American Boy - Larry Watson [70]
Dr. Dunbar left me with parting words: “Now you stay out here. Stay out until that fucking hot blood of yours cools off, and you’re fit for human company!”
19.
I DIDN’T BOTHER TRYING TO GET UP until I heard the door close, and I could be sure they were back inside the cabin. My clothes were wet, my face was throbbing, and I started to shiver.
But I had no intention of staying there. Nor would I howl or claw at the door. I fumbled around with my stiff, freezing fingers until I found the keys to the Valiant in my pocket. I climbed into the car, started it up, and put it into reverse. I backed into a snowdrift, but then I put the car in drive and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The tires churned and spun in the snow, but finally found their traction and I sped away from the Wagon Wheel. If I’d known the way to Denver—or to Minneapolis or Winnipeg—I might have driven in that direction. As it was, I headed back toward Willow Falls.
Sure that I would soon see the pursuing headlights of the doctor’s Chrysler in the rearview mirror, or even the flashing red lights of a county sheriff or highway patrolman, I drove as fast as I dared. Curves came up before I could slow for them, and I often veered over into the oncoming lane. I hit icy stretches of road before I could prepare for them. But as long as the highway behind me was dark, I was free, and my speed only made that state more exhilarating, though that state had to be temporary. In addition to any other offenses, I was now a car thief.
Obviously, I no longer had any hope of a life with Louisa Lindahl. But even as I admitted that to myself, I had to smile at the thought. As if I’d ever had a chance! I never would come closer to Louisa Lindahl than I had when she’d lain anesthetized on the doctor’s table. The other occasions of contact had been stolen, forced, or inconsequential. The kiss had been nothing but mockery. I’d believed that I could compete with a grown man, and a man of power and stature at that, a man of intelligence and charm and good looks. I wasn’t going to Denver with or without Louisa. I was heading back to my hometown, and once there, I’d park the Valiant right where it belonged—in the Dunbars’ driveway. Then I’d walk home in the cold once again, and climb into my own bed and wait for the punishment that was sure to come my way. The best I could wish for was that I’d fall asleep quickly, so I wouldn’t have to lie awake and think about what a self-deluding fool I’d been.
Fast in the track of these realizations came a strange sensation. A calm suffused me, and it was composed of equal parts resignation and hope. As I covered the lonely miles, hunched over the steering wheel, the feeling that came over me was similar to what I’d felt driving in the other direction, when the wind subsided and the snow faded—maybe I’ll make it.
The car’s heater provided enough warmth to stop the rattling from the chills I’d had since being stomped into the snow. I leaned back and eased up on the gas.
That was when it happened.
The sudden deceleration might have caused the tires to lose their bite. Maybe I touched the brakes. Perhaps I hit a patch of black ice. Whatever the cause, the Valiant suddenly went out of control, revolving furiously down the highway. If another car had been coming, I’d have been helpless to prevent a collision.
Eventually the car stopped spinning, only to slide backward into a snow-filled ditch. For a moment I sat there, unable to believe my luck, and paralyzed by thoughts that canceled each other out. You could have been killed. Now you’ll never get away.
I knew what I’d find when I climbed out of the car. A few trees stood near the road, and their remnant bur oak leaves chattered in the wind. A coil of snow tumbled across the highway. Overhead a near-full moon glowed with a pale, cold light. The stars glittered like chips of mica in a black road. Somewhere, at a distance beyond sight, a wood fire kept someone warm,