Part 33 (1/2)
Kyle looks at Charles. ”She gets down about the baby sometimes.”
Charles nods.
”So anyhow, that dude on Hollywood and Wilc.o.x? The shoe repair guy? He tells me he'll fix my boots if I sweep out his shop for a few nights. Easy trade for fixed boots.”
”Yes,” Charles agrees.
”No, really, man. These are, you know, special boots. My mom gave me these boots for Christmas. I hadn't spoken to her in about two and a half years. We had some problems. But then she tracked me down a couple weeks before Christmas. I mean, right out of the blue!”
Kate takes this in. Kyle continues. ”And she says, 'Hey, Kyle, what do you need?' ”
”You could've said a car!”
”No way, Lucy. My mom's not rich or nothin'. I couldn't ask her for a car.”
”She bought your brother a car.”
”Yeah. But he's not a f.u.c.kup. Anyway, Charles, I asked her for boots. And sure enough, they came about a week after Christmas. They were late, but they got here. New boots. Just shy of a hundred bucks. I had to work 'em pretty good, the leather was stiff. She even got my size right.” Kyle looks at his boots. ”That was two years ago.” Kate takes the plane ticket out of her bag and looks at it for a long moment... .
It's late at night. F.M. is driving. Kate's asleep in the pa.s.senger's seat. It's raining out, the wipers barely making the road visible. The truck radio plays softly. The DJ's voice comes on:
That was Reba McEntire. News and weather is next. Rain all night, ladies and gentlemen. So, bundle up with your sweetie and enjoy Mother Nature's show. By late tomorrow it'll be sunny and hot, and you'll wish it was rainin' again. As for the news, investigators in Ohio have recovered the black box from the site of yesterday's-
The truck dies, the radio goes dead. Right in the middle of the road. F.M. tries to start the engine again. No good. Kate wakes up. ”What is it?”
”Not sure.” F.M. looks in the rearview mirror. ”We should get her out of the road.”
Kate has the window down, steering the pickup as F.M. pushes from behind. The rain is whipping hard and they're both getting soaked. After finally managing to safely park the pickup on the side of the road, F.M. and Kate settle in for the night. He's in the front, covered in jackets. She's in the back, with a blanket and her jacket as a pillow. The rain pelts the roof of the car.
”I'm really sorry, Kate. Guess I wasn't payin' attention to the gas gauge.”
”It's okay.”
”Are you cold?”
”A little, but I'm fine, F.M. Really. I've always loved the sound of rain on metal. The louder the better.”
”Why's that?”
”I dunno. I guess it forces you to just listen. And wait.”
They are both quiet for a few moments, before Kate adds, ”I think when it rains like this, it's the only time in my life when all I do is just sit and breathe.”
The truck falls silent again.
Kate wakes up the next morning. Groggy, she sees a note taped to the steering wheel. ”Went to get gas and food. Back soon.”
She stirs, puts on her jacket, gets out of the pickup, and stretches. A tidy but ramshackle home sits across the road, partly obscured by trees. Smoke rises out of the chimney. Kate takes it in before settling back into the car.