranger. I crack the window slightly so I can hear him. “Are you okay?” he asks. As I look at him closer I can see that he is about my age. He doesn’t look like a rapist or serial killer, but then again I’m not sure I would even know what one would look like.

“Umm . . . hi, yes, I’m okay. I’m just not sure if my car is. My
check engine
light came on while I was driving on the interstate so I took the nearest exit hoping to find a gas station. As you can see, no gas station, so I’m kind of stuck.”

He smiles and says, “Well, maybe I can take a look at it. Did it just die? Maybe you are out of gas.” Out of gas! Ugh, that makes me mad. Why do guys think women are so helpless and they wouldn’t know if they were out of gas?

“No, I’m not out of gas, I just filled the gas tank an hour ago.” He can tell I didn’t like his comment.

“I know a little about cars, but I’m not real familiar with Hondas,” he says.

I watch him walk to the front of the car as he motions for me to pull the latch to open the hood. I can see him checking the engine through the small slit where the hood and car meet. I faintly hear him tell me to try starting the car so I turn the key: click . . . click . . . click . . . nothing. He comes around to my window and sets his backpack and guitar case down. That’s when I notice his muscular build. “I think it might be your thermostat,” he says. “Did you notice your temperature gauge getting hot?” Thinking to myself, I really don’t remember even looking at the temperature gauge.

“No, I don’t think I was even paying attention to it. The only thing I noticed was the
check engine
light and it kept flashing,” I tell him.

Oh, there it is; that little smirk all men give women. It’s as if he’s saying, “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re just a woman. How would you know anything about cars?” I watch him turn as he goes back around to the front of the car. I decide I’m going to get out and take my chances. Besides, that look he gave me is making me feel like I’m nothing but a naïve little girl. I push the unlock button and step out into the searing heat. It must be at least ninety degrees outside, so I look at my watch and I’m surprised to see it’s late in the afternoon. The last time I looked at the time, it was just a little past noon, and that’s when I first noticed the red flashing
check engine
light. Damn, I should have paid more attention. I scold myself internally for this mistake. He’s leaning up against the front of my car as I come around.

“Do you think you can get it started?” I ask.

“I’m not sure, but maybe if we let it cool off it may start. If it does start though I’m not sure how far you will get before it heats up again, and you don’t want to drive it while it’s hot. It will damage the motor and then you are definitely screwed,” he says, lowering the hood and pushing it closed. “Let’s just wait about an hour and it should be cooled down enough by then to try it again.” He picks his things up and walks over to a small grassy area under a large shade tree. I follow him, just stopping long enough to grab my cell phone and keys from my car. We both sit quietly in the shade. He pulls two bottles of water from his backpack and offers me one. “It’s not very cold,” he says, “but it’s better than nothing.”

I smile and say, “Thank you, but I don’t want to take your water.” He smiles and insists I take it anyway.

Taking in my surroundings, I notice the paved road is lined with lots of huge trees and wildflowers are growing everywhere. There’s a nice breeze and the sound of birds chirping make this road a little less scary than it seemed a few minutes ago. I turn and hold out my hand. “Hi, I’m Maggie Taylor. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier, but I was a little stressed out.”

He takes my hand and shakes it. “Hi, Maggie. I’m Sam, Sam Austin.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam. Are you from around here?”

Sam shakes his head while he takes a drink from his water bottle. “No, I’m from Oklahoma, and you must be from Texas.” He sees the puzzled look on my face and adds, “I noticed your car tag.”

I smile and nod. “Oh, yep, I’m a Texas girl,” I say, finishing my water.

I turn to Sam and notice that he’s lying back with his head rested on his backpack with his eyes closed. This gives me the opportunity to check him out a little more. He looks like an average guy; blue jeans, black t-shirt, and tennis shoes. His short brown hair falls nicely around his face with just a little curl on the ends. I can tell by his deep golden tan that he must spend a fair amount of time outside. Thinking to myself, I wonder why a nice looking guy like him is traveling on foot. Is he running from something or someone? Suddenly he opens his eyes and catches me staring at him. That’s when I see his eyes. Oh wow! They are crystal blue, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes like his: beautiful. I smile and look away totally embarrassed. “Let’s see if your car will start,” he says. I jump up and head for the car. I hop in the driver’s seat and wait for Sam to give me the “okay” to turn the ignition. The engine starts after a few tries and I clap with excitement.

“Alright, there you go, Maggie, but as soon as you find a gas station or a garage, you need to stop and have it looked at. You don’t want it to overheat again. There’s a town not too far from here. It shouldn’t be more than four or five miles.”

I smile and tell Sam, “Thank you.”

Just as I start to pull out onto the road, I suddenly realize that it would be so rude of me not to offer him a ride. I feel fairly comfortable giving him a lift, considering it’s only a few miles up the road. It’s the least I could do. I roll down the window just as he’s walking away and I yell. “Sam, would you like a ride? You are headed in the same direction, aren’t you? ” He stops walking and turns around to walk back towards the car.

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t mind walking, but yeah, that would be great.” I stop the car and put it in park. “Of course not. I’ll pop the trunk so you can put your stuff in there.”

He climbs into the passenger side seat and flashes me a huge smile as I pull back out onto the road, and I suddenly feel my face blush.

Trying to break the silence, I reach over and turn on the radio and search for a decent station. ”What kind of music do you like?” he asks, as I flip through the stations. Nothing but country songs.

“I take it you don’t like country.” Sam shakes his head when he laughs and I feel a slight blush come over my face. Sam finds a station that we both seem to agree on; 80’s Hits. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
It’s
definitely not my era, but I know the song. It was one of my mom’s favorites.

When I see the sign telling us that it’s just five more miles, I exhale and smile. I can see Sam watching me as I look out of the corner of my eye, and his smile is infectious.

“Welcome to Hermann, Missouri,” I say as we pass the sign and I slow down to 25 mph, knowing most small towns are pretty strict with their speed zones. I’m sure this small town is no exception.

“Okay, let’s keep our eyes peeled for anything that looks like a garage,” Sam says, as I slowly drive down what looks like their main street. Pointing to the left, he says, “Turn left at the light up ahead. I see a sign that says Murphy’s auto repair.” I pull in and Sam and I walk towards the older gentleman standing by the door.

“Hi there. What can I help you kids with?” the man asks. Sam takes a few steps forward.

“Hello, sir. I’m Sam and this is Maggie. She has a Honda Accord that needs to be looked at. I’m not sure but I think the thermostat is going out.”

“Well, hello Sam and Maggie, I’m Doug and I can help you. Just pull it into the first open bay and I’ll take a look at it.” Sam holds out his hand and I give him the car keys. I assume he’s more familiar with pulling a car into a confined space; he is a guy after all. Doug takes a look at it and comes back over to where I’m standing.

“Well, your friend Sam here was right; it’s the thermostat. But a little bad news, ma’am. I don’t carry Honda parts here. Not much of a demand for them. Just a lot of Ford and Chevy trucks around here.” My face drops as he sees my disappointment.