Golem in My Glovebox by R. L. Naquin

Author:R. L. Naquin [Naquin, R. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2014-04-20T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Riley was on board. I had the feeling he and Art had been getting on each other’s nerves—they both seemed eager to get us the hell out of there. Bernice, embarrassed from having been caught in a lie about visiting the prisoner, didn’t have much to say on the matter.

Maurice, however, was a problem.

“I’m going with you,” he said.

I stood in the dark hallway outside my room, blinking at him. “What?”

“I’ll ride in the back. The windows are dark. Nobody will see me.”

“What about the house? And Stacy?” The concept had taken me so by surprise, my thoughts flailed around in my head looking for something solid to grab hold of. “What if Sara needs you?”

He chuckled. “Zo, they have phones, you know. Besides. All we need is a broom closet and I can be back there in seconds.”

“I don’t understand why you’d even want to go.”

“I’ve never been anywhere interesting. I always have to stay behind. I don’t pass for human, so I don’t get to go anywhere exciting, like Branson or Vegas. I want to see the lights, Zoey.”

For a minute, I actually thought he was going to cry. Maybe it was the low light of the hallway. “If it means that much, I guess you can come with us. But only until you see it, okay? It kind of makes me nervous that neither of us are at the house.”

“Andrew’s doing okay.”

“I’m sure he is, but I feel better when you’re in charge.”

Lunch had already come and gone before we left, but Branson was less than eight hours away, and with Maurice in the car, it made sense to arrive after dark anyway. He could see all the bright lights, and nobody could see him.

Now that we had another passenger, Gris insisted on sitting in the backseat with Maurice—which added Fauntleroy to his already unruly moniker once he introduced himself.

Gris and Maurice chattered constantly through the drive, sang show tunes, and then argued for eighty miles over whether Neil Diamond sang “Red, Red Wine” before UB40.

By the time we reached Springfield, my head pounded and Riley gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.

“What is that weird noise?” I asked, turning toward Riley in my seat.

A scowl the likes of which I’d never seen on him before carved deep lines across his face. For the first time, I could see how maybe reapers might be scary.

“Tire’s low.” He signaled and pulled to the shoulder. “Might be flat.”

Maurice unbuckled and sat forward. “What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?”

“Tire,” I said, getting out. “Stay put.”

“Where would I go?”

Gravel crunched under my feet. Riley came around to the passenger side, and we both stared at the puddle of rubber pooled beneath the wheel. Cars whizzed past on the highway, and my hair flew in every direction with their passing.

“Well, I’d say that’s flat.”

Riley nodded. “Guess so.”

We had to pull out the luggage to get to the spare. I had AAA, but between us, we could change the tire in less time than it would probably take for a mechanic to get there.

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