He twisted the key and heard nothing. Not even a solenoid click. He put his foot on the gas and the pedal went straight to the floor, offering no resistance. The brake was the same. He stamped on the clutch, worked the gearshift through its stations — but the stick merely swiveled then lolled to the side when he released it. The car had never felt so useless.
He sat for a moment, not breathing, the thought of the repair bills surmounting the sudden heap of new anxieties. A walk in the dark, to a gas station? First, the difficulty of simply getting back to the road. Did he have a flashlight in the glove-box? Was he out of gas? Would he need a jump-start or a tow? In a way, it was a relief that he was alone, because his own fears were bad enough without hers overwhelming him.
He started again, checking everything twice. Ignition, pedals, gears. All useless. At least the headlights and the dashboard were still shining. He rolled up the window and locked the door. How long should he sit here? Who was going to come along and…
The phone.
Jesus, the cell phone. How he had put off buying one, in spite of her insistence. He didn’t care for the feeling that someone might always have tabs on him, that he could never be truly alone. What was it people were so afraid of, how could their lives be so empty, and their solitude of so little value, that they had to have a phone with them at every minute, had to keep in constant chattering contact with someone, anyone? Ah, how he had railed at every driver he saw with the phone in one hand and the other lying idly on the steering wheel. And now, for the first time, he turned to the damned thing with something like hope and relief. He wasn’t alone in this after all.
The cell phone had some memory but he’d never programmed it because he relied on his own. He dialed his home number and waited through the rings, wondering if she was going to leave the answering machine to answer, as she sometimes did — especially if they had been fighting and she expected him to call back. But she answered after three rings.
“It’s me,” he said.
“And?” Cold. He was surprised she hadn’t left the machine on after all.
“And my car broke down.”
“It what?”
“Right after you called me, I got…” He hesitated to say lost; he could anticipate what sort of response that would get out of her. “I got off the regular track and I was looking to turn around and the engine died. Now it won’t start.”
“The regular track? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I, uh-”
“You got lost.” The scorn, the condescension. “Where are you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can you look at a street sign? Do you think you could manage that much or am I supposed to figure out everything myself?”
“I don’t see any,” he said. “I’m just wondering if something happened to the engine. Maybe I could take a look.”
“Oh, right. Don’t be ridiculous. What do you know about cars?”
He popped the hood and got out of the car. It was an excuse to move, to pace. He couldn’t sit still when she was like this. It was as if he thought he’d be harder to hit if he made a moving target of himself. Now he raised the hood and leaned over it, saying, “Ah,” as if he’d discovered something. But all he could see beneath the hood was darkness, as if something had eaten away the workings of the car. The headlights streamed on either side of his legs, losing themselves in the hedges, but their glare failed to illuminate whatever was directly before his eyes.
“Uh…”
“You don’t know what you’re looking at.”
“It’s too dark,” he said. “There aren’t any streetlights here.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Maybe I got into a park or something. Just a minute.” He slammed the hood, wiped his gritty-feeling fingers on his legs, and went back to the door. “There are lots of roads around here with no lights… it’s practically…” He pressed the door handle. “… Wild…”
At his lengthy silence, she said, “What is it?”
“Uh… just a sec.”
The door was locked. He peered into the car, and could see the keys dangling in the ignition. He tried the other doors, but they were also locked. They were power doors, power windows, power locks. Some kind of general electrical failure, probably a very small thing, had rendered the car completely useless. Except for the headlights?
“What is it?” she said again.
“The keys… are in… the car.” He squeezed hard on the door handle, wrenching at it, no luck.
“Do you mean you’re locked out?”
“I, uh, do you have the insurance card? The one with the emergency service number on it?”
“I have one somewhere. Where’s yours?”
“In the glove-box.”
“And you’re locked out.”
“It looks that way.”
Her silence was recrimination enough. And here came the condescension: “All right, stay where you are. I’ll come get you. We can call the truck when I’m there, or wait until morning. I was just about to get in bed, but I’ll come and bring you home. Otherwise you’ll just get soaked.”
Soaked, he thought, tipping his head to the black sky. He had no sense of clouds or stars, no view of either one. It was just about the time she’d have been lying in bed watching the news; there must have been rain in the forecast. And here he was, locked out, with no coat.
“How are you going to find me?” he asked.
“There are only so many possible wrong turns you could have taken.”
“I don’t even remember any woods along this road.”
“That’s because you never pay attention.”
“It was right past the intersection with the big traffic light.”
“I know exactly where you are.”
“I got confused when you called me,” he said. “I wasn’t looking at the road. Anyway, you’ll see my headlights.”
“I have to throw on some clothes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.”
It was an unusually protracted farewell for such a casual conversation. He realized that he was holding the phone very tightly in the dark, cradling it against his cheek and ear as if he were holding her hand to his face, feeling her skin cool and warm at the same time. And now there was no further word from her. Connection broken.
He had to fight the impulse to dial her again, instantly, just to reassure himself that the phone still worked — that she was still there. He could imagine her ridicule: he was slowing her down, she was trying to get dressed, he was causing yet another inconvenience on top of so many others.
With the conversation ended, he was forced to return his full attention to his surroundings. He listened, heard again the wind, the distant sound of still water. Still water which made sounds only when it lapped against something, or when something waded through it. He couldn’t tell one from the other right now. He wished he were still inside the car, with at least that much protection.
She was going to find him. He’d been only a few minutes, probably less than a mile, from home. She would be here any time.