Sharon Sala - Don't Cry for Me

* * *

Mariah woke up and rolled over, but it wasn’t until she bumped against the back of the seat that she remembered where she was. She sat up gingerly, wincing when a muscle knotted in the back of her healing leg.

“You okay?” Quinn asked.

“I slept.”

He hid a grin. “I know. I’m stopping for gas. You’ll want to take a bathroom break here, because we have another two hours to go.”

“Okay.” She hesitated, then knew the sooner she got it said, the better. “You’ll have to help me into the store.”

“I know that, honey, and it’s no big deal to me, okay? If I hadn’t had my family to help me when I came home, I would have been in a world of hurt.”

The word family suddenly sank in. She began to wonder if she’d signed herself up to be staying in a house full of strangers.

“Do you still live with them?”

“Lord no,” Quinn said. “I have my own place up on Rebel Ridge.”

“What’s Rebel Ridge?”

“The name of the mountain where I grew up, remember?”

Her expression went blank. “No. I don’t. There’s a lot of things I don’t remember.”

Quinn glanced up in the rearview mirror. “But you remembered me, right?”

All she could see were his eyes looking back at her. “Yes, I remembered you.”

Their gazes briefly locked, and then his attention shifted as he turned off the highway into a large quick stop. He gassed up, then pulled up to the convenience mart and parked.

“Hang on and I’ll help you out,” he said.

Mariah ran her fingers through her hair and then rubbed the sleep from her eyes. It would feel good to stand up.

The hatch opened. Before she could think what to do, Quinn scooted her slippers onto her feet and then held out a hand.

“You move at your own speed. I’m just here to steady you, okay?”

“Yes.” She rolled over to the edge and then sat up.

Quinn grabbed on to her arm as she slid out, then locked the car.

“Ready when you are,” he said.

She took a deep breath and then a first step. Her body was stiff, but as soon as she began to move, it became easier.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Almost two in the afternoon. Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

“We’ll get something to eat before we leave here,” he said.

“I have some money,” Mariah said.

“That makes two of us, and we’ll be using mine,” he said, as he opened the door for her.

She gave him a look, which he ignored.

Quinn paused at the counter and asked the clerk, “Which way to the bathrooms?”

The clerk pointed.

Quinn slid his hand under Mariah’s elbow as they moved in that direction and then into the small hallway at the back of the store. Two doors faced each other. When Mariah tried to go into the women’s bathroom, she discovered that the door was locked.

“Somebody’s in there,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

Quinn reluctantly left her standing there as he went into the men’s room.

She leaned against the wall to take the weight off her bad leg and waited for the door to open. It didn’t take long for her to realize there was more than one person in there, and they seemed to be having a good time, which was weird. She could hear laughing and talking, and an occasional thud, like one of them had bumped against a wall. She’d had fun in a lot of places, but a Quick Mart bathroom wasn’t one of them.

A couple of minutes later Quinn came out, and when he saw that she was still leaning against the wall, he frowned.

“Are you still waiting?” he asked.

She nodded and rolled her eyes. “Sounds like a party going on in there.”

He moved toward the door, then stopped as if he’d just been punched.

“I smell smoke,” he muttered.

She nodded.

He leaned closer. “No. I smell pot.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Suddenly he doubled up his fist and began pounding on the door.

“Police! Open up!”

The clerk up at the front jumped off his stool and ran to the end of the counter to see what was going on, while inside the bathroom the sounds of squeals and shrieks grew louder, followed by a sudden flushing and a lot of running water.

“Open up!” Quinn yelled again, pounding harder.

The door swung inward. Two teenage girls came stumbling out of the bathroom. They took one look at Quinn and then stopped.

“Hey. You don’t look like the police.”

“I lied, and smoking weed will rot your brains,” he muttered, and pulled them out of the doorway so Mariah could go inside.

She was struggling not to laugh as she shut and locked the door. The bathroom smelled like the back room of a bar she knew down in Lexington, but at least it was finally vacant. By the time she came out, the girls were long gone and Quinn was leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

She grinned.

Quinn looked her up and down, then slowly smiled, like he was trying her on for size and had decided she was a fit.

“Corn dogs, burritos or overdone chicken strips are in the deli case,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose. “Do they have any cans of Vienna sausages in the grocery section?”

His smile widened. “Why yes, I believe they do. What would you like to go with them?”

“A dill pickle, crackers and a Pepsi.”

“I am so remembering why we clicked,” Quinn drawled.

Mariah rolled her eyes. “And all this time I thought it was about my boobs.”

He laughed out loud. “For that, you also get dessert.”

“A Butterfinger? I haven’t eaten a Butterfinger candy bar in forever.”

“You can have anything you want. Do you want to go back to the car to wait, or are you still okay?”

“I’m okay, but I’ll wait up at the counter and let you do the shopping.”

Quinn hesitated, then touched her cheek. “I am so sorry this has happened to you, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again.”

Mariah shrugged. “Just wait until I come unglued on you, then see if you still feel the same.”

He frowned. “We’re all fucked, woman. It’s how we came back. Doesn’t mean I’m ready to quit living.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean you still have—”

He interrupted. “Let’s get our stuff and get back on the road. We can talk later.”

It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about himself any more than she wanted to admit what was going on inside her head.

Instead of making her worry, it was oddly reassuring.

“Don’t forget my pickle,” she said.

“I won’t,” he said, and then held out his hand. “I didn’t forget anything about you.”

Mariah took it gratefully to steady herself. “Everything I remember is in a jumble in my head.”

“It will get better,” Quinn said. “I promise. However, all you have to remember today is who you’re going home with, and that’s me. Let’s go get the grub so we can get back on the road.”

* * *

The remnants of their meal were in a sack between Mariah’s feet. She’d fallen asleep in the front seat with a half-eaten Butterfinger in her hand, pickle juice on the front of her shirt and tears on her face. A muscle jerked in his jaw as he shifted his gaze back to the road. He could imagine what was going through her head, but he couldn’t fix it. At this point all he could do was keep driving, because he wasn’t going to wake her.

The next time she woke up, Quinn was slowing down again. When he took a turn off the highway onto a two-lane blacktop road, she sat up, wincing as stiff muscles complained.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Pretty close to home. Welcome to Rebel Ridge,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yeah. Are you okay? Do you want to lie down in the back again? This has been a hell of a ride for you today.”