Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(3)

The next corner had the occasional “check engine” light turning a steady red. Melanie tapped her dashboard, hoping it was wrong.

Twenty more miles. Twenty more miles.

Hope’s sleepy voice pulled Melanie from her silent chant. “Mommy?”

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost.” She offered a weak smile over her shoulder.

“When did it get dark?”

Good question . . . When I wasn’t looking. “Not long ago.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I know . . . we’re almost there.”

Her piece of crap car sputtered and slowed. “No, no, no.”

“Is the car sick again?”

“No . . . yes . . . just a little longer.” Worry etched up her spine as rain started to fall.

She reached for her cell phone and cussed under her breath. No Service.

Of course not. Why would River Bend bother with updated cell towers when two-way radios worked just fine?

“Hope, honey, I want you to look at Mommy’s phone and tell me if we get service.”

Hope reached for the phone and placed it in her lap.

Less than a mile later, Hope said, “One bar . . . wait . . . no, it’s gone.”

A second light on her dash sprang to life. This one flashed, as if calling Melanie an idiot for continuing to drive. “I have no choice,” she said as she hit the dash again.

Seemed the car took offense and coughed one last time before the engine gave up altogether.

“No. C’mon . . . no!”

“That’s not good,” Hope said.

“Not good at all.” Melanie managed to pull off the road by a good two feet. She shoved the car in neutral and attempted to start her again.

Click.

Click.

She rested her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Eighteen more miles. That’s all she’d needed. The desire to roll into a ball and block out her situation nearly took over her good sense.

“It’s okay, Mommy. We can walk.”

Melanie released a frustrated laugh. “No, hon . . . it’s too dark.” And too far.

Hope undid her seat belt and handed her the cell phone. “You can call someone.”

She attempted a smile and glanced at the phone.

No Service.

She waved it in the air.

Nothing.

She shoved the door open and stood alongside the dark road waving her phone in the air. The ambient light lit her face, but still, the words No Service mocked her.

Melanie reached into the car and popped the trunk.

As the rain settled in, she pulled a sweatshirt from her suitcase and another from Hope’s bright purple bag.

After turning on her flashers and popping the hood as a sign to anyone who might drive by that they could use help, Melanie climbed into the backseat with her daughter.

She shook her rain-soaked hair and pulled Hope’s sweatshirt over her head. “It’s going to get a little cold.”

“We can run the heater.”

“It only works when the engine runs, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

Melanie found the remainder of their road trip food and offered the last of the cheesy crackers and gummy bears to her daughter. Someone would come along, she told herself.

She dialed 911 and pressed Send on the off chance the No Service notice was as out of order as her car.

It rang once, and then went dead . . . Melanie tried a few more times before giving up.

“Do you know where we are?” Hope asked with a mouth full of crackers.

“River Bend is only a few miles away.”

Hope wiped the sleeve of her shirt against the condensation on the window and peered out. “There’s a lot of trees.”

Melanie found herself smiling. “Yeah. I missed them.”

“Our trees are smaller.”

“When I was about your age, I used to climb some of these trees.”

Hope’s blue eyes grew wide. “You climbed a tree?”

“Took a week to get the sap off my hands.”

“I wanna climb a tree.”

“My friend Zoe had the best climbing tree in the field by her house.”

“You think it’s still there?”

“Not a lot changes in a small town. My guess is, it’s still there and waiting for another little girl to climb it.”

The pounding of the rain on the hood of the car intensified. Both of them looked up and Hope started to squirm.

Oh, no.

“Mommy?”

Melanie closed her eyes . . .

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

As if on cue, the sky flashed and thunder shook the car.





Melanie waited until Hope was squirming around the backseat before she shoved the both of them into their jackets and flung open the back door away from the road. Not that it mattered, no one had passed in the forty minutes they’d been sitting there.

One foot outside the car and Melanie was up to her ankles in wet muck. A marsh more than a puddle sat right outside the door.

She reached for her daughter and did her best to lift her away from the majority of the gunk. “We don’t want to leave the car, Hope. You’re going to have to pee here.”