The Girl He Used to Know(72)
“Your boyfriend was in one of the towers?”
“Yes, but he got out okay because his name is on a list. I just have to find him because he hasn’t called.”
“I … I’m sure you’ll find him. I can call my aunt and have her pick us up at the hotel. We just need to get out of the rain tonight.”
His name is Ray and the little boy is Henry. He looks feverish and pale as we strap him into the backseat.
“I had to leave his booster seat on the side of the road. Henry couldn’t walk anymore and I couldn’t carry everything. I sure hated to leave it behind.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I say, although I have no idea what the rules are about this kind of thing and had no idea Henry even needed a special seat.
Ray doesn’t look like a serial killer or anything. I caught a glimpse of his face when the door was open and the interior light came on. He looks close to my age or maybe a few years younger. I’m not good at guessing that kind of thing. He has a scar on his chin. It’s so hard to know what a person is like by looking at them. People are either kind or they’re not. Some people look shiny on the outside but are rotten to the core. Some people pretend to be kind, but they’re only faking it. Janice and Jonathan taught me a lot of things, but I don’t think there’s any way to truly know whether someone is kind until you put your trust in them and show them kindness of your own.
“You’re gonna be okay, buddy,” Ray says to Henry. “You’ll be warm now.”
“I’m thirsty, Daddy.” He closes his eyes. Maybe he’ll sleep. I wish I had something for him to drink, but I don’t.
Ray doesn’t comment on my jerky acceleration or the fact that I consistently drive five miles under the speed limit. We travel in companionable silence. Even if I enjoyed small talk, I’d have trouble keeping up a conversation. I have to concentrate on the road and the fact that I’m now responsible for the safety of two more people.
From the backseat, Henry begins to whimper. Maybe there’s something left in his stomach after all. Ray turns around. “Do you think you’re going to throw up?”
“I’m thirsty, Daddy,” Henry says again. “I want some juice.”
“Shh,” Ray says.
“I can stop.”
“I don’t have any way to pay for it. I gave the last of my cash to the other driver that stopped for us. I wouldn’t have if I’d known they were going to make us get out.”
“Don’t worry. I have plenty of money.”
I get off at the next exit and pull into a gas station. It occurs to me as I walk down the aisles placing crackers and apple juice and water in my basket that it was wise of me not to give Ray my cash or credit card and let him be the one to go inside. What if he didn’t want to give it back when he came out? What if he told me he would and when we got to the hotel he pretended he’d forgotten? But maybe I shouldn’t have left them in the car, because what if he takes off with it? I push those thoughts away and pay for the groceries and when I come back out, there they are, right where I left them.
Ray gives Henry a few sips of water and when it doesn’t come back up immediately, he gives him a little more. Henry wants to drink it all down because he says it tastes so good. Ray doesn’t want to try the juice yet, but he gives Henry one of the saltines to nibble on.
“Would you like me to drive?” Ray asks.
“Do you want to drive?”
“Yes, but only if it’s okay with you.”
“Sure.” I climb into the backseat and as Ray drives us down the dark interstate, I recite for Henry the play I’m currently writing, the one about the blue duck who knows he could be a good friend to the yellow ducks if they’d only give him a chance. Henry takes sips of the water I offer and eats another cracker. I sneak him some of the juice, because I can’t say no to him when he asks. He does not throw up, which is good, because if he does, there’s a one hundred percent chance I will, too. I’ll feel bad about it, but I won’t be able to help it.
We cross the state line into Pennsylvania at midnight. I read off the directions for Ray so he can find the hotel, and we pull into the parking lot. Ray lifts a sleeping Henry from the backseat. “His forehead’s cool,” Ray says.
They have another available room, so I slide my credit card across the counter and tell the man we’ll take it. Ray doesn’t protest. Instead he says, “Thank you,” in a voice so soft I can barely hear him. He probably doesn’t want to wake Henry.
“I’ll call my aunt and let her know where she can pick us up,” Ray says when we get off the elevator on our floor.
“Okay.” I’m beyond exhausted and I’ve reached my limit for interacting with people today. It has been a good distraction from worrying about Jonathan, but I’m fading fast. I slide my key card into the door of my room and go inside, leaving Ray and Henry in the hallway.
My parents say they have never been so happy to hear from me. They’ve been calling my cell phone for hours, and I tell them it’s at the bottom of a gas station toilet. Then I tell my mom about Ray and Henry, and all she says after that is “Oh my God,” over and over.
“It’s okay. Henry is fine now. He didn’t throw up again and Ray said his fever was gone.”