Part III
Frank follows the highway, bored. He has driven this stretch of road several hundred times, and there is nothing to look at, nothing but corn and bean fields for miles. They stretch out into the distance, while he guides the silver car between the broken yellow line to his left, and the solid white line to his right. He is satisfied, not minding the boring drive this day, though it is much better going the other direction. Still nothing to look at, but something to look forward to. This way, though. This way is different. Heading home, after having spent a beautiful summer day away, it's hard to turn the car around and go home. To quiet and work and everyday life, where there is no little boy to grab his hand and ask for 'fishy' stories, no grown son to discuss politics with, no pretty daughter-in-law to fawn over him and bring him endless cups of coffee just the way he likes.
Anna sits quietly next to him, he can not tell if she is truly asleep or just lost in thought. He reaches for her hand. She is a comfort, his Anna. He understands that she is sad to leave as well, they are, the two of them, the same in this. They celebrate the day, and mourn the day's end. They are lucky, though. Jeff and his wife and little Ben are only an hour away. He gets uneasy thinking that Jeff's job could transfer him. He thinks that it would not take much to convince Anna to pull up stakes and follow if the kids were to move further away. He knows that she loves their home, the home they worked hard to pay off, the home they raised Jeff in, but he also knows that even the sixty odd miles that stand between them all are sometimes too much for her. For him, as well.
The sky darkens, and Frank clicks on the headlights. He thinks of his son, a man now, with a son of his own. He takes comfort in knowing that Jeff is a good man. He is a good father. He does not seem to suffer from the doubt that plagued Frank when Jeff was young. Frank knows that he always tried, but he did not ever know or feel as if he was doing things 'right'. Now that he has seen Jeff with little Ben, he is more sure than he has ever been that he did okay. They have raised up a good man. A man who works hard and is kind and generous and loving. He is somewhat inclined to believe that it is to Anna's credit, more than his own, that their son turned out to be someone they are both deeply proud of. He knows that Anna would disagree with this.
Guiding the car to the top of a hill, Frank sees something move off the pavement and down into the ditch. His foot automatically comes off the gas pedal, his mind thinks, "deer", and he leans forward in his seat, squinting. It is still too far away to tell. Anna stirs next to him. She is upright now, seeing the same thing he has seen. It is not a deer. It is a person. A person with a light colored shirt. Closer now, he sees it is a woman.
Passing her, Frank wonders about the circumstances which would lead such a little thing to be walking out on the darkened, nearly abandoned highway. He thinks of the news he has seen, and the newspaper articles he has read. He thinks of well meaning people who unknowingly endangered themselves. He thinks of Grace and little Ben, and what he would want if they were stranded.
"Frank." Anna says, from his right.
"Hmmm." He answers, knowing. He knows. He knows it is not right to keep driving, but that is dangerous to stop.
"Frank, that was a girl."
"Anna....no." He answers. He is not willing to put his wife in danger's way. He does not know this woman's story, nor does he wish to know it.
"Frank." She insists.
"Anna." He answers, firm.Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his beloved wife cross her arms. She is angry. She has dug her heels in and will spend the rest of this drive silently judging him. That is fine. He is willing to risk her ire. He is not afraid of getting involved, not afraid to help, and truth be told, if he did not have Anna in this car with him, he would have stopped. But he worries for her.
"What if we'd had a daughter?" She whispers out into the silence.
His anger flashes.
"No daughter of mine would be walking out on the highway at night." He retorts. And even as he says it, he knows that this is wishful thinking. His imaginary daughter could encounter all manner of things, dangerous and otherwise.
And so, he finds himself pulled over on the shoulder, waiting for a stranger in the dark. His wife is right. It is the right thing to do, though even as he knows this, he is hoping that the woman turned in the opposite direction towards the gas station, and does not, in fact, approach their car at all. But this is not to be.
In the rear view mirror, he watches her draw nearer to the car, and even in the darkness, he can see that he was wrong. This is not a woman at all, this is a girl. Anna was right about that, as well. She is young, and dust covered. Her expression is one of shock, then fear. Frank rolls down his window.
"Need some help?" He asks the darkness.
He feels Anna reach for the straps of her purse. Frank knows that she is suddenly fearful of what she has gotten them into. The girl stands outside the car, leaning a bit, to see who she is talking to. At once, he notices that her upper arms do not match the other skin. They are dark, as if smudged with ink or soot. They are bruised, he knows. And deep within his belly, somewhere underneath....he understands that those bruises came from a human hand, wrapped around the soft flesh of a small bicep. It is unmistakable. He has seen this before. On the arms of a waitress named Anna, before she was his Anna. Frank sucks in his breath through his teeth.
Anna and the girl are exchanging words, and Frank understand his wife well enough to know that the girl would do well to just save her breath and get into the car. His wife is not to be denied. He can hear it in her voice. Eventually, the girl resigns, and climbs into the back seat.
Promptly, Frank's nose is assaulted with the smell of cigarette smoke. There is a part of him that misses it, this habit he gave up so long ago. To others it is an acrid, nasty odor, but to him, only sometimes, it is a scent that brings him back to his early days, back to when he didn't think of his own mortality, or that of his loved ones. He also smells what he is sure is vomit. He steals a glance into the rear view mirror at her. She does not appear to be drunk. He can see tracks down her cheeks where tears have fallen recently. Everything about this girl screams, "BROKEN" to him.
Anna shifts in her seat, he hears lies spewing from the behind his wife, talking about car troubles and he wonders if the lie tastes bitter on the strange girl's tongue. There was no car on the stretch of highway. No flashing yellow hazard lights, no vehicle among the rows of corn and beans. Her car is not what left her stranded out here.
A short time later, Anna claims that she is thirsty, and he finds himself pulling into a gas station. He knows his wife. She is telling a lie of her own, because she would never ask to stop this close to home. Anna and the girl exchange words, he only catches bits about car trouble and a purse. The three of them push through the glass door into the harsh lighting of the station. The girl does not follow his wife. Anna gently touches the back side of his arm, and whispers her thanks to him.
Frank can tell that Anna has lost herself in yesterday. Lost herself in what could have been. Anna herself has credited him with 'saving' her, but he has never thought this. He did not save her, but he watched closely as she saved herself from the monster she had left behind. They discussed it rarely. Frank did not know what she had suffered, exactly, but he knew that in the early days, Anna would flinch if he moved to quickly, and cower and apologize for the smallest, trivial things. It had taken a lot of months for him to earn her trust, for her to cease to lower her eyes when he raised his voice too loudly. It had taken too much time.
Once, years and years ago, while celebrating with a close friend in a country western bar, Frank had come face to face with Anna's nightmares. And Frank, having never in his life been angry enough to strike another person before, grabbed a hold of this stranger's shoulder, spinning him, and had delivered a blow to his face that had vibrated pain waves all the way down to Frank's toes. In the minutes afterwards, in a flurry of activity, Frank had not felt anything but simple satisfaction in his act. He had given what his Anna had gotten, and there was no regret in that. He had never told her. He had sworn his dear friend to secrecy and lied and told Anna that he had slammed his hand in a car door. And he knows, while standing in this gas station, that if he was given the choice, that if he could revisit that night from so long ago, he would do it again, maybe twice.
Frank reaches the car before the girl and his wife. In the darkness, while Anna is not paying attention, he slides a fifty dollar bill into her purse.
Frank slides the gearshift into 'Park', behind a small black pickup truck. This is the address the girl has given. This is the place they will leave her. Anna gets out with her, but Frank stays put. He does not hear their conversation, only something about rides and strangers.
Anna returns to the car, sighing as she pulls her door shut and simultaneously reaches for her seat belt. Together, they leave the girl behind.
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