SSS 2 - Wait it out

You’re a little nervous about having to tell the prez that you cut out. You’d better hang in a little longer.

“There’s not going to be anything closer than that motel, is there?” Taytum asks glumly. She keeps looking toward the kitchen. She must be itching to pop another little bottle of vodka, but she’s not about to do that when that deputy is being so damned menacing.

“Doubt it,” you reply. You wince as lightning strikes nearby, shaking the diner. Still better off here than in Ukraine. Yikes. You’re getting tired if that’s where your thoughts are going. You take another swallow of coffee and find yourself empty.

You look toward the counter. No sign of the waitress or anyone else. It’s not exactly quiet with the rain hammering the building, but the interior certainly is still.

“Question is, do we get there before or after the power goes out?” Bian asks. The idea doesn’t seem to bother her.

“Why are you so happy?”

“I don’t know,” she replies with a little shuffle of her shoulders, beaming at the empty diner. “Feels like an adventure. It’s so weird out here late at night.”

“You’re the weird one,” you and Taytum say in unison, then you scowl at each other.

“Gonna need more pie,” Bian notes, as though she didn’t even hear you. That’s very her. She’s in her own world. In her world, this storm isn’t dangerous. In her world, the cops aren’t dangerous. In her world, you and Taytum like each other as much as you like her.

In reality, people die in storms. In reality, the cops shoot people for no reason. In reality, you and Taytum work harder on pretending to like each other than you do on school.

“I need more coffee,” you announce, getting up.

“And I still want that fucking root beer float,” Taytum says, standing as well.

Great. You need a minute away from her. You go to the short hallway by the jukebox and enter the ladies’ room, which is just a single with a flimsy lock on the door.

Your reflection in the mirror doesn’t make things better. When you emerge, you find Bian still at the table, neatly consolidating your cups and dishes for the waitress when she comes. Bian is always doing thoughtful things like that. She once thought you looked hungry and brought you a brownie from the kitchen without realizing that it was a weed brownie. You almost went to the ER. It was still very sweet of her.

“Where did she go?” you ask her.

“Hmm?” She looks up, then looks around and frowns. “I dunno,” she says. “I was just kinda watching the rain.”

“God damn it,” you mutter. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I have to pee.”

“OK, go pee then.”

“OK.” She hops up and trots to the restroom. Rolling your eyes, you go to the counter and look for a bell or something. There’s nothing. You don’t hear anything from the kitchen. Great. You lift the bar and slide behind the counter. The motion feels automatic; you have worked as a waitress before. A little hesitantly, you make your way to the doorway that leads to the kitchen.

“Hello?” you say. You move closer. There should be, by your count, at least four people back there. What are they doing that’s so quiet? You bet that the deputy is back there talking to them privately. That’s what’s going on. You should just wait it out. Get a glass of milk and a piece of pie for yourself, because you don’t need more coffee. Sleeping in a shitty motel will be hard enough without more coffee.

You shake your head. You’d be edgy no matter what was going on; like you ever did a crime before. Sometimes you have your doubts about this whole CCL thing. You turn back and find the diner empty. Bian’s still in the bathroom. And where did Taytum go? To the car?

The lights flicker, making you jump. You look back toward the kitchen to find Jenny in the doorway, smiling at you.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“I,” you begin, relieved. “I just, you know.” You gesture toward the empty diner. “I was wondering where everyone went.”

“Sure,” Jenny replies, still smiling.

You notice that she’s all wet and dripping on the tile floor.

“Are you OK?” you ask.

She looks down at herself. “Dishwasher,” she says, jerking her thumb toward the kitchen. “I don’t think it likes the weather.”

“Right,” you say. She’s soaked. Her eyeliner has begun to run. That’s why she looks so crazed right now. It’s because of the makeup. The lights flicker again, shining on the water beginning to pool around her shoes. It’s dripping from her skirt and her fingertips.

“Can I get you something?” she asks.

“Pie,” you say. Your mouth feels dry.

“Coming right up,” she replies. “Why don’t you wait out there?”

“Sure. Right.” But you don’t move as you watch her turn to her right and walk out of sight. A second goes by and you look at the water on the floor. You shake your head and turn around, coming face to face with Taytum.

You shriek and jump.

“Jesus!” you snap. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Taytum looks around surreptitiously. “Look what I found.” She shows you a half-pint of Fireball. “It was right behind the counter.”

“Put that back!”

“No fucking way. We’re criminals, remember?”

You don’t have time for this. And you know better than to argue with her.

“We’re leaving,” you tell her bluntly, grabbing her arm. You steer her back to the other side of the counter, and she stuffs the bottle in her pocket.

“Where’d the cop go?” she asks.

“I don’t care,” you tell her, and she looks taken aback.

Bian emerges from the restroom and you beckon to her.

“Time to go,” you tell her.

“I thought we were waiting.”

“They aren’t coming. There’s a police vehicle outside. If they aren’t lost in the storm, they’re backing out. We’ll have to try again.” You grab her arm as well.

“Oh shit,” Bian says, looking at the pounding rain outside.

You throw some money on the table and grab Bian’s arm as well. With both of them, you push out into the storm. It’s deafening, and the three of you hold up on the doorstep. There’s a tiny lip above that keeps the rain off, but it’s cascading down everywhere. The temperature has dropped. It’s cold, and the water hitting the ground splashes on your shoes and ankles.

“Yup,” Taytum says, nervously patting the pocket where the Fireball is. “That’s a hurricane.”

Something slams into the glass behind you, making you all jump. You whirl to see Jenny right there, eyes wide and wild. Her eyeliner is like black teardrops. She’s holding her notepad against the glass. Something’s written on it.

SOMEONE BY YOUR CAR

Go back inside?

Or go to the car?