Cyclone Sally Page 2

Travis Pates felt responsible for the end of the world—he never should’ve gone out for hot cocoa.

  The morning the world took the first of its last breath a dense, silvery fine-grain mist flowed into the valley and coated the roads, slick with relentless rain. From the passenger seat of Rebecca’s Honda, Travis gazed first at the solemn rain against his window before noticing the man stepping blindly into the intersection. Speeding upon the Honda’s right side came a logging truck and just before it sped through the intersection, causing Rebecca in the driver’s seat to scream, the old man drew back against the hedge, held the coffee cup against his chest, and winced at the grinding shriek as it clanked passed in haste down the glassy highway and into the distance. Behind Rebecca’s little blue Honda, Travis watched with raised flesh, the black Chevrolet truck with lifted tires rumble almost kissing her bumper. In the side mirror, through the rain, Travis read: Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

  Age was a difficult code to decipher in Bridgeport where the laborious industries of mining, lumber, and welding exponentially aged boys so that they were mistaken for middle-aged men with bloodshot eyes, craggy hair on their chins, and skin like beaten silver. The driver wore the serious expression discontent teenagers donned so well. Travis looked away from the pickup and forward through the windshield. “Dumbass kids. They think they can just live forever.” The rain came hard against the car and for a moment between them there was silence. Rebecca placed a gentle hand on upon his knee, her smile unwavering. Her carefree spirit was the trait he admired most about her. When it rained, she endeavored to dance in it. When the power failed during a spring’s storm, she romanced him over a novel by candlelight, and when some dumb ass kid nearly ran into them, her expression revealed a motherly forgiveness.

  “No one lives forever,” Rebecca said. “And if they do, they are probably the kind of people who shouldn’t.”

  Travis didn’t quite understand entirely what she had meant, but because she was smiling, that sweet, heart-warming smile, he smiled with her. Her hand warmed his leg beneath his fleece pajamas. The crosswalk sign changed. Pedestrians hurried across. At the front, a woman pushed a purple stroller. Once cleared, the crosswalk sign turned again and Rebecca guided the Honda into the grocery parking lot. The front of Safeway bustled with shoppers. Few appeared affected by the rain.

  Tourists were easy to spot. They were the ones carrying umbrellas. Travis and Rebecca, like all locals, were stubborn to use them. They'd rather get wet than look incapable of coping with a bit of rain. A little rain never hurt anybody.

  Without checking for traffic, a pedestrian stepped into the row. Rebecca barely had time to break as the car screeched to a halt. The woman in front shot Rebecca a nasty look, the word cunt written all over her face. Rebecca mouthed an apology, Travis gestured with his right hand.

  “Stupid asses think they can live forever. Don't know how they live as long as they do.”

  Rebecca returned her hand to his knee and said nothing. The woman continued her ignorant strides as he watched in disapproval.

  “Pedestrians do have the right of way, sweetie.” Her tone was soft and meek.

  Travis replied masking the contempt in his voice with a lightness that made him sound less critical than he meant.

  “Right of ways aren’t magical invisible walls that protect pedestrians from getting killed.” “If she lived she could sue us.” “Then you better hit ‘em hard,” he replied.

  Rebecca laughed. It was a light and chirpy, dainty laugh that made Travis grin. He used the sleeve of his sweater to wipe the condensation from the window.

  “Pedestrians don’t actually have the right of way. They have an equal responsibility as drivers. If a pedestrian illegally crosses a street or steps into a crosswalk while cars are whipping by and was struck, he or she is held responsible. Not the driver.”

  Rebecca nodded, but said nothing. She slowed the Honda to make room for the Subaru backing out of a space. Instead of bringing the car into the parking space, her eyes remained fastened to her rear-view mirror. A thoughtful expression passed over her. Travis turned to see Rebecca looking at the driver of the Ford Taurus behind. An old woman sat eye-level of the steering wheel. Her hair, curly and white, pinned down by a cheap silk flower dotted with golden glitter glue. Even from the passenger seat, Travis could see the cake makeup of all the wrong colors on her face. Beneath her caked eye shadow, she squinted in search of a parking space in the crowded lot. Travis felt Rebecca’s eyes on him, a begging expression on her face.

  “If I walked through the rain, would you walk beside me?”

  He placed his hand on hers, and the parking space remained vacant for the old woman and her Sunday best. “What kind of person would I be if I made her walk in the rain?”

  "Well, sweetie,” Rebecca said. “That would make you an asshole.” Rebecca laughed again, that same high chirp that made him smile once more.

  She swung the car around but had to wait again when a shopping cart filled with groceries caught the rain-drenched wind and escaped the grasp from a chubby man in a wet t-shirt and mud-stained overalls. The cart gained momentum as it rolled across the parking lot towards an approaching car, and moments before impact the chubby man grabbed it. The man offered an apologetic wave to the driver who wore an expression of great relief, followed by a shake of annoyance.

  As they circled down the last aisle and headed towards the exit, Travis noted the girl scout peddling cookies in the covered area at the entrance while her mother rang a bell like a charity Santa. Rebecca loved those terrible high-fructose corn syrup cookies, but always resisted for healthier alternatives. Instead, she'd always donate money equivalent the price of two boxes and never take a single cookie for herself. Girl Scouts were a corporation, she believed, and she would not support a corporation if she didn’t have to, but she could not say no to a child. Rebecca spotted the cookie girl just as a frumpy middle-aged woman with wiry brown hair toting her sopping miniature poodle handed over a large stack of bills in exchange for several Samoa boxes. Rebecca grinned, practically beamed, which delightfully unnerved him.

  “Oh God, what are you thinking?” asked Travis. Rebecca's grin widened. “Will I need to not be sober for this?”

  Rebecca was ready to burst with laughter. Here it comes, Travis thought.

  Rebecca looked at him, her eyes flashing. “What do you call a frozen dog?”

  Travis shook his head. “Please don't.”

  “A pupsicle!” Rebecca replied, and then laughed—a dorky wail of laughter with shoulders dancing. He lowered his face into his hands wishing he could un-hear what he just heard.

  “Is it too late for a divorce?” he asked.

  “I bet his name is Frost,” she said.

  Travis shook his head. “No. No. Please. I'm not doing this anymore, Rebecca. Seriously.”

  “Because, Frost bites.” Rebecca burst out laughing and Travis groaned.

  “I quit. I'm done. Let me out of the car.”

  Travis pretended to open the door and jump for his life and their laughter continued until they finally exited the lot.

  Available parallel parking spaces lined the streets of the residential area behind the grocery outlet with ample room along the sidewalk. Somewhere nearby came the sound of screeching tires on wet pavement and the honking of horns.

  “Ready to get wet?” Rebecca asked.

  Travis grinned perversely.

  “We've got all day for that,” Rebecca replied. She reached for the door handle but then paused when she saw him staring at her, consuming her with his eyes. Her damp, strawberry blonde hair fell across her cheek. Beneath her rain coat, she wore only a diaphanous white spaghetti strap shirt that clung to her breasts, her nipples hard from the chill. Between them the silver locket he gave her as an anniversary gift dangled in the clefts of her skin. He could've taken her right there with the lust and passion he felt as a teenager. Her sage colored eyes revealed she wanted it to, b
ut their desires were left wanting in long, open mouthed kisses that fogged the windows.

  A frigid wet air sucked the heat out of the truck once Rebecca opened the door. Travis pulled up the zipper of his coat.

  “I had a list somewhere,” Rebecca said when she eased herself from the car. “Just a few items. Those salt and vinegar chips you like and some onion dip and of course we need hot cocoa—"

  A shining dark flash reflected in the side mirror. He had no time to process. Because in that instant, five thousand six hundred pounds of metal speeding forty miles an hour swiped the side of Rebecca's Honda and, in a shrieking metallic roar she was gone, along with the door, followed by the crunching sound as his body slammed into the dashboard.

  Chapter 2