The Fury - Jason Pinter [36]
go to this cabin in the Adirondacks up by Blue
Mountain Lake. I think Helen's parents left it to her or
something. He went up there to work, and Helen usually
went with him. She was quiet enough, and it's not like
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she had anyone else. Not exactly the kind of woman
who liked to be alone."
The Adirondacks were about a four-and-a-half-hour
drive northwest of the city. I'd never been up there, but
knew it was a popular spot for camping, hiking and just
getting away from the world for a while.
Something a mother might do if her only son was
murdered.
"Rose," I said, "would you mind giving me that
address?"
14
We finished the car rental paperwork by noon, then
loaded the vehicle up with coffee, snacks and Amanda's
iPod. I fought the good fight to bring mine, but lost
despite a valiant effort. To be honest, it wasn't much of
a fight since I learned early in our relationship that
when it came to playing music, Amanda had the one and
only vote. The only thing I could do was learn to love
Fleetwood Mac and early Britney Spears. Though I did
worry that listening to "Rumors" right after "Oops!...
I Did It Again" might cause my head to distend like
when you poured cold water on hot metal.
It was Saturday. Hopefully we wouldn't hit much
traffic, the rest of the city either sleeping off hangovers
or snacking on fried dough with powdered sugar at a
street fair.
Luckily the car had an iPod dock built in. Amanda
hooked it up and began scrolling through songs. I
started the engine and pulled into traffic and headed
toward the George Washington Bridge.
"You know, isn't there some kind of rule stating that
whoever drives gets to choose the music?"
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"I think that law was considered outdated in the
1970s. Now the female in the car gets to choose the
tunes."
"What if there's more than one woman in the car?"
I asked.
"Then it goes to the most dominant female," she said
drily. "If need be you lock them all in a steel cage and
whoever is the last one alive chooses the music. Kind
of like Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome."
"Nice to know after all these years Mel Gibson still
exerts influence over all realms of pop culture."
"Stop whining," she said. "Here. Try this one. And
if I hear one reference to 'sugartits' you can walk
upstate alone."
She pressed Play, and soon a familiar tune came over
the speakers. It was Bob Dylan's "Not Dark Yet." It was
a beautiful, melancholy song. I looked at her, confused.
"I know you like this song," she said, a sweet smile
spread across her lips. "I figured we can split music
choices. There's more stuff you like on there."
I stayed quiet, just smiled at her, listened to Dylan
sing.
As we began the drive, we fell into a routine that was
becoming familiar and comforting. Our conversations
came easily. Each silence felt warm rather than simply
because of a lack of topics to discuss. Being by this
girl's side filled me up in a way I'd never truly experi
enced. Nothing between us had been forced. From the
moment we met during the most stressful situation
imaginable, there were a million moments when, if
we'd not been stronger, things could have broken apart.
Not too long ago I'd done just that. I thought I was
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being noble, chivalrous. Putting her life before mine. I
learned quickly my heart didn't agree with that
decision, and neither of us had rested easy.
When I contacted her for help on a story--that phone
call as much for emotional help as professional--it was
only a matter of time before we got back together.
Amanda was smart, tough, resilient. Stronger than I
was. And together we were more than the sum of our
parts. If not for her, my father might still be sitting in an
Oregon prison trying to simply wait out the legal
process. At least now we had a chance to help set things
right.
Of course, the one bad thing about being together
was our tendency to snack. We went through two large
coffees, a giant bag of Combos and half a dozen cookies
by the time we hit I-95. If we kept going at this