and watch the clock for my own entertainment. Fourteen minutes later, she hobbles out with her wet hair in a ponytail. I check the clock again. I must have timed it wrong. She even took a shower. As she gets closer I notice a giant bottle of Pepto-Bismol sticking out of the top of her bag. If she gets sick in my truck, I swear I’ll kill her.
Shit. My supply run. I can’t go while she’s with me, and I won’t have time on the way back.
“What?” She pauses with her seatbelt halfway to the buckle.
“Nothing.”
We coast down the road in silence. As I accelerate onto the highway, the sun blasts from behind a cloud and we both flip down our visors. I put on my sunglasses, and she puts on hers. She opens her window all the way and pulls a book out of her bag. Thank god. No talking necessary.
Fifteen minutes into the ride, her shifting around in the seat makes me want to strap her down. It’s distracting and annoying and she doesn’t seem to care. When she finally settles down, it only lasts a few seconds. She squirms again, reaches down for her big pink bottle and takes a king-size gulp. That can’t be good for you. But she’s a nurse, she should know. I hear a sharp intake of breath and whip my head around to look at her, worried she’s about to blow.
She looks back at me, her eyes huge through the tinted lenses of her sunglasses. “You make me sick!”
I can’t contain an outburst of hollow laughter. It took her this long to figure that one out? “I hate to say it, but the feeling’s mutual.”
“No, you literally make me sick!” In her excitement, her voice rises to a frequency that makes my teeth grind together. “I just figured it out. Every time I’m around you, I get sick to my stomach. I think you were even there the first time it happened.” She turns to stare out the window, animated by her theory. “The gas station…” she whispers.
“That’s great news. Once this is over you’ll have a good reason to avoid me.” What an encouraging thought. And I’ll have to modify my hiking routes.
But she can’t really be serious.
“Can we pull over? I want to test this.”
I guess she is serious. “No. This is ridiculous.” I can’t keep the disgust out of my voice.
“Okay then. I have to pee.”
I exhale hard to voice my disapproval.
She glances at me. “I know if you try really hard, you might not be such an asshole.”
“Don’t you get sick of hearing your smart mouth?”
“Don’t you get sick of your inflated ego?”
My hands clench the steering wheel hard enough to keep me from killing her, and I turn off the highway at the next exit. I pull up to a quick shop and she gets out. She disappears into the store and emerges with some snacks about ten minutes later. When she climbs back into her seat, I go for the ignition.
“Wait,” she demands.
I lean my head on the back of the seat and stare upwards. Several minutes pass. She opens her door and gets out again. I watch her gimp back toward the highway until I can barely see her. A few minutes later she heads back, triumphant.
She opens the door and gets in. “It is totally you. You make me sick.”
“You are so full of shit.” I turn the key, jam the truck into gear, and floor it toward the highway. DOOR AJAR illuminates in the instrument panel.
“I wish I was. That would be easier to explain. This is going to be a very long ride.” She laughs under her breath.
“I could have told you that before.” I stare at the DOOR AJAR warning when I should be watching the road. The warning becomes a biting offense directed straight at me. I don’t know how anyone could get in a vehicle and not realize they hadn’t closed the door all the way.
“What cologne do you wear?” she asks.
“I don’t wear cologne.”
“What deodorant?”
“Whatever’s on sale at the store.”
“Which would be?”
“I have no idea!” I feel an urge to rip the steering wheel out of the truck. I should’ve never agreed to let her
Learning to Kill: Stories