Taut: The Ford Book

“Yeah,” Ash says softly. “Me. I feel the need for gas station food. Can you wait a few more minutes while I finish up? Then I’ll put her back in her seat and we can go.”

“Yeah, sure.” All I really want to do is get the f**k out of here, but babies have to take priority over my guilt, so I busy myself looking for music on my phone. “What bands do you like? I have no radio but I can make this hunk of shit play Spotify.”

Ashleigh laughs. “You have a cassette player, Ford.”

I reach over and open the glove box and pull out one of those contraptions you stick in the cassette deck so you can hook modern shit up to an old-ass car. “I’m an Eagle Scout, remember? I’m always prepared.”

“Play something soft then. So she’ll fall asleep.” Soft. I do a quick search on my phone and come up with a playlist of classical music for babies. When it starts playing Brahms’ Lullaby Ashleigh lets out a little sigh. “That’s perfect.”

“Yeah. It sorta is.” I turn around and look at the baby. She’s pink and a little bit sweaty in all her clothes and blankets. Her hair is very dark, like Ashleigh’s, and I know her eyes are dark and not blue because I’ve seen them, but they are closed now as she suckles for a few seconds, then stops and just when I think she’s really asleep, she suckles again. “What’s her name? You never told me her name.”

“You never asked,” Ash says as she peeks up at me through her hair.

“I’m a dick, I know.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll cut you some slack because I get the feeling you’re used to being on your own. Her name is Katelynn, like the two names put together and not the trendy spelling. But I call her Kate. Like the Duchess.”

“Kate,” I say as I turn back to pick out my dad’s headstone in the small sea of markers popping up from the snow. “It’s perfect. Very classic.”

“Like the music,” Ashleigh replies.

“Yeah,” I say, looking back at Ash. She’s got her eyes closed now—the baby’s pushing her sleep button. I laugh a little at that and she opens her eyes for a moment, then they get heavy and drop again. “You want me to go? Or you need to put her back in the seat?”

“No,” she says with her eyes still closed. “I’ll put her back.” And then she gently removes the baby from her breast and whispers soft things in her ear so she’ll stay asleep when Ashleigh buckles her up. She climbs over the console, resting her hand on my shoulder for support, and plops down in the passenger seat. “Sorry, I forgot I can’t touch you. It won’t happen again.”

I squint my eyes at that remark, wondering if it was a dig, but she just busies herself with her seatbelt and ignores me.

“OK, I hope you’re happy. We’re officially an hour behind schedule.”

“Are we on a schedule?”

I look over at her as I start the engine. “Are you on a schedule?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I have meetings every day this week, but f**k it. I missed today and I’ll miss the rest most likely. But I’m not worried about it so we’ll just do our thing and we’ll get there when we get there.”

Ashleigh smiles at me. “Sounds good to me.” She turns her head to the window and tucks her legs up near her chest, like she’s trying to curl up into a ball. And before I can get back onto the highway that will take us back to I-70, she’s asleep.

I have to admit, I might like Ashleigh. She’s assertive with me, and she was pretty pissed off this morning, but she’s not a grudge-holder. She might be the opposite of me, actually. She’s almost easy-going. And that’s something considering how much stress she’s probably under. She’s small. She can’t be any more than five foot two. And she’s very blunt. She doesn’t offer much, but every time I’ve asked, she’s given me more than I’d give her. And she’s not pushy. She did try to insist I come out here to the cemetery, but I doubt she’d have been mad for long if I refused. And whenever she gets the back-off vibe from me, she does exactly that. She gives me space. It almost makes me want her more when she pulls away like that.

So what is she? She might be a Complier. With conditions. Because she’s kind of a Fighter too. But not a Grudge-holder. And she likes me, that I know for sure. She would not travel across four states with her infant baby if she didn’t at least like me. And she’s a Mother. I’m sorta digging that part of her. How she talks to the baby in that low whisper and the way she falls asleep when she’s nursing. I like it.

Plus she keeps my mind off Rook.

And maybe it’s wrong to use her like that, but I’m having a hard time feeling bad about it right now.

Chapter Twenty-One

The girls sleep all the way to Grand Junction. I almost want to wake Ashleigh so she can see the drive because it’s really breathtaking, but I guess if she was interested in it, she’d try to stay awake.

“I can’t believe you’re still listening to this music, Ford,” she says as she tries to pull herself out of her slumber in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

“I barely noticed it. My mother played this kind of stuff for me all growing up. Said it was calming.” I look over at her and I can tell she likes it when I talk about personal things because her mouth forms this half-smile and her eyes open a little wider. “And it is. Put the two of you to sleep.”