Have Mercy (Have a Life #1) (18 page)

We unplugged our guitars, cased them, waded through the other students who didn’t offer to help and tossed them with our stuff from the dorm into the back of Captain Kirby’s van.  Zina was watching, arms crossed, from the mill’s open window.  I was kind of hoping that Jonah would come down to say goodbye.  I don’t know what I would say to him but I was feeling a little guilty that it was like a door had slammed in his face because of me.  But then how come he didn’t realize that Zina’s noose maybe was about him, you know?

              Captain Kirby was the last one out of the mill.  She was wearing her chef hat, I think to make us laugh.  She started the engine and we were bouncing onto the car track when someone pounded on the side of the van.  Captain Kirby braked and rolled down the window.

              “Can I catch a ride with you?” Clarisse asked, out of breath.  “I hitched a ride here with one of the other students.”

              Captain Kirby started to roll the window up. 

              “Let her in,” Tim said.

              Captain Kirby looked at me.  I shrugged.

              “Get in,” Kirby said, pointing to the back.  “Where are you going?”

              “I haven’t decided,” she said.  She heaved her backpack in the back and sat on the floor next to it.  “Where are
you
guys going?” she said.  “Back to Milltown?”

              Going back to Milltown was not actually an option.

              “You know,” Clarisse said, “Zina’s such a bitch because she’s scared immigration is going to deport her.  She doesn’t have a green card.  She doesn’t even have a visa anymore.  I don’t know why Jonah puts up with her.  She’d better give me my money back, that’s all I can say.  What a bitch, throwing me out like that.  You guys too.”  She settled down and looked around the van.  “Hey, is this your band bus?  Cool.”

              We rode down Sunny Vale’s car track—a couple of times it felt like the van was going to tip over, which made us laugh, and out onto the dirt road.  Captain Kirby sped up and soon we were at a stop sign by Route 22.  At a crossroads.  Left to Milltown, right to Houston.

              “I’m sorry I screwed up culinary camp,” I said to Captain Kirby. “And everything else, too.” 

              “Not a problem,” Captain Kirby said.  “I’m the one who wanted
Hole in the Sky.
”

              “I shouldn’t have played it,” Tim said.

              “That’s a seriously cool song,” Clarisse said.  “That’s why I remembered it.  But you’ve got to cut a demo.  Or you’re just another guy with a song that anyone can rip off.”

              “Raymond
said
I should cut a demo,” Tim said.             

              “
The
Ray
mon
?” Clarisse said.  She made a fake squealing noise.

              “Yeah.” 

              “Well, you can’t do it in Milltown. You need to go to Nashville.  That’s where everyone goes to cut demos and I told you I can help with that.”

              Clarisse was in her twenties and she wasn’t so much pretty, as, I don’t know, confident.  She didn’t constantly apologize for her existence like a lot of girls my age did. Like, not a word about getting us thrown out of the mill.  It was an irresistible quality and I felt a twinge of jealousy because Tim wasn’t trying too hard to resist it.   

              “Actually,” I interrupted. “We’re on our way to Houston.  To see The Griffin.”

              “Well,” Clarisse said, switching her attention from Tim to me.  “You want to have a demo in your hand when you see him.  That’s how it’s done.”

              “Maybe we
should
go to Nashville, Mercy,” Tim said.  “It’ll only take a couple of days to cut a demo.  Right?” he asked Clarisse.

              “Couple of days,” she said.  “Then, you’re not just this guy hanging around, you’re a guy with a demo, a group with a demo, I mean.  My dad’s in the business.  Or he was.  Before Napster took all the fun out of it for him.”

              “That would make it really worthwhile, Mercy,” Tim said.  “Like she said, then I’ll have a demo to give Raymond and you’ll have a demo to play for The Griffin.”

              Was I supposed to say no to a guy who had left his family to rescue me?  “It’s up to Captain Kirby,” I said. “She’s the driver.”

              “Isn’t this a band bus?” Clarisse asked.  “Shouldn’t the whole band decide?”

              All four of us looked through the windshield at the sign with an arrow pointing east to Milltown and an arrow pointing west—to Nashville…and
beyond
.   Houston.  Any hope of me ever becoming a real musician lay to the west.  Any hope of me belonging to a real family lay in that direction too.  Go west, young woman!  Well, southwest, actually.

              “You can drop me off in Roanoke at my aunt’s house,” Clarisse said.  “I’ll set things up for you from there.”

              I was about to say, “What do you think, Captain Kirby?” but before I could, Captain Kirby released the emergency brake, put the van in gear and turned west.

After four hours of driving through Pennsylvania, some of it right into the sunset, we crossed into Virginia. Captain Kirby relinquished the wheel to Tim and sat in the back with me.  Clarisse moved up to the passenger seat because she knew some shortcuts along the way, “I think I can remember them,” she said.  “Although, I was pretty messed up back in those days.”  She tossed her black and blue braids, leaving us to guess what she meant.

              We stopped at the Bristol welcome center one mile into Virginia and everyone was taking a bathroom break and buying tasteless lukewarm coffee from vending machines.  Tim had come back from the Information Center with a map and spread it open over the steering wheel to figure out our route while he drank some coffee. 

              “I am so beat,” Captain Kirby said.  She moved the bikes then opened up a sleeping bag and squirmed into it.

              “I am so sorry about everything,” I whispered to her.  I didn’t want Clarisse to hear me.  “Especially the television show.”   

              “I told you, no big deal,” she said.

              “Well, it is a big deal.  You want to be a chef—or a television star or something—and this was going to give you creds, like you said, and now, because of me...”

              “Cut it out.  It’s not the end of the world,” she said, “It was a nice-to-have, not a necessity.  Anyway, I got my money back.”

              Clarisse who apparently had bat ears shrieked, “You got your money back?  From
Zina
?  From her?  How did you manage that? ”

              “Zina is a rational person,” Captain Kirby said.  “And she has a well-founded, I would say, fear of immigration.”

              “You knew about that?  I thought I was the only one Jonah told.  So did you
black
mail her?  How did you do
that!
?”             

              “I reasoned with her,” Captain Kirby said and yawned.  “Plan B will now kick in.  One thing you learn playing hockey is always have a backup plan of attack.”

              “But what if you don’t get to be a chef now?” I moaned.

              “Or what if I get to be a chef some other way?  Or, what if I get to do something else which is even more awesome?”

              Captain Kirby was sounding an awful lot like Mr. Rajeet’s son.  I didn’t get how they could stand it that two things were possible at the same time. 

              “And now,” Kirby said, pulling the sleeping bag up to her chin, “I am going to catch some well-deserved zzz’s.  Wake me when we’re close to Nashville.” 

                “You’re going to drop me in Roanoke first,” Clarisse said.

              “No we’re not.  You’re going to Nashville with us unless you can’t do what you say you can do.  Or you can hitch a ride with a trucker.  I saw a bunch of trucks idling in the lot when we pulled in. They sleep in the cabs.  Bang on a door. They won’t get pissed ‘cause you’re a girl, but they’ll expect you to pay, one way or another.”

              “Why don’t you like me?”

              “I’ll take you back to Roanoke after you get us set up.”

              I was going to protest that it would mean more time getting to Houston, but I’d screwed up so much already that instead I pulled out my phone and called The Griffin.  My call went to voice mail.  Well, of course, I thought, it was like one thirty in the morning.  He wouldn’t be awake.

              “Captain Kirby?” I said.

              “Ummm…”

              “You said your Plan B is kicking in.  So, what is your Plan B?”

              “My Plan B is to
figure out
what Plan B
is
after I take a nap.”

We were on the road for about fifteen minutes when a clunking sound made the three of us say in unison, “What the….” And woke Captain Kirby.

              She sat up and listened for a second then yelled, “Pull over!  Pull over! We got a flat.”

              “There’s no room to pull over!” Tim yelled back at her.  “Everyone’s going 90 miles an hour.”

              “You’re ruining my rims!” Captain Kirby said.  “Oh my god, they don’t make rims for this car anymore.”

              Tim lurched into the right lane, the van limping, us swaying, and I thought for a horrible minute that it was going to tip over.   When he got to the shoulder, he tried to slow down and almost lost it trying to keep the van under control.  Finally, we ground to a halt, the back swinging out into a field. 

              We exhaled then got out to look at the damage. 

              “Shit,” Captain Kirby said.

              “Where’s your spare?” Tim asked.

              Clarisse looked up at the sky and stretched.  “It’s a glorious evening, isn’t it?  It’s kind of nice to be stopped next to a field.  I wish we had a picnic.  We could have like a candlelight picnic.”

              The traffic was whizzing by at 90 miles an hour. 

              “Your spare?” Tim asked.

              Captain Kirby’s face was stone.  “I wasn’t expecting to go on a road trip.”

              “You don’t have a spare?” Tim asked.

              “Well, technically, I do.  But it’s as flat as this one.  I never got it fixed from the last time.”

              “So
now
what?” I whined.

              Captain Kirby and Tim stared at the flat tire as if wishing could inflate it.  I kicked it and hurt my toe.  Clarisse came back from twirling in the field and said, “So, who called Triple A?  When are they coming?”

              “I don’t have Triple A,” Captain Kirby said.  “I didn’t need it.”

              “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Tim said. 

              “Hey, hey, hey,” Clarisse said.  She reached in her wallet and pulled out a gold plastic card.  “Voila!  Clarisse will arrange everything.”

              She called Triple A, giving them her number and our location while we looked at her glumly.  If there was anything worse than being stuck on a superhighway in the middle of nowhere with a flat tire and no spare, it was being grateful to Clarisse.  She would take over our whole trip. 
My
whole trip.

              “Look,” she said, “It could be winter, but it’s not, it’s June!  We won’t freeze to death or anything and the tow man said he would be here in fifteen minutes.”  She started dancing again and we were forced to look at her because she saved us.  We sat down on the ground while the traffic roared past us. 

              “Let’s get in the field and wait,” Tim said, “It’s safer.  Even if it’s only fifteen minutes.”

              Everyone but Clarisse followed Tim into the field.  She wanted to be able to flag the tow truck down, she said, although it would be pretty obvious to anyone driving by that we were the party in distress.  I didn’t think anyone was going to be able to see her in the dark anyway.

              I was sitting next to Captain Kirby.  “I’m sorry about this,” I said.  “It’s more than a car, I know.”

              “Shut up,” Captain Kirby said.  “We’ll fix it and move on.”

              “With what kind of money?” I asked.  “Clarisse can get us towed, but we’re going to need at least one new tire and…”

              “I said, shut up,” she said. 

              “We already spent seventy-five bucks on gas.”

              “O
kay
!” she said, biting her fingernails.               

                Tim went back out to the side of the road and was talking to Clarisse.  Laughing. 

              I was miserable.  There seemed to be no way I was ever getting to Houston.   The exhaust from the traffic was sickening.  I thought I would probably die out here.  I coughed in case anyone was interested, then I got up, shook the grass off my jeans and walked over to Tim and Clarisse.

              “It has to be more than fifteen minutes already,” I said.

              “Well, it’s not like a precise science,” Clarisse said.  “It’s two o’clock in the morning and I’m sure we’re not the only emergency he has to deal with.  Come on, dance with us!”

              I walked back to Captain Kirby.  

              “Is she on drugs, or what?” I asked.

              “What time is it?” Captain Kirby asked.

              “Almost two.”

              “Yeah.”

              We waited silently in the field for another hour—watching Clarisse dance to the light of the oncoming traffic.  I was miserable and there was nobody to complain to.  I actually missed Jane.  If nothing else, she always listened to me.  I fingered my phone. 

              Finally some blinking yellow lights on top of a tow truck came slowly down the highway.  Tim and Clarisse had stopped goofing around, but the guy found us anyway.  He hopped out of his truck to access the damage, his mood as sour as ours.  A giant cigar was in the middle of his mouth, the tip glowing red.

              “Where’s your spare?” he asked.  “I could just change it instead of towing you all the way to Hagerstown.”

              “It doesn’t work, we already tried it,” Clarisse said, trying to charm the man.

              “Irresponsible kids,” the tow man said.   “It’s the middle of the night.”

              “Technically it’s morning,” Captain Kirby said.  “We called you hours ago when it was the middle of the night.”

              “You want a tow or don’t you?” the tow man asked.  “I don’t need lip from a bunch of irresponsible kids. Who has the card?”

              He took down Clarisse’s information, who had given Tim a twenty to give to the tow man to sweeten his mood, then hooked the van to his tow.  We squeezed into the cab with him, me sitting on Tim’s lap, Captain Kirby next to us with Clarisse on her lap.

              “Ugh,” Captain Kirby said.  “I hope this isn’t a long ride.”

              The tow truck driver continued smoking his cigar, not even asking if any of us minded, which I did.

              Tim stroked my hair.  “You okay?”

              I breathed deeply and let myself relax into him, putting my arms around him and my head on his shoulder.  It was amazing how physical contact with Tim made me feel better even though the stupid driver was smoking his head off and Clarisse was trying to get Tim’s attention and Captain Kirby was biting her nails and was, for the first time ever, silent.  “I am now.”