He’d even ventured onto a dating app last night—had to update it first, it had been so long—with the aim of pivoting a potential hookup into borrowing someone’s car but realized there was no non-creepy way to word such a message. If this didn’t pan out, his last resort was the bus, like Hazel had suggested, butthe eight-hour drive would balloon to thirteen, and he’d have to buy a second ticket for the one oversize, delicate gift he already had, and there were no side-by-side seats available for four days. Then he’d still need a ride for the final twenty miles west to Lockett Prairie…Et fucking cetera.
Only three cities had notes—Dallas, Houston, and El Paso. The two nearest Dallas weren’t folded up in a feeble attempt at privacy like the others. Both were asking for rides, not offering them.
El Paso was at least in the right direction, and he could probably get dropped off early—it was less than an hour straight north from I-10 to Lockett Prairie. He unpinned the pink paper. His heart leapt at the loopy writing:Have car. Need gas money to El Paso. Leaving on 12/18. Text, don’t call.
Today was the eighteenth.Finally, a break. Ash texted immediately. Then he pulled one of the extra thumbtacks from the cork map and pinned the flyer he’d made—yep, he had gone full Luddite at this point—papering over most of West Texas. He tacked another to the community bulletin board nearby. The flyer wasn’t clever or particularly eye-catching, but the board had been recently cleared, so it couldn’t be missed, assuming anyone actually walked by. In all caps, he’d written,NEED A RIDE TO LOCKETT PRAIRIE ASAP. WILL PAY $$$$$.The excessive dollar signs were an uncomfortable promise, but he’d figure that out later.
His phone rang—not a response to his text, but an incoming video call from his oldest sister. He debated not answering. But Maggie never called without texting first. And she’d planned to fly home with her family yesterday, which meant a call from her could be about their dad. Ice trickled down his spine. His thoughts went straight to the worst possible scenarios, which had been on mental speed dial since Thanksgiving.
Yet again, he kicked himself for not going home in November when his car was still running. He’d worked through Thanksgiving at his various jobs to negotiate time off at Christmas. But if he’d gone home, he would have been there for his father’s accident, could have helped, could have verified his mother’s cheery reports that it was just a freak fall and not a relapse of his MS, rather than what Ashdiddo—pace, google, and bite his fingernails down to the bloody quicks. If he couldn’t get to Lockett Prairie now because of his shit car, that trade-off would have been for nothing.
Ash accepted Maggie’s call, bracing himself for the surroundings of a hospital room on her end. He couldn’t make out the shifting shapes on the screen, nor the muffled scraping sound like something was sliding across her mouthpiece.
“Maggie?”
The shapes gave way to a ceiling fan. Footfalls retreated, then a little voice called, “Mama, Mama, Mama.”
His niece. And he recognized that fan. It was the one in his parents’ living room. “Maggie?” He winced as his voice echoed in the empty Student Center hallway.
Soon, his sister’s face peered at him upside down, confusion and impatience pinching her eyebrows together. She picked her phone up and her face righted, but the terse expression remained. “Why are you FaceTiming me?”
“You called me. Or Cosette did, I guess.”
Her expression softened. “She was playing with my phone. Where are you?”
He turned his shoulders to block the closed campus bookstore behind him. Even though Cosette had called by accident, he couldn’t quite shake the worry that Maggie’s name on his screen had triggered. “Everything okay there? How’s Dad?”
She frowned at his evasion. “Dad? He’s—” A smaller voicecried out from somewhere on her end, and Maggie twisted from the phone to ask someone to grab Isabel, her younger daughter, before she climbed out of her high chair. “I’m sorry, what? Are you coming in time for dinner? Cosette has been asking nonstop when UncleAshis going to be here.”
He smiled at her emphatic pronunciation of his name. Last summer, at his niece’s fourth birthday party, Cosette had been patently unable to form theshsound and kept calling him Uncle Ass. To both Maggie’s and Ash’s annoyance, their three younger sisters hadn’t helped matters by laughing hysterically and then coaching her to repeat the mispronunciation. By the end of the party, even Ash’s own mother had begun to slip up.
Damn it. This sucked. He didn’t want to disappoint them, didn’t want to tell them that, barring a miracle, he wouldn’t be coming home today at all. “Dad, though?” he pressed, unable to stop himself.
“Didn’t Mom tell you his last appointment was good?”
“Mom doesn’t want anyone to worry. But since you’re there, in person…”
“I mean, he’s currently giving my toddler handfuls of chocolate chips with her breakfast,” she said, projecting her scolding voice.
“Maggie, be honest. Is he—”
“It’s chaos here.” She was on the move now, looking off camera. “Just get here soon, okay? I could use the extra hands. Nick’s work trip got extended.”
“Nick’s not with you?” Her husband was a climate journalist who traveled frequently.
“And June didn’t get her ticket until the last minute—surprise, surprise—so she’s on a red-eye in two days.”
That his middle sister had put off something so important was indeed no surprise, but it tightened his jaw another notch.He should have reminded June weeks ago, even offered to help her if money was tight, which he assumed it was. But he’d already dipped into his savings to help the twins last month, and although his savings existed for just this purpose—taking up slack—he had hoped not to dip in again so soon. Especially since other, bigger expenses were on the horizon, no matter what his mother claimed. His stupid car helped absolutely nothing.
Maggie scolded Cosette not to pull on the Christmas tree, not to touch the heater, to stop playing with Grandpa’s walker. Then, as Maggie stooped to physically remove her, Ash caught a glimpse—his first—of the walker. He swallowed thickly.
“Dinner then?” she repeated, turning back to the camera.
“Yes,” he said, with more certainty than he felt. “I’ll be there.”
—
Ash was securing another of his flyers to the magnetic board just inside the café entrance when Hazel jogged in, a chunky red scarf wrapped excessively around her throat and up over her nose for the five-second trek from her car. She breezed past him then doubled back, peeking over his shoulder to read the flyer. He could feel her at his back and straightened involuntarily at the near contact, wanting, absurdly, to lean back into the warmth of her, to have her hook that defiant chin of hers into the dip of his shoulder.
