“I think I’m losing feeling in my testicles.”
Her face scrunches with dismay and disbelief. “So...no kids, then?”
“Not if we don’t get help soon.”
Moment blown. Again.
A car flies by. This time, I jump out in front of it, hoping to force the person to stop. Instead, they swerve, grazing the thick bushes along the berm, and lay on the horn. Two sets of glaring eyes meet mine and go blurry as they accelerate.
“Asshole,” I mutter.
“You’re going to get yourself run over,” Amanda tasks.
Who cares? The night might improve if we could get an ambulance out here for a ride back to civilization.
Ten minutes later, we’re closer to Route 2, and no additional cars have passed. I assume it’s been ten minutes. Maybe it’s only been three. Maybe it’s been an hour. We don’t talk, focused entirely on walking, and my clothes feel like I’m wearing a giant body-sized wet cotton condom.
That is slowly drying and adhering to my body.
A low buzz comes from behind me and I duck, flinching, mind splintering.
The sound disappears.
My jaw tightens, all the muscles in my face turning to lead. Picking up the pace, I realize this is what it feels like to have everything fall apart. It’s insane. This doesn’t happen to me. To people like me.
Another buzz fills me, a low-grade hum that makes me walk faster, painful shoes be damned.
A red Mazda Miata, driven by a guy who’s wearing a fraternity shirt, flies by.
“HEY! HEY, MAN! STOP!” I bellow, moving out into the road. His companion is a young blonde, her hair whipping behind her like a veil as the guy turns into a lead foot and throws a lit cigarette at me.
In fury, I grab a rock and throw it.
Something dings.
“Andrew!” Amanda gasps. “You can’t do that!”
The convertible keeps going, disappearing around a corner.
“AAARRRRGGHH!” I scream, knowing my shout is half frustration, half pain, and half karma.
“Route 2! It’s close!” Amanda says, catching up to me. A few more steps and I see the traffic light. “Forget about that asshole.”
“What do we do once we’re there?” I ask, rage pounding my skin.
“Hitchhike. Hope a cop car comes along.”
“Hope?”
“We have to get home somehow.”
“Why don’t we just knock on someone’s door and ask for help?” My voice drips with sarcasm.
It flies over her head. “There aren’t any houses here. Look.” To the right, cars whiz by on the multi-lane highway, a huge solar farm taking over a stretch of land. Up ahead, if we can safely cross without a sidewalk, is the town of Concord, where surely someone can lend us a phone.
Or a crowbar for my pants.
We reach the light. No cars appear on our side, so we move twenty feet to the right, contemplating what to do.
Someone honks. Another person honks. We ignore them. Masshole drivers are a way of life here.
The light changes and the honking resumes, a few beeps followed by one long push as a car carrying a brown canoe on top slows down and turns on its blinkers, pulling up to us.
Wait.
That’s not a canoe.
It’s a piece of shit.
Being driven by a very familiar Masshole.
Chapter Eighteen
“Need a lift?” Declan’s peering at me through Shannon’s open window in the Turdmobile.
“No, thanks. We’re fine walking,” I say, turning away.
Amanda lets out an exasperated sigh, unties her bonnet, pulls it off and hits me with it. “Get in.”
“Yeah, Mr. Darcy. Get in,” Declan says. “This is going to be one hell of a story.”
If only he knew.
“I’m fine. I’ll just wait to catch a ride from someone. If I’m lucky, the Zodiac Killer will come along any minute.”
“He dresses better than you. Get in.” Dec’s snapping command makes me just stand there, weighing out my options, which boil down to one:
Get in the Turdmobile.
I hate when he’s right.
“What are you doing here in this part of town?” I ask as Amanda opens the back door to the tiny compact, folding her glorious ass into the tiny backseat. I’m not sure my limbs bend that much. I’m not sure I won’t split my ass seam if I try to get in.
“I think that’s the question we should be asking you.” Shannon can’t stop laughing. “We were scouting out future locations for Grind It Fresh! coffee shops in the suburbs. What the hell happened to you two?”
“What? Haven’t you seen two people out on a simple date before?” I come two inches short of needing a shoe horn to sit behind Shannon. My balls feel like they’re in the trunk.
“Where’s your car?”
“Back at Walden Pond.”
“What happened?”
“Mr. Darcy went for a swim and lost the key fob to the Tesla,” Amanda says bitterly.
“In the water?” Shannon exclaims, laughing.
“Probably. Maybe in the bushes. I don’t know,” I grumble. “But we looked. It’s gone.”
“Why didn’t you call someone for help?”
“Phones are locked in the car.”
“And you walked all the way to Route 2 in those outfits?” Declan hoots. “How embarrassing.”
“Oh, no,” I grouse. “The embarrassing part is happening right now.”
“Telling the story?” Shannon asks.
“Riding in this piece of shit.”
Declan snickers. “Thanks. We’re testing out a new logo—notice the Grind It Fresh! wrap on it?”