1. Home Fires
Gary paused, fingertips on the receiver. She'd worry either way. He grabbed it, dumped in coins, and dialed.
"McGinty's Bar."
He listened to the familiar bustle and clang of customers and kitchen workers as he took a deep breath.
"Hello?" A slight pause. "Gary, is that you?"
"Hey, Marissa."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He forced himself to smile. She could always hear if he was smiling. "Nothing's wrong."
"Gary." That warning edge. She could hear when he fake-smiled now. Great.
"Look, Marissa. Nothing's wrong. It's just...I've gotta take a quick trip, and I didn't want you to worry."
"All right. Where are you going?"
"Boston. I was just going to go and be back, but I had to use the bar account to buy a last minute ticket."
"Gar-"
"Now, don't worry, Marissa. I'll be home tomorrow. Everything's fine. But, well, they're calling my flight, so, I gotta go. See you soon." He set the phone down quickly and glanced at the paper. Still that horrifying specter: smoke, flame, and death. He hadn't thought newspapers still printed an Extra Edition ever. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and got in line.
After more than two hours sitting on the tarmac, they were off the malfunctioning jet, and he was in line again. The airline personnel were trying their best to maintain their cool as dozens of passengers demanded alternate routes to Boston, only to be told that the last flights were full or had left.
Too many people choosing standby. It was not gonna happen that way. He checked the paper, then his watch, then ran through the terminal.
Not enough of the others had given up, and the rental car desk was empty. Gary shifted from foot to foot as the man dithered through the process, mustache twitching as he muttered his way through the computer fields.
"In a hurry, eh?"
"You could say that." Gary resisted the urge to look at the paper. He hadn't done anything. It wouldn't have changed.
"Something special to do?" The man licked a pudgy finger, turned the page, initialed the copy, and repeated it.
"Um, yeah."
"Driving straight through, then."
"Yeah." Gary flexed his fingers.
"Wedding."
"Or funeral, if I don't get there." He grabbed the key that was finally offered. He took two steps then turned back.
"Out the door, to the left, and they'll be bringing it up," the man rumbled. "Should get you in around 9:30 a.m. local time. Drive safe!"
Two and a half hours too late, Gary thought. Safe would happen when nothing was on the line. Tonight was for speeding.
Gary was out of Chicago in record time, and the Skyway was clear sailing, even without a working radio. He patted the paper, upside down on the seat beside him. They were going to make it.
The car jerked to the side. Gary gripped the wheel, but the alignment pulled hard to the right. The rear fish-tailed slightly. Gary let off the gas, but the car slid, and no turning into the skid helped.
Before he could compensate, Gary was in the ditch, the car buried nose-first in mud.
"Dammit!" He slammed a palm into the steering wheel. How was he going to get the car out? And would it even drive if he could?
Heart pounding, he grabbed the paper. No change.
He tucked it into his pocket and threw the door open. The front tire on the passenger side was flat, the rear tire chewed into ribbons. Stupid rental. He growled and clambered back up the embankment, muddying his knees on the way.
Hitchhike. He'd hitchhike. There had to be a way.
He brushed twigs out of his hair and started waving at the cars speeding by, but they kept going like he was invisible. Twenty minutes of walking backwards later-he just needed a duffel over his shoulder and he'd look like David Banner after a Hulk-out-and he saw the first houses of a small subdivision just over the rise of the land. He waved to the next car and it sped past, spattering his pants with lime-water.
Stupid paper.
Gary turned and stared at the nearby houses. Short fence. That was manageable.
He skidded down the bank again and climbed up the other side, easily hopping the chain-link fence at the top.
The backyard was filled with toys and, off to the side, a green mountain bike with a child seat on the back. Gary tucked two hundred fifty dollars in cash into the little pink helmet, set the helmet on the ground, and lifted the bike over the fence. He glanced around him, hopped on, and rode.
At the corner to the exit of the subdivision, Cat meowed and ran across the street.
Gary followed. It was a highway with precious little shoulder and empty fields spreading out from him, but it headed east, and he couldn't go back on the interstate on a bicycle. If he got to the next real town, maybe he could find another rental car.
He pedaled faster, faster, ignoring the burn in his thighs and his lungs, just watching the road in front of him. The sun had long since set and the Indiana countryside looked beautiful and spooky by moonlight. Gary knew if he slowed down, he'd be cold. His knuckles and ears knew it was chilly.
When he looked at his watch, it was 1 a.m., and he hadn't seen a single town.
He kept riding.
The bike seat tried to press through his glutes and into his bones.
Everything hurt.
He saw lights up ahead and pedaled faster.
As he passed the welcome sign, Cat ran across the road. Gary swerved to avoid the orange blur, squeezing the brakes. Nothing happened. He squeezed harder. His tire hit a rock and he went down sideways, sliding across his shoulder and landing face-to-face with Cat.
Cat meowed.
Gary growled, reaching for Cat's neck, then dropping his head to the gravel.
"What? What do you WANT from me? There's no time left. I can't get there." He looked at his watch again. It the middle of the night and he hadn't made it out of Indiana. He rubbed his shoulder and looked up at the town's welcome sign.
"Welcome to Hickory, Indiana." Of course. He glared at Cat.
"Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself."
He hadn't biked these streets at night since he was sixteen, but he followed them unerringly and let himself in the front door with the key under the potted plant.
When his folks came downstairs he shushed their flurry of questions.
"Mom. Dad. It's going to be a bad day. There's nothing I can do, so I'm going to spend it here. With you."
He set the paper on the counter, showing the burning skyscrapers bellowing black smoke. He cleared his throat. "Too many of the folks in those buildings won't get to spend another day with their families. So...I'm here now."
~o~
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