Finding Love on the Interstate

'Sex scene gone wrong,' he thought.

Then he worked quickly to stage it: stripped the bitch and tied her to the bed in Laken's place; dragged the Reverend's body by the door to look as though he didn't make it out in time; jammed a rag into the fuel port along with a road flare. All staged, he moved Laken to his bright-yellow rig. Then, he drove it next to the ridiculous image of the Reverend Abraham on bended knee praising the Lord. Lachlan didn't think it appropriate to be praying, so he just set the rag ablaze and hoofed it into his truck.

Hastily, he maneuvered his rig out of the Love's Fuel Station as discreetly as possible. In his rearview mirror, he saw plumes of smoke, then flames, and breathed a deep sigh of relief, hoping it covered his tracks.

Lachlan drove through the night, taking the old pre-Interstate roadways -- toward the West Coast. His heart raced as the images flashed across his mind of what had just happened and how it had played out. Previously, the lives he had taken were at the end of a sniper rifle in a war he didn't understand. He was called to serve, and he did. Right or wrong, it didn't matter; it wasn't his choice as he saw it. It was over; he came home and spent the rest of his time isolated on long-hauls. It was safer for everyone that way. And if he'd ignored the cute, innocent kid in Myrtle Beach, he'd still have been cruising down the Interstates without a worry.

'Damn, Fate,' he thought, expelling a deep breath he hadn't realized he held. To save one soul, he'd killed two others. Damned souls, to be sure, but he wasn't sure the law would see it that way. Besides, it would have put the girl in a bad light, going off and alerting the bears. Perhaps that would still be the case if she remembered anything of what happened tonight.

Eight hours west and near Dallas, Texas, Lachlan pulled into a Love's Fuel Stop and Restaurant. The faint sound of Laken stirring a half hour ago was the impetus for that. He listened to her moans at idle in the truck parking area and watched as she began to stir awake, wondering what they had done to her. One thing was clear from the lack of response as he carried and swung her up into the berth: they had drugged her. He checked her pulse and her breathing. Both were shallow, a risk he took rather than getting her to a hospital to get checked out. His anxiety had messed with his head in those moments -- escape was his dominant thought.

"Lachlan? What ... Why ... Where are we?"

"Near Dallas. How are you feeling? Are you hurt? Do you remember anything?" he blurted out as she slipped gingerly down from the berth.

"I'm ... I don't know. Sore. Thirsty as heck. And I need to brush my teeth. I have a bad taste from ... the wine, maybe."

"Dallas? We were in Memphis, eating ... that was the last I remember. Where's the Reverend Abraham and Sarah? And what am I doing back in your truck? You were in Atlanta last time I saw you."

Lachlan handed her a bottle of water. She chugged several swallows. "Easy!" he said, "Take it slow, or you'll be barfing it up."

"The Reverend?"

"They're in Memphis, Laken, having a heated conversation with their maker, I believe," he replied without elaboration. As he spoke, his vision was of two writhing demons burning in hell for letting an innocent escape.

Laken tried to comprehend his explanation, but the fuzziness of the drug wearing off and her lack of understanding of the gap in time played with her mind. She had gone from a laughingly funny dinner with wine to waking up in Lachlan's berth groggy from a hangover. It was a horrible first experience with alcohol and pills she didn't know about.

As her mind cleared, Lachlan began to recount what transpired.

"I dropped my load at the docks and found a delivery needing a tractor to go west, so I signed on. Then, I thought about how I left you at Love's. I'd hoped you'd taken my words to heart and decided to go home. But then I realized maybe you didn't have the money to return to Myrtle Beach. I kicked myself over that and came back, figuring that if you were still hell-bent on going west, I'd ... offer you a ride.

"You ... came back for me?" Laken asked, surprised.

"Well, you are pretty damn cute, Laken. You can read. Maybe you could ... read a book for me as we drive to Californy. But I missed you. It was by chance that I saw you again in Memphis. That ... preacher and his woman carried you to his trailer as I reached the fuel stop. I could tell you were in trouble. By the time I got to the rig, they had carried you inside the trailer ... I had to wait until they came out ..."

"I don't remember that, Lachlan. It must have been Fate's hand that you found me," she mused.

"Perhaps that's best that you don't remember," he sighed.

He'd left out the details of his attack against the wolves and the details of the funeral pyre, thinking she had suffered enough from a loss of some dignity.

Laken was silent, pensive for a few moments before she spoke. "Were they wolves?" she asked with a shiver.

"The kind that should never have been born, Laken."

His thoughts flashed to the truck's interior as he had worked to dress Laken -- the chains, the whips, the cameras, and the suspension harnesses told him more than he needed to know.

"Maybe," Lachlan said, "We should get you checked out by a doctor."

"I'm okay," Laken replied. "A doctor can't fix my wounded pride." Then she added, "I'm glad you came back for me. I owe you big time."

At that, Lachlan smirked, "You can make it up to me by reading me that Steinway book."

Laken chuckled, "Not like the piano! It's John Steinbeck's bookTravels with Charley ...

"Steinbeck is the poodle, right?" Lachlan answered with a knowing grin.

Cover to cover, Laken read Steinbeck's short 288-page anecdotal travels as Lachlan rewound his way onto I-40 West toward California. She paused along the way to take in the view westward, noting the change in terrain and the transformation from green fields and woods to broad rolling plains as they journeyed west. Watching the sun rise over their heads and slowly go down in front of them was fascinating, as though it beckoned them westward in its brilliance. Across numerous miles, Laken reached the end of the book, all two-hundred-and-eighty-eight pages.

"What do you think?" Laken asked as she closed it and looked at the scruffy-bearded handsome man behind the wheel of a bright-yellow Peterbilt.

"Well, I'm no literature critic. But Steinbeck has a way with words, Laken. His travels seemed like a way of discovering what America was about and, probably just as importantly, about finding out where he was going. A lot like you, maybe ..."

"I get that a lot--questions about where I'm going. About not having a road map for my life and my future. I'm just not ready to face that now. Maybe down the road," she replied as she lifted her legs and tucked them under her on the seat. It helped with the sun getting into her eyes.

"Does it bother you ... getting questioned and not having answers?"

"Yes. I guess. I close my mind and wish the decisions away. Guess I have a decision-making phobia, huh?"

Lachlan smiled, that wry grin with an infectious aura that reached out and touched Laken's skin. It also set a grin on her face and, somewhere deep inside, a strange sense of kinship with him. She was at ease watching the setting sun reach that blinding spot where the sun visor no longer protected her eyes.

"Time for a break. This old Peterbilt is starting to cook," Lachlan said as his hand rose to help shield his eyes from the blinding glare. "There's a Love's Fuel Station and Restaurant coming up."

Laken lugged her A-frame into the restaurant, needing a change of clothes. Upon Lachlan's return from the restroom, he found her. She'd changed into a fresh pair of fringe-frayed jean shorts and a cute tank top printed with 'Be Happy' curved up like a smile beneath a yellow happy face. In a corner booth, Laken was at the point of tears.

"Whatsa' matter?" he asked, reaching out to wipe a teardrop about to cascade down her freckled cheek.

She turned into a babbling fountain of tears and sobs at his touch. "My graduation money is gone! It's not in my backpack," she wailed, drawing attention from some neighboring tables.

Perhaps it was the stares, or out of compassion, that Lachlan reached out and drew her into his arms to quiet the tremors and ease the angst. "Shush, sugar, it's going to be okay."

It took a while for her to settle down and regain her composure. The comfort and warmth of his body eased her sobs as she snuggled against him like a chrysalis until she was again in control. She felt so soft, so easy, and warm in his arms. Reluctantly, he released his grip as she lifted her head from the crook of his neck.

"It's going to be okay, Laken. I got you." His solemn voice sounded reassuring despite her fears.

"But I don't have any money. My ID. Nothing!" Laken wailed. "It's all gone, except my Grandpa's lucky 1865 silver dollar. Probably took it when they drugged me, right? That's why they did it; they wanted to take my money?"

"No, sugar," Lachlan whispered as her head lay against his chest. "It wasn't about your money ... it was about making money ... using you -- as bait -- to attract more wolves."

He shook off the evil specter of what he had foiled as it rolled through his mind. That and his wonder of what police in Memphis must be thinking about. He hoped they viewed it as a sadist and a victim caught in a tragic, accidental reefer explosion.

At any rate, he sought to bolster her feelings and ease his prior comment, "Laken, I got you. We ... you have a couple of options as I see it. First, you call home, tell them you are okay, and ride back on a Greyhound. If you want to see it through, the second option is to make the coast in a few days. That way, you at least taste the other ocean and see if it is as salty as Myrtle Beach waters. Ya know, give yourself a few days to clear your head. Then, I put you on a bus back home, safer than trying to 'ride on a dime' across the Interstate."

"I'll ... think about it," Laken said, wiping a lingering teardrop away.

"Don't think about it," Lachlan reproached her gently, reaching out to touch her hand. "At least flip your grandpa's silver dollar and get a decision -- before dinner, sugar."

Laken smiled at his prodding. Everyone else had just let her slide in her indecisiveness. Lachlan pushed her harder. She made that decision. Taking Grandpa's lucky dollar, she tossed it into the air and said, "Heads -- I take a Greyhound. Tails -- I ..." She glanced at Lachlan, wishing it went that way, "... I taste the other ocean."

Skyward, she tossed the coin. Lachlan snatched it from the air, quickly palmed it, and slid it flat onto the table -- Tails."

"Looks like I'm stuck with you for a few more days," he said, trying to make light of the situation.

At Love's Fuel Station and Restaurant, Laken settled back against a bench seat and attempted a smile, saying, "I owe you big time -- again."

"Yes. And I intend to collect. You'll have to earn your 'ride on a dime' by reading me some more stories, at least until we get close to the ocean."

Palming the coin and sealing Fate's decision didn't bother Laken -- he didn't believe in Fate deciding things in his life. Besides, she had become good company on the long and winding Interstate system. He figured a few more days together would be suitable for both of them.

Studying his worried demeanor, she pointed out a problem with his plan, "I didn't bring any more books." She tried to smile through the moment, sensing he worried about something more than a companion to read him books.

"Well, after we eat, you can meander through the book stand in the lobby for something while I fuel up. How's that?"

"Okay," Laken agreed, "we eat at Love's and no wine this time."

The book rack certainly wasn't as plentiful as the shelves at Barnes and Noble. The selections were sparse; most were romance paperbacks with gaudy book covers of half-naked men and women in overly dramatic embraces.

"This one," she announced to no one in particular as she snatched it up, the last one of its kind in the rack. Its cover had a charming picture of a youthful girl standing in a vegetable patch, her eyes longingly fixed on something in the distance. The book's thickness drove her choice; she ignored the titleThe Granddaughter's Experience though it seemed innocuous. 'This one will take me a while to read on our sojourn west,' she figured. That was her measurement for selecting it.

Despite the solemn mood of their latest westward ride, both travelers tried to put the past behind them and roll forward to whatever Destiny, or wherever the flip of a silver dollar, brought them. Laken's lack of clarity and recall of that horrid event made it easier for her; Lachlan's vivid recollection and hiding of what transpired weighed more heavily.

Once more on the road, as the stars began to appear one by one, Laken opened'The Grandaughter's Experience' and began to read for Lachlan as he pushed his physical limits to put distance between his big yellow Peterbilt and the grizzly scene in Memphis.

Tired, Laken skipped the intro and missed the warning part. The part that read:

The content of this story concerns an imaginative eighteen-year-old girl's coming of age. She masturbates with garden vegetables and yearns for more, eventually planning to seduce her grandfather and explore what sex is like. She gets a taste of cunnilingus as a prelude for further adventures with him -- and the vegetables! There are some 'F' level vocabulary words used!

In her lilting reading voice, Laken began, "'My paternal grandfather is the wisest, kindest, and most generous person in the universe. He taught me practically everything I know! Even my mom and his only son, my dad, said so! It had to be true then, just like they told me!

"'Blessed with beauty, smart as Einstein, and sweet as grandma's homemade apple pie is how he describes me to everyone who doesn't already know me. Daily, I reveled in the truth of my grandfather's conviction. Even though it was a truism, it consumed me, down into the palpitating depths of my growing love for him!'"

"What d'ya think so far, Lachlan?" she asked, looking over as he concentrated on the dark roadway.

"Hum, sounds ... like it has a great narrator, Ms. Steinbeck," he chuckled. "Maybe it will get better."

Laken read on for several pages under the dim light as Lachlan switched on the interior cabin light for her -- then she faltered, stammered, and finally stopped.

"What? Big word got you stuck, Ms. Steinbeck?"

"Sort of -- it's got some vocabulary that ... I don't ..." she stammered.

"You told me you were a big girl, Laken. S'matter, can't ride the waves?" he chuckled.

"Promise you won't get mad?" she asked.

"Hey, I spent years in the Army. I don't think anything in there would make me blush, but from your tripping over the words, there is for you, right? It's okay. You're a great reader, Laken. If you want, change up the vocabulary. Some folks say 'sugar' when they want to spit it out as 'shit.' You can do that, you know?"

'I could, I could change the vocabulary. But that wouldn't be true to the story,' she thought and made a decision. One without the flip of a coin. She read on as the granddaughter spoke about her encounter with a girl on her first day at a public high school.

"'A hateful girl at school, shortly after I turned eighteen, told me, "Stupid bitch! You probably don't even know how to fuck yourself! Just get your Canadian-French face out of my fucking face, fucking bitch!" I turned and left her ranting as I strolled away from the school lockers that morning.'"

Laken's voice quivered as she stopped expecting some rebuke from Lachlan. He snickered instead.

"Now, Laken, that sounded like standard Army-speak, not Canadian. And the story seems a bit more interesting with your new vocabulary."

Laken blushed, though Lachlan couldn't see it in the dimly lit cab. 'He took that well,' she thought, pushing on for several more pages only to encounter another halting point as she skimmed ahead while reading aloud.

"Just when it was getting hot," Lachlan teased, "Ya gonna chicken out, Laken?"

"Fuck, no," she spit the words out, just to try them and pushed ahead with the story.

"'How does a girl...fuck herself?" I asked, hopefully thinking Grandpa had a wise answer for a sheltered girl.

"'As it turns out, his response was something I was already experimenting with in bed at night anyway. I hadn't yet associated it with the 'F'ing' word.

"'Grandpa walked me out to the garden as he explained the 'how to' process, selected a small cucumber about eight inches long and handed it to me. He chose another and proceeded to use his pocket knife to shape it. Amazingly, by the time he was done, it was transformed into a penis shape--similar to the one in the encyclopedia set in my bedroom. Except this one was not drooping! It had a few refinements, Grandpa said, as he pointed out some ridges he carved along the shaft. He left a few inches of unpeeled skin at the opposite end of the glans.

"'Unpeeled for a better grip," he remarked. The cuke felt slippery on its peeled surface, similar to the lubricity I found oozing from my mons late at night when my fingers explored my depth!

"'Ah ha!" I acknowledged as the light bulb switched on in my mind. I now understood how a 'girl could fuck herself.'"

Laken came to a complete halt, breathy and flushed.

"I take it that part made you a little nervous to read, seeing how your voice ticked up a bit," Lachlan remarked in the quiet rumble of the eighteen-wheeler's movement down the road.

"Kinda," she answered shyly, squirming a bit as her thighs squeezed together once or twice during the reading.

"Laken, we passed a sign back aways for a rest stop ahead. I gotta drain my radiator, so we'll make a pit stop."

"Don't you have to refill it to keep the engine cool?"

"Laken," he laughed, looking at her to see if she was pulling his leg, "I gotta take a piss -- that radiator kind of drain."

"Oh!" she said as his radiator reference made a connection. Its meaning dawned on her.

'Just how long is your 'radiator,' she wondered, thinking about that girl in the story using an eight-inch cucumber. Laken's radiator needed draining also. On that note, she asked herself, 'How big of a cucumber could I handle?'

"Laken, as much as I want to push on, I've got to get some sleep. We'll stay here for a few hours until dawn, then head out."

"I'll ... sleep on the bench seat then," she answered quietly as Lachlan locked the cabin doors. Her answer caught him by surprise. He hadn't considered the arrangements but realized it would be better for her to take the berth instead. He could rough it on the seat with a blanket and use her A-frame backpack for a pillow.

"Guest quarters are upstairs," he responded, pointing to the berth, quashing her attempt to take the bench seat.

Laken wasn't used to sleeping amidst the rumble of a diesel engine running throughout the night. Her mind was restless as she lay in the berth with her arms folded behind her head.

"Lachlan, remember we talked about decisions at the Love Station in Myrtle Beach? You told me sometimes, you have to take a leap of faith. Life's too short to play it safe?"