The Rest of the Story(47)

“With all these jobs,” I said now, “how do you even remember where to be and at what time?”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Alerts. Lots of them. If you hear a beep, it’s probably me.”

“Good to know,” I said as he walked over, sliding open the door to the truck and stepping back.

“Watch your step,” he said. “It’s perennially sticky.”

I climbed in, my footsteps clanking on the metal floor. “This is so cool.”

“It is,” he agreed. “Until you get mobbed by a bunch of damp kids all screaming for sugar. Then, not so much.”

“Tell me there’s a little song you turn on as you drive.”

He smiled, pointing to a white box with some buttons installed above the driver’s seat. “Four melodies total, with a choice of tempos.”

“Can you play one now?”

“No, because someone will want ice cream and I’m not on the clock,” he said.

I looked out the window. The lot was empty. “There’s no one around.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s like a dog whistle. If you play it, they will come.” He stepped around me, into the narrow walkway that led back into the truck. “You can have something, though, if you’re an ice-cream-at-ten-a.m. person.”

“Who isn’t?”

“Well, me, for one. But again, different strokes.” He bent over a built-in cooler, turning a handle and then pushing it open. “Pick your poison.”

I stepped closer, peering inside at a huge selection of offerings, all individually wrapped and organized by category: frozen candy bars, push-ups, cookie sandwiches, Sundae in a Cup. Even if you didn’t like ice cream—and I did—you’d have to be excited by such a selection, at ten a.m. or, really, anytime.

“This one,” I said, pulling out a Choco-wich, two chocolate chip cookies with vanilla ice cream between them. It was cold in my hands. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he replied, sliding the cooler shut. He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, as I unwrapped it and took a bite.

“So you want to tell me what you were really doing collapsed over your steering wheel in a parking lot?”

“Waiting for the Yum truck,” I replied, grinning. “And it came!”

He just looked at me.

“Fine.” I swallowed. “The truth is, I’m supposed to be driving to Bly Corners.”

“The mall?” I nodded. “So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t like to drive.”

“You drove here,” he pointed out.

“And I drove Trinity to birth class on Saturday,” I said, sighing. “What I’m saying is I didn’t like it.”

“You went to birth class?” he asked. “Did Kim show one of those videos?”

“She did.”

He shuddered. “See, now that’s something to be scared of. You can handle a full dilation shot, you can handle anything.”

“You went to birth class?”

“Filled in for Celeste once, when she had to work.” He reached down, rubbing a smudge on the cooler top. “Fair to say it traumatized me.”

I tried to picture Roo in that little room, Trinity elbowing his gut as she tried to practice her ocean breathing. It actually wasn’t that hard. At this rate, we’d all be trained to help push when the baby came.

“See, that’s me when it comes to driving,” I said. “Like, I literally panic when I have to get behind the wheel.”

“Since when?”

“Always. Although it got worse when I hit another car in a parking deck.” Even as I cringed, saying this, I felt a sense of relief. The truth felt good. “I freaked.”

“Understandable.”

“Not to my dad.” I took another bite of my Choco-wich. “He’s always been so pushy about me getting my license, even when I was adamant I didn’t want to. He won’t let up. I don’t get it.”

Roo considered this for a second as I chewed. “Well, that probably has more to do with your mom than you, though, don’t you think?”

“My mom?”

“Because she didn’t drive,” he said. “She wouldn’t. Right?”

It was like time just stopped, my breathing as well, as I stood there, the Choco-wich melting down onto my wrist. Could this be true? I’d been in a car with my mom behind the wheel. Hadn’t I?

“Wait,” I said. “She was afraid to drive? Are you sure?”

He opened his mouth, then quickly shut it before pulling a hand through his hair again, this time leaving a different tuft vertical. “That’s just what Celeste said.”

“Celeste,” I repeated.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Obviously, you know your mom better than—”

“I don’t, though,” I said. I heard the catch in my voice, and hoped he didn’t. “That’s what I’m realizing. I didn’t really know her at all.”

We just stood there for a second, the truck dark and cool all around us as a car drove by, beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Roo said quietly. He looked back down at his hand, spread on the cooler. “And for what it’s worth, I can relate to having more questions than answers. My dad died before I was born.”