True North

Chapter 70

The road blurred as tears pooled in her eyes yet again, and Stormy wiped them away, amazed that she had any water left in her body at all after the previous night. After Brian left, she had sat by the door for who-knows how long, with endless rivulets of salty tears coursing down her face as she remembered every look, every kiss, every touch that had passed between them. And when she had woken just after dawn—curled up on the entryway floor—the tears had started anew.

Stormy massaged the crick in her neck and squinted into the early morning sun as she trained her eyes on the deserted stretch of pavement ahead. She told herself for the millionth time that this was the only way, and that she was doing the right thing for everyone involved. Her mind touched on the memory of her goodnight kiss with Brian less than forty-eight hours before, and she wished that she had paid more attention, that she had truly savored the moment. Had she known it would be their last kiss—and their final goodbye—she would have made it last a lot longer.

Blinking back a fresh batch of tears, Stormy glanced over at the passenger seat where her purse was currently riding shotgun and briefly fingered the envelopes peeking out from the front pocket. After packing her bags, Stormy had penned letters to Amy, Walter, and Brian, intending to mail them once she was beyond the town line of Aubry. She hoped her words would be enough to explain her reasons for leaving yet again, and that the three most important people in her life would eventually come to understand her motivations. Amy would be more worried than offended, Walter would be disappointed in her, and Brian... Well, Stormy didn't want to think about what Brian's reaction would be. She flipped on the radio. The song was teen-pop and unfamiliar, but Stormy cranked up the volume just the same.

The final refrain of the synthesized notes had just faded away when the Honda's engine began to sputter, causing the car to lurch back and forth. Stormy switched off the radio and anxiously searched the dashboard display, hoping to find the root of the problem. The gas tank was more than half full, and the oil pressure and battery charge were in the normal range, but something was definitely wrong. Stormy eased the car onto the gravel shoulder of the road, where the engine gave one final cough before stalling altogether.

Stormy sat for a moment in stunned disbelief, and then began to beat her fists against the steering wheel.

"No! No! No! No! No!" she pleaded as panic built in the pit of her stomach. "Not now, dammit! Not now!"

Stormy climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, giving it a solid kick for good measure. She raked her fingers through her hair and paced erratically for a few moments, muttering to herself as she considered possible solutions to her current dilemma. She glanced down the road to the left, then right, to confirm what she already knew—that stretch of road was deserted so early in the morning, so hitchhiking was out. She had lost her cell phone on that fateful first night during her near-miss with a deer, and—as Brian had so aptly pointed out the day before—she had yet to replace it, so calling for help was out, even if there was somebody that she could call. In an effort to curb the sense of helplessness that was creeping over her, Stormy circled around to the front of the car and popped the hood latch, even though her mechanical ability was limited to pumping gas, inflating the tires, and occasionally checking the oil level. With the hood propped open, Stormy stooped over the Honda's internal organs, hoping to spot something benign and easy to fix, like a loose cable or something. As far as she could tell, everything appeared to be in its proper place, and there was no smoke or steam or dripping fluid to offer a clue, but there had to be something—Honda Civics didn't just crap out for no reason! Stormy leaned further under the hood for a closer look.

"Need some help?"

Stormy jumped, smacking her head on the hood as she whirled around to face the source of the voice that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.