Shift (18 page)

“What day is it?” I asked the guy across the aisle as I slipped into my Tevas.

“Saturday,” he mumbled.

I nodded. I’d been on the bus for two days. A hot meal sounded perfect—if I could afford it. I was short of cash, so I’d used the emergency credit card my parents had cosigned to buy my ticket. With Dad’s job in trouble, I figured this had to count as an emergency. I just hoped Mom wouldn’t pay too much attention to the “Greyhound Lines” on the statement. If Ward or anybody else was able to check it and see, I just hoped they’d fall for the fact that I’d purchased a ticket for Omak, Washington, five hundred miles farther than where I thought I’d find Win.

I pulled out my wallet and flipped it open, thumbed through the bills. Forty-eight bucks. I had to make this money last for who knew how long, or risk using the card again and giving Ward another way to find out exactly where I’d been.

I waited until the aisle cleared before standing and walking out. Halfway up I stopped. A gray sedan pulled into a parking space by the front door of the restaurant, fifty feet from where the bus sat. A balding man with a potbelly climbed out of the car
and stretched his legs. He took a long drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt to the ground, crushing it with the heel of a black cowboy boot.

The man glanced a little too long at the bus and the line of passengers migrating into the diner. And then he reached across the seat, pulled out a dark green leather jacket, and slipped it on.

A dark green leather jacket with a pair of dice embroidered on the shoulder. The same ugly jacket from the library.

Oh, crap.

I sank down into the seat I’d been standing next to. Jacketman continued to keep an eye on the passengers streaming from the bus as he locked his car and walked slowly toward the door. Instead of trying to merge into the crowd, he held the door open and studied each face that entered the diner.

“Gotta lock it up, son,” a voice said. I jumped and turned to face the driver, who stared at me impatiently from the front of the bus.

“Right,” I mumbled as I stood, keeping my eyes fixed on Jacketman as he gave one last look at the bus and entered the restaurant.

By the time I got into the diner portion of the gas station/ diner/gift shop/grocery store, all the tables were already taken. Silverware scraped against plates, conversation like a current in the greasy air.

I scanned the room and saw Jacketman at one end of the counter, perched on a barstool with a clear view of the front door. I took a seat at the opposite end of the counter, a few seats down
from where Win and I had sat the last time I was here. Jacketman pretended not to look at me.

I felt like I was going to throw up. My legs wouldn’t quit buzzing. And I was starving.

“Coffee?”

I checked the name tag. Danielle. The babe.

She stopped midpour. “Chris! Win said …”

That one unguarded phrase told me almost everything I needed to know. But I was more concerned about who else might be listening. I glanced nervously at the other end of the counter. The guy didn’t appear to have heard us.

“You remember me?” I asked her. She was still gorgeous. Long blond hair pulled into a braid that started at the base of her neck and trailed halfway down her back, big green eyes. Even in a dorky diner uniform her legs were amazing.

She nodded. “Uh,
yeah
. Nearly got fired over all the fries I gave you two.” She laughed. “I’m just surprised, is all,” she said, though she sounded cautious. “Win didn’t mention you’d be visiting.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“Honey, are you going to take my order, or do I have to turn myself eighteen again for you to notice me?” asked the bus driver from two stools down. He hadn’t even bothered to ask for a menu.

Danielle rolled her eyes, finished pouring my coffee. “Hang on,” she said, placing the pot back on the warmer and pulling a notepad from her apron pocket.

I watched her. She was another of those girls I’d never have
had the guts to talk to before we did the ride. Win and I had argued about who’d seen her first, both of us acting like we could claim her. We were both smitten.

“Three-egg Denver omelet, side of bacon
and
sausage, hash brown casserole, half order of biscuits and gravy?” she confirmed, looking over the top of her notepad.

The bus driver nodded. “Yep.”

“Want the bypass surgery with the food, or after, like a chaser?” she asked.

He sighed. “Just keep the coffee coming.”

I smiled. Danielle tacked the order to a metal carousel with a magnet, spun it around, and rang a bell. “Order in,” she called.

“And what about you?” she turned and asked me.

“I’ll have the special,” I said loudly, adding in an undertone, “And anything you can tell me about Win.”

“Ooh, very slick, with the whispering and all …” Her smile faded as she read my gaze. I cut my eyes to the end of the counter. She seemed to understand. Her face shifted slightly. “Special it is,” she said, jotting a note on her pad. “I can’t help you with Win, though. I’m not actually sure where he’s staying. Won’t tell me,” she added in a whisper.

“He won’t tell you?” I asked.

She turned to hang the slip on the carousel. “Changes the subject every time I ask.”

Win knew people would be looking for him. Not telling Danielle where he was staying was his way of protecting her and covering his trail. “But you’ve seen him?”

She nodded. “He comes in on his bike, only without all that gear he had before.”

He wouldn’t need full gear for a fifty-mile ride, but I suspected he was probably hitching at least part of the way back. Riding a hundred miles in a day wouldn’t leave him much time to hang out.

“When did you see him last?”

“Yeah, Glacier is really nice this time of year,” she said, “though most people think you have to go up to Maine or something to see the leaves change.”

What?

But then I felt a presence at my elbow. Jacketman was pretending to look through the pile of old newspapers on the counter next to me.

“Yeah,” I mumbled to Danielle as she sidled down to take another order.

Jacketman lingered a bit longer, finally took the sports page, and returned to his seat. Danielle moved back in my direction, refilling cups of coffee.

“Close one,” she said.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Thanks.”

When she was satisfied that he wasn’t watching, she replaced the coffeepot and picked up a rag to wipe a spot on the counter in front of me that was perfectly clean. “I saw him last weekend,” she said, adding, “Like always.”

“Like always?” I repeated quietly.

She nodded. “He comes in every Sunday. I work the lunch shift, when it’s pretty dead. Nobody wants Sunday dinner in this dive … except him.”

Every Sunday. Win was making the trip from the farm—if that’s where he was—every Sunday to see this girl. I wondered if she knew how far he was riding.

“He’s had nearly everything on the menu by now,” she said, laughing.

“He’s okay?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Yeah. Seems like he did this summer when you two were here together. He’s taking me to the Leaf Ball at school next month,” she said, watching for my reaction. “It’s totally lame, I know, but I’m on the court and needed a date, and he promised he’d let me drive and not try to take me there on the handlebars of his bike, so …”

Win had a girlfriend. Win had never had a girlfriend ever, and I never believed either of us would have one as beautiful as Danielle. It added insult to injury in the worst way. Part of me wondered if I’d stuck around, would she have picked me over him?

“Did he tell you anything about what he’s doing here?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not really. Just said he liked it here and decided to stick around for a while. He mentioned he’d found work and a place to stay.”

“He say where he’s working?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No.” She grabbed the coffeepot and began making her rounds again.

When she came back, she refilled mine, pouring slowly. “What are you doing here, Chris? If you didn’t know Win was still here …”

I took a sip of the coffee. “I’m looking for him,” I admitted.

She nodded. “Nobody knows he’s here, do they?” she asked quietly.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Who else?” she asked, cutting her eyes over to the newspaper Jacketman was hiding behind.

“I think he’s FBI,” I said. “There’s been a different guy asking me questions. Some guy Win’s dad has in his pocket.”

She shook her head and looked away. Neither of us said anything for a long minute. Apparently they’d been talking about more than school dances and bike rides. The bell rang behind her, and she spun around to pick up two plates, the bus driver’s and mine.

“Here you go,” she said automatically. “Ketchup?” she asked the driver.

“Salsa, if you got it,” the driver said as she bent below the counter and came up with a bottle. Then she turned back to me.

“He can’t go back, Chris. You know that, don’t you?” she whispered.

“I’m sure somebody else can take you to the dance,” I said, reaching for my fork.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, sounding concerned and urgent.

I poured warm syrup over my blueberry pancakes. “Find him. That’s what I came to do,” I said.

“And after that?”

“Don’t know.” I honestly didn’t.

“How will you find him?” she asked. “He hasn’t even given me a phone number.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea of where he is,” I said. “I just have to get there.”

“Well, I can’t help you,” she said. She seemed genuinely worried that I was going to take him away from her. “I really don’t know where to find him.”

I smiled. Win had certainly, to quote my mother, made an impression on this girl.

“I don’t need you to tell me where he is,” I said between mouthfuls. “But I could use your help finding a ride—I missed the stop last night or this morning. Fell asleep.”

She stared at me, arms splayed on the counter. I could see her weighing it out. She ignored two requests for refills before she spoke. “Which way you going?”

“East. Near a town called Browning. About thirty miles past the park,” I said. I watched her face for any sign of reaction.

“Browning?” she said. “That’s close to sixty miles. And over the pass.”

I nodded.

“He’s been riding all that way?”

I shrugged. “You’d know better than I would.”

She failed to hide the smile. To her credit, she didn’t look away, either. “What are you going to do?” she repeated.

I shrugged. When I’d left Atlanta, I’d come out here to drag Win back. I’d come to punish him for this, his last act of selfishness and inconvenience. Now I wasn’t sure.

“I guess I’ll figure that out when I see him,” I said.

“What about that guy?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I only figured out he was following me last night.”

Her eyes stayed fixed on mine as she spoke. “Earl?” she said softly.

“Yeah, Danni?” replied the man sitting to my immediate left.

“You’ve heard all this, right?”

“Yep.”

I panicked. Would this guy tell someone?

“You heading back home this morning?” she asked, still staring at me.

“Only if I get another cup of coffee. Got up at four this morning to deliver that load to Kalispell, and if I don’t get some more caffeine, I’m going to put the truck in a ditch halfway home,” he said.

Danielle grabbed the coffeepot, filled his cup. “Think you could drop my friend here at Browning?”

Earl nodded. “Be doing me a favor. Little conversation is a hundred times better than the caffeine,” he said.

“I’d appreciate that,” I said, rising off my stool. “I’ll go grab my bag from the bus.”

“Don’t hurry. Nothing waiting for me at home but a field to plow.”

Danielle kept her eyes fixed on mine, like she was trying to decide if she was doing the right thing. I threw a ten-dollar bill on the counter next to my plate. The tip was more than I could afford, but I figured it was the safest way to try and let her know that maybe we were on the same side.

I stopped short. “Wait,” I said, sitting back down. “That guy has his own car. He’s just going to follow us—”

“I’ll take care of him,” she said calmly as the bell rang and she whirled around to grab another pair of plates.

She’d take care of him? What did that mean?

“How?”

“Just go on out and get your stuff off the bus,” she ordered as she walked toward the other end of the counter, dropping off one plate halfway down before stopping in front of my shadow.

“What’s she doing?” I said aloud.

“Don’t know,” Earl offered, “but it’ll work.”

Jacketman lowered his paper as Danielle slid the plate onto the counter. “More coffee?” she asked just a little too loudly.

The guy nodded.

She turned, grabbed a different pot, shot me a look that told me I’d better get ready to bolt, and spun around.

“Watch this,” Earl muttered.

I did. She moved as gracefully as she had been all morning, those long legs carrying her confidently from kitchen to counter like a dancer navigating difficult choreography. If I hadn’t been paying attention, I wouldn’t have noticed how she short-stepped and caught her toe on a milk crate on the floor beneath the soda dispenser. I wouldn’t have noticed that she already had the coffeepot tipped forward before she even reached the counter. Wouldn’t have noticed how she caught herself but still managed to launch a half-full pot of decaf across the plate and into Jacketman’s chest and lap.

Good thing I was paying attention.

“That’ll do it,” Earl said.

I looked away. But out of the corner of my eye I could see Jacketman jump backward off his stool.

“Ohmygosh,” Danielle shouted. “I am
so
sorry.”

The floor waitress rushed over with a napkin dispenser.
Danielle tugged the towel out of her waistband and tried to reach over to pat the man dry.

It was hopeless, though. The guy was soaked, stained light brown from chest to midthigh.

He grabbed the towel. “You …,” he began, but couldn’t seem to finish.