He Started It(30)

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I think about this now, as Eddie drives us through the Oklahoma Panhandle. It’s thirty-four miles wide, and links routes from the Texas Panhandle to Colorado on the west, Kansas on the east. We’re heading west.

“There it is,” Portia says.

I look up, having no idea what she’s talking about. “The border?”

“The pickup truck.”

Pretty sure all of our heads turn at once.

“Are you shitting me?” Eddie says.

Portia doesn’t answer. She’s leaning over the seat, staring out the back window. I climb over our seat to join her.

“Where?” I say.

She points. To our right, behind a silver SUV, is a black pickup. Huge, double cab, black-on-black wheels. No license plate in front, typical for the South.

“Is it them?” Krista says.

“Could be,” I say.

“It is,” Portia says.

We’re on a two-lane road, in the right lane, and the silver SUV is coming up on our left side. “Slow down. See if they’ll pass us,” I say.

Eddie does. He’s looking in the side mirror, watching the truck.

The car behind us honks because we’re slowing down. Portia flips off the driver, who looks like a teenager. He can’t move into the fast lane because the pickup blocks his way.

“It’s going to pass,” Portia says.

“Then they can’t be following us,” Eddie says.

No one answers him.

“Wait,” I say. “They’re slowing down.”

“Waaaay down,” Portia says.

The teenager gets into the fast lane and passes us. The truck stays back.

“Get off at the next exit,” I say. “Then get right back on. See if they follow.”

“You watch police shows, don’t you?” Portia asks.

Felix answers for me. “Movies. She likes the movies.”

“Just do it,” I say to Eddie.

He does. He increases his speed until we’re moving normally again. The pickup does the same. When the next exit comes up, Eddie turns off without using his blinker. Everyone watches out the back window.

I’m looking for the auburn-haired woman.

“Moved to the slow lane,” Portia says.

Eddie stops at the first light. We’re below the interstate now, waiting for the truck to come down the off-ramp, and I can feel all of us hold our collective breath. We do not exhale until the pickup appears.

They are following us.

Eddie swears under his breath. “Shit.”

“Light’s green,” Felix says.

Eddie doesn’t step on the gas. The next thing I know Portia’s out of the car, storming toward the truck coming up behind us.

They stop when they see her.

Felix follows her out of the car.

Krista takes out her phone. “I’m calling 911.”

“What do you want?” Portia screams loud enough to cause an avalanche.

The guy in the truck guns it, tires squealing, and takes off down the road. Away from Portia, away from us, and they go right. Away from the interstate.

Gone. Just like that, they’re gone.

“The police are on their way,” Krista says.





We wait, because that’s what you do when you call the police and they have your name, phone number, and location. They have it before you even say a word, and this is true everywhere, even Oklahoma. Personally, I’m beginning to wonder about this state. Last time I was here was when I told Nikki about Grandpa and everything exploded.

At least this time it’s only about the truck.

“I’ll do the talking,” Eddie says.

Krista starts to argue and decides against it. I exhale. And I send Eddie a text.


The cops are going to think we’re crazy.



He reads it, turns to me, and nods.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m scared of whatever that truck is doing, but I also know we have no information that will interest the cops.

Whoever is in that truck knows what they’re doing.

Before I have a chance to text all of this to Eddie, the cavalry arrives. Otherwise known as the Oklahoma Highway Patrol. Two of them, on motorcycles, roar up to us. Our car is now on the side of the road and we’re all standing outside of it except for Portia, who has climbed back inside the car and refuses to move.

Both patrolmen are male and both wear—yes—aviator sunglasses.

Eddie introduces himself, establishing that he is our leader. Krista is at his side, arms crossed over her chest.

Portia sends me a text.


Don’t let Krista talk.



I shrug, assuming Portia’s watching from the truck. What does she want me to do—tackle Krista to shut her up? Yes, probably.

Eddie starts talking, explaining everything from Alabama to Oklahoma. He’s using his charming voice, smiling and laughing, turning red like he’s embarrassed his wife called the police for this kind of thing. A good effort, but it still sounds bananas.

And there is no way to stop Krista.

“They put nails in our tire,” she says.

“You saw this?” says one of the patrolman. The name on his badge is Feldman.