Driver's Dead

Kirsten carefully drove into the lot and maneuvered into a space. Rob opened the door and looked down at the printed parking lines.

  “Did I make it?” Kirsten asked.

  Rob grinned. “Butter or plain?”

  “Lots of butter!” Kirsten practically shouted. She had done it! Driven without fear and without mistakes.

  And it was all because of Rob. Rob the slug, Rob the scuzzball.

  Rob, the nicest guy she had met in months.

  “Kirsten, you are going to be the star of your class,” Rob said.

  “No way. Gwen Mitchell is—”

  Oops. Kirsten had forgotten what Maria had said about Rob and Gwen. Big mistake to bring her up.

  “Gwen? Forget her!” Rob leaned over the seat and rummaged through the trash in the back of the car. He pulled out a sheet of paper.

  When he sat back down, Kirsten could see he was holding the contest flyer. He took a marker from the glove compartment and wrote KIRSTEN’S CAR across it. With a flourish, he drew a huge exclamation mark, with one of the Escort’s headlights as its dot.

  Kirsten laughed. “Get out of here.”

  Rob shrugged, folded it up, and put it in his jacket pocket. “You’ll see. Now come on, call your ’rents.” He handed her a quarter.

  As Kirsten went straight to the pay phone, Rob headed for the ticket line. “Ask them if you can go to dinner, too!” he called out.

  A date! This was an honest-to-God date!

  Yeaaaah!

  Kirsten’s heart was running like a motor. She thought she’d have to wait till college to be asked out.

  She got the answering machine at home.

  “Hi, Mom? Dad?” she said in a cheery voice. “I’m out with … a friend. Don’t worry about saving dinner for me. I’ll see you all afterward. Bye.”

  Ugh. What a sneak. She knew she’d face the firing squad later on. Everything about this was wrong: a movie on a school night with a boy her parents would hate.

  But, hey, you only live once.

  Besides, even if Rob turned out to be boring, it was a Jason Priestley movie.

  And if the movie was a dud, there was always popcorn.

  The final score? Three for three.

  Wonderful company. Phenomenal movie. Excellent popcorn.

  Rob was quiet during the movie’s sad parts, whispered a couple of funny comments during the boring section, and didn’t hog the bucket.

  They couldn’t stop talking about the movie afterward, as they walked to the nearby Friendly’s. There, Rob scrunched his eyebrows, turned up his collar, and did a great Jason Priestley imitation. Loudly. Girls began walking by their booth, staring at him, their mouths hanging open.

  Rob was a terrific listener, too, sensitive and interested in Kirsten’s life story. Dinner passed by in a flash, and Rob paid with a credit card. (“It’s my mom’s,” he said. “You can get me next time.”)

  It wasn’t until they’d left that Kirsten realized they had not talked about him.

  They walked back to the car arm in arm. Kirsten nuzzled her head on his shoulder.

  “Rob?” she said dreamily. “Who are you?”

  Rob stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we just spent four hours together, and I don’t know the first thing about you—your family, what you like, anything.”

  After a long silence, they reached the car. “You want to drive?”

  “Sure.” Kirsten opened the door and sank into the front seat.

  With a deep sigh, Rob sat next to her. “There’s really nothing to talk about,” he said.

  Kirsten started up and backed out of the space. “I don’t believe that. Why are you so shy about yourself?”

  “It’s just that—well, I haven’t really gotten this close to a girl before.” He paused, staring distantly at the dashboard. “I—I guess I’m a little ashamed, too. My mom … well, I don’t see much of her. She works a lot, and she has some … I don’t know, problems, I guess. My dad used to work at the shoe factory, but he lost his job. He and Mom started getting on each other’s case. Then, one morning—”

  He fell silent. The Mustang’s brakes squeaked slightly as Kirsten stopped for a red light.

  Finally Rob continued, in a voice barely above a whisper. “It was last April. I woke up and went downstairs. Mom was passed out on the floor. They’d stayed up all night, fighting and drinking. And Dad had run out. Haven’t seen him since.”

  “I’m … sorry,” Kirsten said softly.

  Rob stared out the window for a long time. Finally he said, “Beautiful out, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Kirsten replied, looking at the nearly full moon.

  As her eyes went back to the road, the light turned green and she accelerated. Suddenly she was gripped with fear—a fear she had always felt when she was behind a steering wheel.

  But the fear was weak now, almost an obligation. It disappeared as quickly as it came.

  She smiled. “Whoa. Rob, I just—forgot I was driving. It feels so natural.”

  “Hey, excellent,” Rob said. “Want to try a parallel park? Then maybe we can get out and walk around?”

  Kirsten had just passed the high school. To her right was the park. Cars were lined up at the curb.

  Inside some of the cars, couples were making out. They were the ones who hadn’t made it into the park yet.

  Kirsten felt a shudder. It was late enough. Her parents were going to kill her. And she was smart enough to know what an invitation into the park meant.

  Everyone in school knew.

  Rob’s eyes were burning into her now. But they were softer than usual, glazed with tears.

  “Rob? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Um, look, I know what you’re thinking. About the park. But it’s such an incredible night. Just a walk, okay? I promise. You call the shots.”

  Kirsten flipped on her right signal and slowed down. “Okay.”

  The car ended up about a foot and a half from the curb. Not bad. It was progress.

  Rob helped her on with her jacket. They strolled into the park and took a footpath that curved around the still, night-blackened duck pond. Cars were not allowed on the paths, and the loudest sound was the rustling of leaves overhead. For a long while, neither said a word. Kids sat on the surrounding benches, talking or just watching the moon reflect off the water.

  Around the other side of the pond was a small, enclosed, wooded glade. Pathways wound through the stout maples and evergreens. The action on the benches here was much more serious. Couples were less likely to be talking. Or even upright.

  “Maybe … we should turn around now,” Kirsten said.

  Rob smiled. “Okay, if you don’t trust me.”

  “I do, but—”

  “Then let’s sit.” Rob sank down onto a bench that had a view of the pond.

  Kirsten took a deep breath. It would be all right. It would. Rob was okay. Mysterious, not totally truthful, but okay.

  Besides, a good, loud scream could be heard by at least twenty people.

  Rob picked up a pebble and threw it in the pond. Two sleepy ducks ruffled their feathers and swam away.

  Kirsten sat next to him and tried to feel comfortable. Rob looked distant now, staring blankly across the water, as if she weren’t there.

  “Gorgeous, huh?” Kirsten offered.

  Rob reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Along with it came the folded-up contest flyer.

  “Hey, look what I found,” he said.

  He opened it up. Kirsten smiled. KIRSTEN’S CAR! it said, blazing above the car’s grille.

  “Wishful thinking.” Kirsten began to chuckle, but stopped.

  Something was different.

  Rob had drawn the dot of the exclamation mark as a big circle, around one of the headlights.

  Now it was next to the headlight. Alone and open.

  The car was angled toward them. Kirsten could see the entire grille. She was sure the Escort was in profile before. Or at lea
st closer to a profile.

  It was as if it had moved.

  Kirsten thought of saying something, but it just seemed too ridiculous. She’d only glanced at the photo before. It was a trick of memory. That’s all.

  Besides, another question had popped into her head.

  “Rob, if you already have your license, why do you have this flyer?”

  “Um … Mr. Busk gave one to me. He knows I like Escorts.”

  Kirsten didn’t believe it. She could tell by the hitch in his voice, a tightness around the eyelids. She was beginning to know him.

  “Rob, I don’t know how to say this, but, you can always be truthful to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kirsten looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t mind driving with you, even if you don’t have your license yet,” she said firmly. “And another thing. I have never mowed my lawn, but I still like you.”

  “What?”

  “You said you saw me mowing my lawn. That was how you knew where I lived.”

  Now Rob’s entire face tightened. He looked toward the pond again, frowning, not saying a word.

  Around them, couples were beginning to straggle out of the park. Kirsten realized it must be getting late.

  Finally Rob said, “Okay. I confess. I’ve been checking you out since the first day of school. But I—I didn’t want you to think I was chasing you.”

  “But that’s sweet, Rob. You thought I wouldn’t like you because you liked me?”

  Rob turned to face her, openly, for the first time since they’d sat down. His eyes seemed to catch the full light of the moon, reflecting it back twice as brightly. “I guess I ought to just give in, huh, Kirsten?”

  He drew closer.

  Yes.

  The eyes.

  They were telling her what to do. Catching her in their electric neon brightness. Leading her like daylight at the end of a long, lonely tunnel.

  His lips came nearer to hers, opening slowly.

  Kirsten wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t.

  Something was off.

  Rob’s arms were like steel clamps. He was pushing her down. Forcing her.

  She was caught. She had no room to struggle.

  Kirsten felt herself dropping beneath his weight. Then he closed his alligator eyes and she felt two cold folds of flesh close on her mouth.

  Chapter 8

  “NNNNN—”

  Kirsten pushed, but it was no use. She felt the cool condensation of the park bench against the back of her neck. Rob’s lips pressed tightly against hers. Kirsten did the one thing she could think of.

  She bit down.

  “Yeeoooooowww!” Rob sprang back. He put his hand to his mouth in agony, letting go of the cigarettes and the contest flyer he had been clutching. A rivulet of blood trickled down his chin.

  Kirsten picked herself up and backed away.

  “I—I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

  He removed his hand. In the soft moonlight, his lower lip and chin looked black with blood.

  “Why dih oo doo at?” he moaned, his words slurry and agitated.

  “Rob, you were forcing me—”

  “Forhing?” Rob gagged on the blood. He coughed, cleared his throat, and spit. “I was doing what you wanted!”

  “Doing what I wanted? How can you say that? You promised we’d take a walk!”

  “We did take a walk! But then what happened, huh? I sat here, and what did you do? You didn’t keep walking. You sat next to me. Didn’t you, or am I crazy?”

  Kirsten’s sympathy drained out of her so fast, she could almost hear a sucking sound. “So that gave you permission to start wrestling me? Did you ever hear of asking?”

  “What is this? I take you to the movies, pay for dinner, give you a driving lesson—”

  “And now I’m supposed to do whatever you want? I don’t believe this!” The anger was welling up from her chest, making her see red. She picked up the flyer from the ground, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at him.

  “Heyyy, easy!” he said, catching it.

  “No, Rob,” Kirsten shot back. “Not as easy as you think!”

  She spun away and stormed out of the park. The two remaining couples, each of which had been happily entwined, were now sitting up. They watched her leave, looking dumbfounded and annoyed.

  Kirsten couldn’t have cared less.

  As she reached the sidewalk, she slowed down. She listened for footsteps. Of course Rob was going to come apologize. He wouldn’t let her walk away. He’d made a big mistake, sure, but he was a nice guy underneath. She had seen that. Besides, it was late. And dark.

  Finally Kirsten looked over her shoulder. The benches along the street side of the pond stood empty. A duck floated across the yellow streak of moonlight on the water. Beyond the pond, Kirsten saw only suggestions of shapes.

  She thought of going back. Had she been too severe? Too judgmental? Too violent?

  She paused to think. She grabbed her backpack out of Rob’s car.

  Then, with a sigh, she began the long walk home.

  As she turned onto Burnside, Kirsten heard the roar of a car engine and hoped for a moment that Rob was chasing after her. But the noise died out instantly.

  All she heard now were hints of sound. The rustling leaves, the distant overhead-wire hum, a ripple of laughter from a nearby house.

  At the corner, someone was waiting. He was crouched behind a tree.

  Eleven dollars. Right pocket. That’s all I have. Take it. Kirsten mentally rehearsed her response. What were the things you were supposed to do? Swing your arms crazily. Walk in the street. Sing “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” at the top of your lungs. Drool. Pick your nose.

  She veered into the street. “MINE EYES HAVE SEEN—”

  He wasn’t moving.

  “THE GLORY OF THE—”

  A light went on in the second-floor window of a house.

  Abruptly she stopped singing.

  The mugger was in full sight now.

  He had four short legs and a shiny, curved head. The words U.S. MAIL were printed on his side.

  A mailbox.

  She groaned. Her friends in New York would be howling if they only knew.

  In the lit window an old man scowled, then disappeared into a sudden snap of darkness.

  Relax. Kirsten needed to relax. This wasn’t the city. The streets were safe. People minded their business. You could walk after dark without worry. Here you didn’t find panhandlers, crime, filth, danger.

  Or, unfortunately, cabs. She could use one right now.

  The half mile to her house on Anchor Street was like a marathon. Nat’s light was off upstairs, which made her heart sink. If he was already asleep, it was late.

  And she was in big trouble.

  As she padded up her driveway, she reached into her jacket pocket for the keys.

  It was empty except for a headband and some wrappers.

  She tried her pants pocket. She rummaged through her backpack, trying not to let anything rattle.

  By now she was at the back door. She peered inside. The small foyer between the door and the kitchen was dark.

  Where had she put them? She retraced the evening in her mind. They were in her jacket, yes. That much she was sure of. She had taken her jacket off to drive—

  And given it to Rob. In front of the house.

  Maybe the keys fell into the gutter when he took the jacket. She turned toward the driveway and began tiptoeing back.

  And a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

  Chapter 9

  KIRSTEN THOUGHT HER HEART would jump through her mouth.

  “Sshhhhh. Easy, baby.”

  The voice was soft and familiar._

  Kirsten spun around. “What—Dad! You scared me out of my mind!”

  “Sorry,” her father replied. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

  Kirsten heard footsteps in the back hall.

  “Ed?” her mom’s voice called from insid
e. “Is that you?”

  “Make that three,” Dr. Wilkes continued, as the back door swung open.

  Kirsten’s mom looked washed out. Her face was a tight mask of weariness, her eyes bloodshot and fearful.

  “It’s okay, Laurie,” Dr. Wilkes said. “She’s here.”

  The tension disappeared from her mom’s face. At first Kirsten thought she was going to cry.

  Then Kirsten was sure her mom was going to kill her.

  “Out with a friend?” she said. “Until eleven on a weekday?”

  “Eleven?” Kirsten squeaked. “Is it that late?”

  Her mom turned away sharply. Kirsten watched her go straight to the kitchen phone and pound out a number.

  Dr. Wilkes held the door open for Kirsten. “I’ve been out looking for you,” he said. “I think we need to have a little family talk.”

  “Sorry …” Kirsten mumbled. The word sounded so limp and false.

  Her mom’s voice rang out: “Yes, hello, Officer Schweid, it’s Laurie Wilkes. We’ve found her … yes, she’s fine… .”

  “She called the police?” Kirsten asked.

  Dr. Wilkes looked as surprised as Kirsten. He let out a deep breath. “I take it back. A long family talk.”

  Some talk. Kirsten’s parents yelled, Nat peeked in now and then for a well-timed giggle, and Kirsten sat playing with the ends of her hair.

  At the end she had to go straight to her room, do her homework, and skip David Letterman—who just happened to have Jason Priestley on that night.

  Arrgggh.

  Tried, convicted, and sentenced. Without any defense.

  It was unfair with a capital U.

  Well, one good thing came out of it. Kirsten hadn’t had to mention Rob. She couldn’t have, even if she’d wanted to. Her parents had been too busy hollering at her and each other.

  Now, in the quiet of her dark, wood-paneled bedroom, she could finally think. About the strange day.

  About Rob.

  Kirsten didn’t know how to feel. Rob had been such a pig. A liar. A criminal, for coaching her without a driver’s license. He was the worst, most disgusting stereotype of a teenage male goon.

  But he had been wonderful, too. Kind, patient, funny, sensitive. Not to mention a terrific teacher. Could all of that have been an act?

  If so, Rob was a fantastic actor.