Taut: The Ford Book

“Put the baby in the car,” I tell the girl in a low voice that rumbles under Mrs. Pearson’s high-pitched one. She doesn’t even balk, just nods, puts the baby in the carrier, and heads to the door.

I did not have to tell her twice.

He obedience gives me more pleasure than it should and I’m trying to figure out why when Mrs. Pearson appears next to me cackling about how I should trade my Bronco in for a minivan like my rental. “It’s not my child, Mrs. Pearson. She’s some girl I’m helping out, that’s all.”

But Mrs. Pearson’s not listening. She just goes on and on about the safety rating on a Bronco. “I’m fairly certain a 1986 Bronco has no safety rating,” I tell her absently as I walk around the office lobby picking up the baby crap, shoving it into a diaper bag decorated with pink teddy bears. I make my way to the door as quickly as possible, barking out a loud, “Thank you,” as I go back out into the blizzard. The girl is still struggling with the seat in the back of the van so I stand and wait for her to be finished, the snow beating down on both of us. It seems rude to get in when she’s about to be blown across the parking lot.

She finishes with the baby and turns into me, her hands pushing on my chest and her eyes wide in surprise. I grab her wrists to remove her hands and she yelps. “Sorry,” she says softly, then snags the diaper bag and throws it on the floor. I back away as she whooshes the van door closed and runs to the other side to get in.

Mrs. Pearson is watching us from the door with a concerned look on her face and I get in hurriedly to prevent her from coming out to help. I slam the door and the girl lets out a long groan.

“Oh. My. God. I did not know it was possible for people to talk so—oh, shit! She’s coming! Go, go, go!”

I put the van in drive and give Mrs. Pearson a small wave as we pull away. “Yeah, she’s something, that woman.” I look over at the girl and she’s shaking her head, but also smiling. It’s the first time I’ve seen the smile. It’s nice.

She looks very different when she smiles. Softer.

Her eyes are wide and dark, excited. She looks back over her shoulder as we leave the motel behind and then her gaze rests on me. “Sorry. You’re probably wondering why I’m in your car.”

“I know exactly why you’re in the car.”

Her smile fades slowly. “Why? Why am I here? Why didn’t you tell me you were paying for my car to be fixed? Mrs. Pearson called over to the garage and that guy told her you were gonna take care of it. It’s a big bill. More than two thousand dollars. I—” She stops to study my face intently. “I don’t even know you. Why are you helping me?”

“I thought you needed it.”

She stares at me for a long time. I’m busy navigating my way across I-70 towards my house, but I can see her out of the corner of my eye. Hesitating. Like she’s got a choice in front of her and she’s not sure which way to go. “I do need it,” she finally says.

“That’s a nice change.”

“What is?”

“Admitting you need help. Most people refuse on principle.”

She grunts out a laugh. “I left my principles behind a while back.”

This piques my interest. “How so?”

“Never mind.” She turns in her seat to check the baby as I veer left onto Sunburst. “Not that I’m in the position to be picky, but where are we going?” She sits back down and suddenly realizes she has no seatbelt on and we’re driving through a blizzard. She drags it across her chest and snaps it in the other end.

“I have a family home here. We can stay there. I would’ve gone last night, but we’re at the very end of this road, up on a hill. Plus the house has been empty for two years, so it would not have been much comfort with no heat or hot water. It should be working now, though.”

She accepts that answer without comment, but a few seconds later she’s back. “How can you even see where you’re going?”

“This is Vail. It’s a small village situated in a very narrow valley between two giant mountains alongside a major highway. There’s really nowhere to go.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not a local, so pardon me.”

I ignore that and stop the van at the security gate that leads to our driveway. I open the window and the baby bellows out a wail when the wind blows snow in. I key in the code and the gate slides open. “If I had come last night, I’d never have made it past the gate with the snow. So good thing I didn’t try, I guess.”

She says nothing to that, just looks back at the baby with a concerned expression.

I close the window but the infant is not so easily consoled. At least the property management people plowed the driveway. Otherwise this stupid van really would’ve bottomed out on the way up. We climb slowly, the girl letting out a few gasps as we slip around, the all-wheel drive kicking in just in time. And then it flattens out and I pull around the side of the house to the garage. “Stay here, I have no garage door opener so I have to key it open with a code.”

I jump out and pick my way over to the door, minding the slick covering of ice under my dress shoes, then open the garage. The girl has jumped into the driver’s seat and she pulls the van in, looking like she’s trying hard to concentrate on doing a good job parking.

What have I started here? I’m not sure, but yesterday and today seem like two different lifetimes. Unrelated in almost every way.