"I wasn't gonna," says Peter, breezing past the very irritated Honda. "Okay, can you figure out where we should get off while I drive, or should we pull over at the next rest stop?"
"Rest stop works for me." If they make it alive. "Will there be tea or somethin'?" She's rubbing at her temple with her right hand as she hunches over the map.
It's better than watching what's happening on the road.
"Headache," succinctly. "I'm fine. They got somethin' to write with in here?"
Upon opening the glove compartment, she finds three ballpoint pens (only one of which works), a lot of napkins and ketchup packets, a map of the state of Wisconsin, and a copy of Penthouse.
Kaylee looks at it critically. "Hell of a place to keep somethin' like that."
Peter gets a sidelong look, but nothing else; Kaylee tosses the magazine in the back seat, and squints at the map.
"...we can do this at the rest stop." She tosses the atlas and the pen in the back seat, too, and busies herself trying to figure out how to put the seat back -- and once she does, she falls asleep.
(And snores, a little.)
Just before the Indiana state line is a stop; the atlas gets dragged out, drawn upon, and tossed up on the dashboard for reference. Kaylee slips her feet out of her shoes and walks a little on the grass. It's a bright day, and still warm, and as the afternoon slips into evening (and as they get back on the road) she gets quieter.
Outside Elkhart they stop for gas; across the way are two young men in a red Camaro. A little abruptly, Kaylee says, "You gonna be okay to drive the rest of...however far we go tonight? I don't -- startin' out in the dark is somethin' don't quite sit right to me." It's the first thing she's said in a while.
...or maybe not. They're headed out of Chicago, going south on I-90, and it's not all that long before she says, "So when is it my turn?"
Reply
Reply
She looks down at the road atlas in her lap. "Are we stickin' closer to cities, or the middle of nowhere?"
Reply
The car in front of them slows down. Peter performs an impressive honk-and-flip-the-bird maneuver.
Reply
If Kaylee were aware of the nature of the Jersey Turnpike, this would fit into that category, judging by Peter's driving skills.
"If we need anything else, it'll probably be easier to get in cities, but..." Half a shrug.
Reply
He takes his eyes off the road, but only for a second.
"Back roads might be safer."
Reply
There is an angry car horn, with Doppler effect.
"If they're less crowded?" Weakly. "Hell yes."
Reply
Reply
It's better than watching what's happening on the road.
Reply
Reply
Upon opening the glove compartment, she finds three ballpoint pens (only one of which works), a lot of napkins and ketchup packets, a map of the state of Wisconsin, and a copy of Penthouse.
Kaylee looks at it critically. "Hell of a place to keep somethin' like that."
Reply
"'s where my dad kept his."
Reply
"...we can do this at the rest stop." She tosses the atlas and the pen in the back seat, too, and busies herself trying to figure out how to put the seat back -- and once she does, she falls asleep.
(And snores, a little.)
Just before the Indiana state line is a stop; the atlas gets dragged out, drawn upon, and tossed up on the dashboard for reference. Kaylee slips her feet out of her shoes and walks a little on the grass. It's a bright day, and still warm, and as the afternoon slips into evening (and as they get back on the road) she gets quieter.
Outside Elkhart they stop for gas; across the way are two young men in a red Camaro. A little abruptly, Kaylee says, "You gonna be okay to drive the rest of...however far we go tonight? I don't -- startin' out in the dark is somethin' don't quite sit right to me." It's the first thing she's said in a while.
Reply
"Yeah, sure." He pauses, briefly. "Know why?"
Reply
Sleep hasn't helped the headache, and tea hasn't, either. "Just -- not somethin' I done before," she finishes, lamely.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment