She raised her eyebrows. Somehow she knew ordering them was going to take a long time. She asked the question.
“Two weeks,” he said. “Maybe a week and a half. Depends on if they’re making another shipment up this way. Otherwise I just get parts every two weeks.”
“Darn,” she said, using the old man’s word of choice. “That long? Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so.” His soft blue eyes gazed on her kindly. “What do you want to do?”
She thought a moment, fingers drumming on the black and greasy Formica counter. What could she do? Towing it even as far as Missoula would cost her a mint. Leaving it here until he could fix it was the best bet. But she couldn’t very well stay here, with no friends and no escape car. No. She would leave the Rabbit here, get home somehow, and come back for it. She hated the thought of leaving her beloved car, the sense of familiarity it brought her, but it was the best choice.
“Can I leave it here until you fix it?”
“Sure can,” he answered. “Got a lot out back.”
She nodded. “Then that’s what I’d like to do. I’ve got to get back home, though. I’ll leave you my information so you can contact me when you finish or call me if you have questions.”
“Good enough,” he said, and produced a tablet from under the counter. In block letters he painstakingly wrote down what was wrong with the Rabbit and then handed the pen over to her to fill in her information, the car’s year, make, and model and sign at the X to authorize repairs.
“Thank you,” she said.
“It’s what I do.” He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling beneath the crop of short, white hair. She smiled back and hoped desperately that she was leaving her Rabbit in good hands.
Now she just had to find a way home.
Her first thought was George. No one else would be willing to drive five hours to get her.
Exiting the relative peace of the repair garage waiting room, Madeline entered the chaos of the parking lot beyond. Cars still circled endlessly, waiting to fill up on gas; kids screamed; parents yelled.
Across the street, Madeline spotted two public telephones. At one a gaggle of redheaded children and their parents gathered, each taking turns talking into the mouthpiece. On the other phone talked a lone woman in her mid-forties, with graying hair in a loose ponytail and a point-and-shoot camera in one hand. Her T-shirt advertised, God, Guns and Guts Keep America Free.
Madeline approached the telephones. Reaching in her back pocket, she remembered again that she’d left her wallet at the cabin. Luckily, though, she had her calling card number memorized. And at least leaving her wallet at the cabin was better than if she’d been carrying it during the flash flood. If she hadn’t stashed it in her car, her calling card, along with her two credit cards, her driver’s license, hell, even her Mothershead Library card, would be somewhere in the river, swept far downstream by now or sunk to voluminous depths along with her expensive, well-loved pack that she’d never see again.
She waited patiently as God, Guns and Guts chatted quietly with someone, and the red-haired family yammered away loudly to the grandmother of the familial clan.
As she stood there, baking in the afternoon sun that beat down between pine needles, she fantasized that someone walking along a beach in the Pacific Ocean would one day stumble across her backpack in a tumble of sun-bleached driftwood. They’d find the name tag on her pack and give her a call. Or maybe the pack would wash up in Hawaii or Japan. Maybe she’d have to go to Oahu to claim it, and would end up scuba diving with dolphins.
After she waited for a few more minutes, God, Guns and Guts hung up. As the woman walked away, she threw Madeline a gruff look over one shoulder. The woman’s face was tough, tanned, and leathered, and the eyes spoke of a rough life that hadn’t had too many lucky breaks.
Madeline smiled at her, and the woman managed a smile back, then turned away.
She walked to the phone and picked up the handset, getting a wave of psychic white noise as she did so. It hit her powerfully, and she dropped the phone, letting it swing at the end of its cord. Shaking her head lightly, she picked up the handset again, trying to tune the visions out, but the buzzing in her head only allowed itself to be reduced to a low hum instead of disappearing entirely. Normally she’d be able to tune out such a thing. But she was exhausted, and probably a hundred people had used the phone already today, leaving a sea of fresh vibes behind.
She thought about visiting the park in the off-season sometime, but that thought was immediately followed by an image of the Sickle Moon Killer, pursuing her relentlessly through the abandoned campsites and parking lots in front of boarded-up restaurants and gift shops. Vividly she could see his dark, whiskered face, deep grooves carved into his aging face from years of frowning and brooding over the fourteen-year-old who’d put him away. In her mind’s eye, with his dark eyes glittering over a crooked nose broken in a prison fight, the Sickle Moon Killer caught up with her, a knife gleaming in one down-swinging hand.
Madeline pushed the image out of her head. The phone uttered its annoyed staggered tone; she’d left it off the hook too long. Holding down the receiver and then lifting it again, she listened for the dial tone and then started pushing numbers.
At the special tone that sounded like a small gong inside the phone, she entered her calling card number.
George answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Oh, George. Is it ever good to hear your voice!”
“Madeline? You’re back early. I thought you weren’t coming back till next week.”
“Well, a lot has happened. I feel like I’ve been away for months.”
“What’s wrong?” he said immediately, sensing the despair in her voice. He was a good friend, she thought. She was lucky to have such a good friend in the world.
“A lot’s wrong. I can tell you about it in person. But the thing that’s the most immediately wrong is that I’m not home; I’m still in Glacier.”
“You need me to come get you?” he asked, his tone bright. “ ’Cause I can.”
She sighed. “Yes. Please. I can pay for your gas, if you need-”
“Don’t even give it a thought. I’ll just grab some snacks for the road and be up there in what… four hours?”
“Five from Mothershead.” She grimaced.
“Five it is. George to the rescue.”
“Thanks so much.”
“But what about your car? Where is it?”
“It’s here in the park. I’ll have to come back and get it in two weeks. But I’ll deal with that then. And don’t worry,” she added after a pause. “I won’t ask you to drive me back.”
“I would, though, if you needed me to.” Then, after a thought, he added, “It’s beautiful up there. I wouldn’t mind.”
She was glad he’d said it. Made her feel less like she was putting him out. She looked around at the swaying pines and the snow-encrusted mountains. “You’re absolutely right, George. I almost hate to leave.”
“So why are you leaving early?”
“I’ll tell you about it on the way home. It’s a thrilling tale of adventure.” Making light of her situation felt hollow and false, but she didn’t want to worry him. When he arrived and saw that she was safe, then she could tell him.
“You sure you’re okay, Mad?” He’d taken to calling her Mad now and then, the nickname Ellie had used on occasion. She didn’t mind his adoption of the term. It made him feel more like a friend than ever.