Unexpectedly, Milo - Matthew Dicks [128]
He finished his story with the litany of demands currently plaguing him, leaving off the pressure seals, since that one had thankfully been satisfied.
“So I need to bowl a strike, which wouldn’t be hard if I could find a bowling alley. I could probably find one using the GPS.”
“Okay,” Emma said. He couldn’t tell if her response was sincere or patronizing, but he continued.
“And I’ve got this new one. God, I feel like an idiot for even saying this, but I’ve got to let the air out of the tires. Replace it with fresh air.”
“The air in these tires?” Emma asked, motioning to the corners of the car with a quick twirl of her index finger.
“Yeah. These tires. God, I hope these tires are enough,” Milo said, suddenly realizing that they might not be.
“Me too,” Emma said, grinning. “Otherwise you’re going to piss off a whole bunch of people.”
“Yeah,” Milo said, suddenly concerned about a demand that he had considered relatively benign moments ago.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. One more thing, but this will probably have to wait. I need to sing at a karaoke bar.”
Emma smiled, one that could have easily developed into a laugh, but this time, she held back.
“And it can’t just be any song. It’s got to be ‘Ninety-Nine Luftballons.’ The song by Nena from the 1980s.” Milo paused for a moment before adding, “The German version. But I have the CD if we can find a place.”
“Is that it?” Emma asked.
“Yes,” Milo said. “I mean, I’m sure there’s stuff I forgot to tell, but considering I’ve never told a soul anything about this, I think I did pretty good. That’s it.”
With those final words, Milo sighed. His story was complete. He’d been as honest and as forthright as he could possibly be, and he marveled at how the number of people on the planet who knew his secret had suddenly doubled. He wasn’t sure if this was the end of the world for him or the just the beginning.
Unsure of what to do next, Milo remained silent, determined to wait for Emma to respond. He began counting in his head, ticking the seconds that passed in order to avoid filling the void with his own words. He had said enough, he thought. More than he had ever said before, and he was ready to wait and listen. He had reached the number thirty-eight when Emma finally spoke.
“So where should we start? The tires, maybe?”
“What?”
“The tires. We’ve got to let the air out. Right? It seems the easiest to do, as long as we can find a gas station with free air. And as long as our four tires are enough.”
“You don’t need to do this, Emma. This isn’t your—”
“Stop.” She raised her hand with the misplaced authority of a crossing guard, halting him midsentence. “Look, Milo. I’m not going to pretend that I’m not a little stunned by what you just told me. Stunned and a little sad for you and even a little impressed. And I have a million questions, if you’re willing to answer them. But either way, we’re in this thing together. At least as far as Connecticut is concerned. So let’s get this done and get moving. Okay?”
“I can wait until we find a hotel, if you’d like. I can handle it myself.”
“C’mon, Milo. Do you really think that I haven’t noticed the changes in you in the last few hours? The way you’ve been gripping the steering wheel like you’re trying to tear it off. The way you can barely sit still in your seat, like you’ve got ants in your pants. You’ve nearly sweated through your shirt, for God’s sake. I was starting to think that you were on something. I’m kind of glad to find out it isn’t drugs. It’s not quite what I expected, but at least you haven’t been shooting up in the men’s room every time we stop. If we’re going to make it to Cassidy, you need to do these things. Right?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but yeah. I really do.”
“Don’t be sorry. You said it yourself: You don’t have any control over what or where or how these