Emergency Contact(78)

“For gas,” she said. He picked it up and stuffed it in his back pocket as he followed her to the lot across the street.

“Thank you,” Penny said, handing over the keys. “I’m shaking too much to drive. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, and let her in.

“My mom gave me this car. It’s her car,” she said, strapping into shotgun. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nope.” He adjusted his seat and mirrors and headed toward the highway.

“You know it’s her birthday?” Penny’s voice bordered on hysterical. Sam kept his attention on the road, but he wanted to keep her talking.

“Yeah, I do. Her fortieth.”

“I mean, technically her birthday isn’t until tomorrow.” Penny glanced down at the time and burst into ragged sobs. “It’s midnight.”

It was 12:02.

“Do you have Kleenex?” she asked after a moment. “I forgot my sundries.”

“Sundries” made Sam smile. He handed her the backpack.

“There’s a black bandana in there,” he said.

Penny pulled out a spoon.

“For cake,” he said. Penny nodded as if that made perfect sense. Sam reached over and rummaged until his fingers found cloth. He handed it to her.

“You should have dedicated cases for things,” she said.

Sam nodded.

“I’m going to wash this and give it back,” she added, blowing her nose.

“Penny,” he said, keeping his eyes ahead. “Is your mom okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I think so. I didn’t ask any of the right questions to Michael.”

“Who’s Michael?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Some guy.”

“Penny, why didn’t you go to your mom’s birthday?” As far as he knew she’d been planning on it.

“I can’t be around her.”

She turned toward him. “Oh God, that’s horrible. How could I say that right now? What if something really bad happened? What do you think happened?”

Sam shook his head ruefully. “I don’t know.”

“You know what’s so dumb?” said Penny quietly, sniffling. “And I know it wouldn’t fix everything, but I wish I had a dad. Bet a dad would know what happened.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Sam, thinking about his own.

“God, remember when you were almost a dad?” she asked.

Sam smiled. “I might remember something about losing my mind on a daily basis for a few weeks, yeah.”

“I think you would have been a good dad,” she said.

Sam’s left eye misted over. “Yeah?” He swallowed.

“Yeah,” she said. “You’d be fun when you weren’t being the most depressing.”

“And selfish,” he reminded her.

“Yeah,” she said. “And fainting. You’d be screwed if you had a daughter though. You’d be wrapped so firmly around that kid’s little finger.”

“Yeah, exactly where a dad should be. Holding a firearm and warding off potential suitors until that daughter is of consenting age,” he said. “Which in my book is about forty-six.”

Penny laughed.

Sam’s mind turned to Bobby. If Penny ever told him the guy’s full name Sam would hunt him down and string him up by his balls.

“When did you start being so mad at your mom?”

“Ugh, she’s so not a mom.” Even in her anguish, Penny couldn’t keep the frustration out of her tone. “You know one time I ate it on a bike,” she said. “Just scraped my entire face down the street. My whole face was hamburger meat with an eyeball stuck on, and instead of going home, I walked a block to my neighbor’s house.”

Sam nodded. Stories never started or ended where you’d think they would with Penny, but it was important to listen for when it came together.

“You know why? Because Celeste can’t handle blood. In that moment, I knew better than to go home. I rang the doorbell next door and passed out when they answered. I figured that my chances were better off with anyone else’s mom than my own. I was six.”

So that’s where her eyebrow scar came from. They drove in silence for a few more dark miles. Parenting as a concept was wild. Everybody was winging it.

“You know, I didn’t have a bike,” he said after a while. “I was so poor my bike was an old bean can that I kicked down a dirt path just so I could have some fun getting from point A to B.”

“What?” Penny croaked, eyes wet.

“It didn’t get me there any faster, but that’s how it was,” Sam said soberly. “You know what else? I didn’t even get to eat the beans out of it. It was a hand-me-down can of legumes.”

Penny laughed. It was a sad, snot-filled honk.

“So, cry me a river, Penny Lee,” he said.

“It’s true,” she said. “I don’t know your journey.”

“Or my struggles.”

“True.”

“Real quick,” he said. “I’m headed south, but I have no idea where we’re going.”

Penny handed him her phone with the map. They still had forty more exits to go.