CHAPTER 4
Davey awoke early the next morning not to Race's alarm, but to a tap, tap, tapping on the glass window of the van. Still half asleep, he cracked open the door.
"Good mornin,' Sunbeam!" Race said cheerfully. "Didja sleep well?" He didn't bother waiting for an answer before continuing, "I'm gonna check us out of our room soon. You want to go wash up there before we hit the road?"
Davey stared blankly at him.
"Come on now, Dave," Race cajoled. "The sooner you get moving, the sooner we can go getcha some coffee."
The mention of coffee invigorated Davey somewhat, and he managed to grab a change of clothes and his toiletries and then follow Race back to the hotel room. He felt a little more awake after washing up, and soon they were heading back to the van, Race sliding into the driver's seat by unspoken agreement and Davey searching on his phone for directions to the nearest coffeehouse.
"Hope you don't mind a little music," Race remarked. "I'll start'cha out easy this morning since you haven't had your cup o' joe yet." He made his song selection before backing the van out of its parking space, adding, "And seeing as it's the final leg of our trip, this seems to be fitting..."
The van joined the stream of morning traffic, and Race began singing, "One day more! Another day, another destiny…" Despite the rather early hour, he was eager to be on his way. It would be a long day of driving, but once they reached Santa Fe, they would be able to crash at Jack and Katherine's place before preparing for the return trip the following day.
The van trundled down the road, taking a turn here and a turn there, Race carefully following Davey's directions and valiantly attempting to sing all of the parts to "One Day More."
"You really gotta start learning some of these songs, Dave," he puffed at one point, out of breath. "I can't keep up; this isn't meant to be a one-man show."
Davey made an indistinguishable sound of what Race took to be agreement. (He wasn't sure how successful his "educating" of Davey had been - the latter had shown an unwavering indifference to most of the cast recordings that Race had played, but at the very least, he was protesting less, so Race took that as a small victory).
"Here's the turn off," Davey said. "The coffeehouse should be just ahead." Race spotted the establishment and eased Rachelle over, turning into the driveway just as the final crescendo began to swell.
"One more dawn, one more day, one day moreeee!" Race threw his hand out dramatically, timing it so that the van rolled to a stop just as the final note of the song died away. He gave Davey a satisfied grin. "Don'tcha just love it when that happens?" He punched his traveling partner in the arm. "Come on, let's go getcha that joe!"
The effects of the coffee on Davey's mood and capacity for conversation were almost instantaneous. By the time they returned to the van, he felt much more awake and agreeable, the brief frustrations of the night before gradually dissipating with every sip. Stowing his thermos safely in a cup holder, Davey clicked his seatbelt into place, and then glanced over at the van's dashboard.
The barometer read 88 degrees.
"Yikes," Race remarked, noticing the climbing temperature as well. "We're gonna have one heck of a drive ahead of us."
"And we haven't even hit Texas yet," Davey added. "They're expecting a heat wave today." He was thankful that he'd opted for wearing a t-shirt and shorts instead of his usual flannel and jeans, anticipating an uncomfortably hot ride now that the air conditioner was out.
"Well, we've got nowhere to go but onward," Race declared gamely.
The morning drive was warm, but uneventful. They kept the windows up as long as they could, but eventually had to roll them down when the heat became unbearable. This meant that Race had to blast his music even louder to be able to hear it over the sound of the wind rushing past. It also meant that conversation was kept to a minimum, as any attempt at talking soon escalated into what ended up sounding like a shouting match...
"RACE!" Davey yelled. "I APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT, BUT I DON'T THINK THIS SONG IS REALLY MITIGATING THE HEAT IN ANY WAY."
"WHAT?" Race hollered, over the chanting of "Colder by the Minute." "I CAN'T HEAR YA!"
"I SAID, I DON'T THINK THIS IS HELPING!" Davey shouted, louder this time.
Race, looking amused, wiped the sweat from his brow. "WHAT'S THE ALTERNATIVE, HUH? SITTING IN SILENCE WITH NOTHING TO DO BUT THINK ABOUT HOW WE'RE FRYIN' LIKE EGGS IN HERE?" He shot Davey a grin, then said coaxingly, "COME ON, DAVE. A LITTLE IRONIC HUMOR NEVER HURT ANYONE. LET'S AT LEAST MAKE THE BEST OF IT."
Davey sighed. "WELL...I SUPPOSE THAT IS THE RIGHT ATTITUDE," he finally conceded.
Race looked confused. "YOU NEVER KNEW NO ONE WITH AN APTITUDE?"
"NO, I - NEVER MIND." Davey shook his head, his throat beginning to get hoarse from all the yelling.
Race shrugged.
They made it through Oklahoma without incident, but trouble found them after they had crossed the border into Texas. Traffic on the highway slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped altogether, forcing Rachelle to idle at a standstill. After waiting several minutes, Race turned on the radio to the traffic alert station. They soon learned that there had been a major accident several miles ahead, and that traffic was shut down completely on the highway for an indefinite amount of time. This would have been unwelcome news enough under any circumstances, but the addition of the steadily climbing temperature made this announcement almost unbearable.
"Hand me another water bottle, will ya, Dave?" Race was amassing quite a collection of empty recyclables, and (though he'd never admit it) he was thankful that Davey had thought to pack what had initially seemed to be a ridiculous amount of water. They were already halfway through the case, and still had several hours of driving ahead - more, perhaps, if this traffic jam took a while to clear.
"We're going to have to start rationing this soon," Davey joked, tossing Race a bottle. "Who knows how long we'll be stuck here?"
"I'm thinkin' we oughta just bypass this bottleneck," Race muttered, popping open the bottle and taking a gulp. "I can see the off-ramp up ahead. If we could just get onto the shoulder a little - "
"No," Davey said firmly. "We should wait it out. This isn't driving along a blocked-off lane on a highway, Race. You're talking about serious off-roading here. And I don't think Rachelle is equipped to handle this kind of terrain." He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I can't believe I just said that…I must be going crazy."
"Shhh," Race admonished. "She'll hear ya." He surveyed the shoulder again. It was mostly unpaved and looked rather uneven in spots, but otherwise didn't seem to pose any real difficulty. And if it meant avoiding a long and unpleasant wait in the heat, well, that seemed like a risk worth taking.
Davey saw the look in his eye, and immediately began protesting. "Race, I mean it! Don't -"
But Race had already made up his mind, and Rachelle was soon bumping over the low divider that separated the highway from the dirt shoulder. At first, she seemed to be negotiating the terrain just fine, and Race was about to chide Davey for his lack of faith, when they hit a series of potholes. The sharp jarring sensation quickly eliminated any possibility of conversation, and Race found himself struggling to keep the van on course. He swerved this way and that, trying to steer Rachelle to smoother ground, but to no avail.
They'd made it about three hundred yards from their initial starting point, when a series of loud bangs punctuated the air, followed by a flapping sound as the van lurched uncontrollably. Race quickly slammed on the brakes, and Rachelle came to a screeching stop.
Glancing over at Davey (who was white-knuckling the armrests of the passenger seat), then at the van's dashboard, Race was dismayed to see the tire pressure light flash on the display. He popped open the door and slid out of his seat, walking around the van to assess the damages. It was worse than he'd expected. Whatever he had driven through back there had blown out all four of Rachelle's tires.
"Sorry, girl…" Race apologized, patting the van regretfully.
"We're in a pickle now, that's for sure," Davey said, having recovered sufficiently to come out and join Race. He shaded his eyes from the sun, glancing around. "And it looks like we're out in the middle of nowhere." Pulling out his phone, he suggested, "Let's try to find a place that offers roadside assistance."
Both of them began searching. "The only place that can do towing within a 30 mile radius of here is this place called Delancey Bros. Auto Parts & Service," Davey said after several minutes.
"Only two stars on Yelp," Race cautioned, holding up his phone. "See, Davey? Learned my lesson - read the ratings this time."
"We might not have much choice in this case." Davey sighed, then gave Race a humorless smile. "I'll give you the choice: do you want to call and arrange for the tow, or would you rather call Jack and let him know we're going to be late getting into Santa Fe tonight?"
"I got the tow!" Race said immediately. He patted Davey's shoulder. "Good luck with Jacky, Dave!"
"I had a feeling you were going to say that," Davey muttered, pulling up Jack's number on his phone.
Jack picked it up on the first ring. "Hey, Davey! How you boys doin'?"
"We're in a little bit of a predicament," Davey confessed. "I don't want to worry you, but I thought we should let you know that we probably won't be making it to Santa Fe until late tonight."
Cautiously, he filled Jack in on the events of the last few days: the faulty air conditioner, the near-accident and the breaking of Katherine's grandma's china, the roach-infested hotel...
"I mean, that doesn't sound too terrible," Jack cut in, impatient to get to the crux of Davey's rambling narrative. "What's the predicament you were mentioning?"
"Well…" Davey took a deep breath. "Here's what went down: we got stopped by an accident - I mean fully stopped, for how long, we had no idea - "
"Okay…"
"And Race thought that if he drove along the shoulder he could get around it."
"Dave, what the -" Jack snapped, already sensing where the story was going. "Did the heat fry your brains or somethin'? As I recall, Dave, I told you to watch him closely. He's not-"
"Not the safest - "
"Gee, ya think?"
"Jack, I tried my hardest - Race just doesn't listen!"
"So, what's the worst? Is the van even drivable?"
"Four flats. And most likely some dings from the towing."
"Of course!"
"But we're fine," Davey insisted, trying to keep Jack positive, "and we'll be in Santa Fe before you know it!"
"Yeah, Dave, you're right," Jack conceded. "It's your safety that's most important. Glad you're okay. And the tires are an easy fix."
"Should be."
"So there's nothin' to stress over, right?"
"Exactly! Don't be so worried!" Davey said cheerfully with more conviction than he felt. A voice in the back of his head scolded him for minimizing the severity of the situation, and warned that Race was rubbing off on him, but Davey guiltily ignored it. He was in agreement with Race on one thing, at least: Jack didn't need more to worry about, and he would find out everything soon enough.
"So, how've you been holding up, Dave?" Jack broke in, changing the subject. "I mean, besides Race's crazy drivin' and what not. You bummers getting along all right? No soaking?"
Davey laughed. "No, Jack. No soaking - not yet." He found himself grinning, and added, "Race does have quite the obnoxious alarm system, and I think I'll have lyrics from musicals stuck in my head until the end of time...but it actually hasn't been too bad. I mean, not as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe even a little bit fun, at times."
"That's the Racetrack effect," Jack said knowingly. "You can't stand him, but at the same time, you can't not love him." He laughed fondly. "Well, I'm glad you two are making the best of things. I really appreciate it, Davey, and Kath does too. I'll letcha go take care of the van now, but tell Racer I said hello, and we'll be waiting for you tonight."
"All right, sounds good, Jack. See you soon." Davey ended the call, letting out a sigh of relief. Well, that hadn't gone too badly. He turned his attention to Race, who was just wrapping up his own call with the towing company.
"How's it looking?" Davey queried.
"They said they'll be here within half an hour," Race responded. "And they got Rachelle's tires in stock, so it shouldn't be a problem replacing them." He paused. "Gonna be a hefty sum, though, for the tires and the tow, and we gotta pay up front. Cash only, too."
"How much?" Davey asked immediately. Race told him, and he winced. "Okay…" he said, trying not to panic. "I'm sure...I'm sure we can swing that." He dug out his wallet and began counting bills. "How much cash do you have on you, Race?"
Race hesitated. "Well...see, the thing is, Dave, I'm really more of a card kinda guy - "
Davey stopped counting. "You didn't bring any cash?" he asked quietly.
"Just a couple dollars," Race said, shifting uncomfortably. "And," he fished around in his pockets, "I got a nickel."
Davey opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head and simply went back to counting. Race watched him uncomfortably. He would have rather preferred Davey's criticism to his silence.
Finally, Davey stopped tallying the bills and let out a sigh of relief. He had just enough money to cover the cost of the tow and the tires. Once they got into town, he could replenish his depleted wallet at a bank. It was going to be fine.
"I'm going to wait in the van," he told Race, tucking the wallet back into his pocket. "This heat's brutal." Race was a sight, dusty and dripping with sweat, and Davey was sure he didn't look much better. What he wouldn't give to be at the beach right now, or even at a pool - just not a hotel pool, he amended. He wouldn't go quite that far.
Race followed him back to the van, and both of them collapsed into Rachelle's cab, thankful for the respite from the sun's intensity, if not its heat. They sat in silence for several moments, then Davey tossed Race another water bottle. "Drink up," he ordered. "We'll get heat stroke in no time if we don't stay hydrated." He popped open his own bottle.
"You sure are taking this well, Davey," Race remarked, taking a swig from the water bottle as directed. "I mean, it's kinda my fault we're in this situation in the first place, and you aren't even mad."
Davey set down his water bottle. "I told you, Race, I have a little brother. I've had years to practice keeping my temper. And besides, I just told Jack that we were getting along fine, and I'd like to think that I wasn't, to use your words, just 'keeping him from the truth' when I said that." He gave Race a pointed look. "Just promise me that you'll take cash with you next time you travel anywhere. Really, Race. For your own good. And for the good of any potential future traveling partners - though I can't imagine anyone being as foolish as me and actually agreeing to go anywhere with you."
"Ah, there's the Davey Jacobs sarcasm!" Race said appreciatively. "I was beginning to worry you'd lost it."
Before Davey could reply, they heard the distinct sound of tires rolling over dirt and gravel.
"You hear that?" Race perked up. "Think it's the highway patrol?"
"Or could it be...the Delancey brothers?" Davey suggested.
"If it is, they're early," Race remarked, popping open the door to Rachelle's cab to get a better look. Sure enough, a large tow truck was pulling up to the moving van. The driver parked the truck, then got out of the cab and sidled over to where Race and Davey were waiting.
"Hey! You the ones that called about the tow?"
Race nodded the affirmative, a bit taken aback by the newcomer's gruff attitude.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" the driver asked, holding out his hand. "Cash up front like I told you."
"Wait." Davey broke in. "Just so we're clear, er -" he glanced at the name patch on the driver's coveralls " - Oscar, what exactly is this covering?"
"Towing to the shop and four new tires," Oscar said shortly. "I do the tow; my brother Morris'll fix your flats."
Davey hesitated. "You wouldn't happen to have that in writing, would you? I mean, this is a bit of a risk for us, paying you up front like this with nothing but your word -"
"No contract," Oscar spat. "It's honest work. And you aren't gonna find another place around here that'll tow you for this price, I promise. So…" he folded his arms across his chest. "...you paying or walking, what's your pleasure?"
"Oh come on, Davey," Race said, exasperated. "Just do it." Davey frowned at him, but emptied his wallet and handed the stack of bills to Oscar, who counted them carefully before tucking them into his pocket.
"How long do you think fixing the flats will take?" Davey asked.
Oscar shrugged indifferently. "Morris has a few other customers ahead of you. I'd plan on hanging around for a while." Without another word, he turned and set about getting the van ready for towing.
The trip to the Delancey brothers' auto shop was quiet, Oscar maintaining a taciturn silence, Davey staring intently out of the passenger side window, and Race uncomfortably sandwiched between them. The traffic on the highway had begun crawling forward by this time, and they exited via the very offramp that Race had been aiming for initially. They then drove for several miles, getting further and further away from the highway.
Just as Davey was starting to get a little nervous (exactly how remote was this auto shop?), they rolled into what looked like a small town consisting of several buildings standing side by side off of the road. Oscar pulled up to the last structure on the strip and parked the car near the auto shop.
"Welcome to the middle of nowhere, boys," he said with a grin that looked more like a sneer. "You might as well make yourselves at home while you wait."
"Does this town have a bank?" Davey asked, looking around as they piled out of the tow truck.
"Closest bank's seventeen miles down the road," Oscar answered. "And I wouldn't chance it on foot in this heat, but it's your funeral." He began walking towards the auto shop. "I'll call you when the van's ready."
Davey and Race were left standing in the street.
"Well…" Race shoved his hands into his pockets and shot a glance at his traveling partner. "We having fun yet, Dave?"
Davey was silent for a moment before answering. "If we're not, I don't know how much more fun I'll be able to handle." His hands clenched involuntarily, and Race, quickly recognizing the other boy's attempt to curb his growing anxiety, patted him on the back.
"It's gonna be okay," he said reassuringly. "Don't sweat it, all right? We're gonna be just fine."
Davey took a few deep breaths. "Yeah...you're right." He rubbed the back of his neck then added, almost to himself, "this is just...part of the adventure."
He ain't foolin' no one with that delivery, Race thought, but he nodded encouragingly at Davey, who seemed to be growing a bit calmer. "That's the spirit." Glancing down the road, he added, "Hey, it looks like there's a restaurant or something over there. I sure could use a bite to eat. What do you say we check it out?"
Davey agreed, so they made their way down the street to the brick building that sat in a central location about halfway down the road. Painted on the window in bold letters was the name of the establishment: The Wooden Nickel, Rustic Table and Tavern. Below, a second line proclaimed: Live Entertainment Thursday, Friday, and Saturday Nights!
Race went to open the door but stopped short when he noticed a sign that read "CASH ONLY."
"What is it with this town and only accepting cash?" he grumbled.
"Probably has something to do with the nearest bank being seventeen miles away," Davey mused.
"Well," Race said, looking at the menu posted in the window, "let's see if two dollars and five cents can getcha anything at this place."
It turned out that two dollars and five cents actually could buy an order of biscuits and gravy, so that's what they purchased at the restaurant's take out window. They were just sitting down to eat on the covered patio outside, when Race noticed that he had a missed call and a voicemail on his phone. He motioned for Davey to start eating and began playing the message, putting the phone up to his ear.
"Argh," he moaned a moment later. Just when it couldn't get any worse. "Here Dave, listen to this."
He handed his phone to Davey. On it was a voicemail from Oscar Delancey stating that they wouldn't be able to get to the van this afternoon after all, but that it would be ready by the time the shop closed at the end of the day.
Davey put the phone down soberly. There was no way they'd make it to Santa Fe tonight.
After a moment of stunned silence, Race took a deep breath, "So…" he ventured, "who's gonna call Jacky-boy with the news?"
Davey tossed him his phone. "You're up this time, Racetrack."
A/N: In case anyone was wondering, yes, Jack and Davey's conversation about the tow is meant to be sung to the tune of "Watch What Happens (Reprise)." :)
Thanks for reading! Please let me know what'cha thought! I promise, Race and Davey will get to Santa Fe soon!