at one of the cases of beer. The can was so cold in her hand that she nearly dropped it, but she managed to thumb the tab down and sucked a long and clean pull. Her throat simply opened and it was all gone in a matter of a few seconds. She crushed the can, stuffed it deep in the sack and opened a second, enjoyed the cool taste this time now that she could sense something more than the basic need for water. She fought back a wave of guilt at tearing into the supplies prematurely, promising herself she would deduct it from her share as soon as she got back to Wolf and Winter.
A black Honda SUV stopped on the shoulder and the electric window went down. A man in sunglasses and a green T-shirt leaned forward and asked if she needed a ride. She hesitated for a moment, halfheartedly screening the beer can from his view as she weighed how much she could trust the unsolicited offer.
“Don’t worry,” he said, tried a smile that seemed aware of its own awkwardness. “You can finish your drink on the road if you like.”
He was easy in his speech and unhurried. Had there been the faintest note of desperation or a need to convince, she would have bolted. She registered too the slim gold band on his left hand and this further eased her defenses.
“You got somewhere I can stow this beast,” she said, dragged the ruck upright.
“Sure. As long as you can spare me one of those beers.”
She fished another one out and handed it through the window to him. The back hatch clicked and sighed open. She loaded up and got in.
The road made smooth noise as they merged onto the interstate and he ratcheted up the volume on his stereo, some harmonica and folk lyrics. He opened his beer and sucked at the brimming foam.
“You not worried about the cops?”
He shrugged, turned the can up to get a good pull, then pocketed it in the console’s holder.
“I should ask you the same thing.”
“What, for hitchhiking?”
“No, buying underage.”
“I’m not. I’m twenty-two.”
“Bullshit you are.”
She was used to men studying her for something, but his attention seemed different. Less obvious than most, more penetrating.
“I’m nineteen. Most people think I look older. The cashier didn’t even card me.”
“Well, that’s one advantage of living out in the sticks, I guess. How far am I driving you, by the way? I’m not going all the way up to the Carolina line, if you’re trying to jump on the Appalachian Trail.”
“No, it’s not that far. I’ll tell you when we get on up to the exit. Just a few miles.”
He was satisfied with that, dropped the questions. From the corner of her eye she studied him, tried to get some idea of him in turn in order to balance out where they stood. On his jeans were several white ragged islands of paint that looked to be recent, but he lacked the squared hands of a manual laborer. His long fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel as he kept a meticulous count against the music and the wild voice of the singer, a voice that summoned a kind of lonesome bluegrass wail. She could smell him, that stench of work on a body. It called back the stink of those men who had passed her money for a quarter of an hour. Used her like a tool for something they couldn’t do on their own. Maybe that was what he had in mind. Make her into something that submitted, something that didn’t matter.
“So, your wife approve of you picking up young girls on the side of the road. Hot little things to keep your motor tuned up?”
He released a smile so thin that she doubted whether she had actually seen it. He said nothing.
“Here, this is the exit,” she said a few miles later.
He slowed and coasted up to the crossroad.
“I can get out here.”
“No, this is my turn too. I can take you on a little further.”
And he turned then without waiting for her agreement. She sunk back into the seat as they cleared the nowhere of the rural road and climbed up toward the foothills, turned off the pavement and bounced over the gravel and dirt. He slowed and turned into the driveway of a farmhouse set back beyond a grove of mixed hardwoods. The vehicle settled into park.
“Hope this gets you pretty much where you’re headed.”
She couldn’t quite tell whether he was making a statement or posing another question.
“Yeah, we’re camped up the road just a little ways.”
“I see. Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
The hatch popped open and she went around to gather and bear the considerable heft of the pack.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Could you spare another one of those beers? You know, for the taxi service?”
She made a face he couldn’t see in his rearview.
“Sure. Hold on a sec.”
She got another sweating can from the box and secured everything down before tossing the ruck on and coming around to the driver’s side.
“Thanks. You take care, okay?” he told her.
“Sure.”
He flipped the unopened can into the empty seat beside him and crunched up the driveway. She watched him swing behind the screen of trees, his flat hand stuck out the window in farewell.
She stood a moment staring there at where he’d gone, sipped the rest of her beer before she went around to his mailbox and stuck the can inside. Then she turned to the road and headed back toward family.
4
STRATTON SAT in the rocking chair on the front porch long enough to drink the second of the gifted beers. His mind hadn’t left the girl since he’d dropped her at the end of the drive. He knew the rest of the road up the way she had gone and there couldn’t have been more than half a dozen places she could have had in mind to go to ground. It had to be the old homeplace at the back end of his property. They were all farms up that way, owned by the kind of good country people who would have hated the sight of her blond dreadlocks, the stink of her patchouli. She didn’t belong to any of them, that was for sure. And even if she had, there would have been no reason to carry that pack filled with beer and whatever else she’d got in town.
He went out to the CR-V and hauled in the few buckets of paint he’d picked up in town to finish off the back rooms, shifted some furniture around, and worked until an afternoon shower moved in and cooled things off. Damn Cat came in and circled his shins, tacitly demanding attention. He scratched the old tom on the top of his head until his ears saucered around, his expression of momentary satisfaction.
“Run off, now. I’m done with you.”
The
