He did. Nothing. Just a jingle of keys, then silence.
“All right,” she said. “So now we know. We’re stuck.” She was having trouble breathing.
“It’s not so bad,” he said, scampering to the back of the van. “Look, we have water and food and, you know, even blankets. Moving pads, really, but they’ll do. Look how thick they are! And hopefully it won’t get too cold tonight. We’ll be okay.”
Pru wanted to be cool and cooperative but her stomach was churning. She couldn’t remember the last night she’d spent outside. She didn’t think she was the most regimented person on the face of the planet, but honestly. Shouldn’t they be shouting for help, sending out smoke signals, something? She couldn’t spend all night out here, in the wilderness. What were they supposed to do, for all these hours, with no movie theater, no restaurant, nothing? What would she smell like in the morning? She didn’t have so much as a toothbrush!
Pru sat in the front seat, shivering. Her family hadn’t been one of those camping families. They might take a small cottage on a lake for a week or two during summer, but never in her life had she slept out in nature. The Whistlers liked to be home, in their beds, reading well past midnight. Oh, how she wanted to be home! She needed people and running water. Dead bolts and a security system and, when she could afford it, a night doorman. John seemed perfectly content with the unexpected adventure, this rent in the fabric of the everyday. He was actually enjoying this. He was hopping around, making a pile of blankets, cheerfully going through the bag of food he’d brought for their lunch, rationing the leftovers.
When he saw her sitting there, unmoving, he said, “You’re not okay, are you?”
“I’m fine,” she managed to reply. “Good.” She practically whispered it. She was furious with him. How irresponsible! How stupid! And she’d wanted so much to like him. But a man who let himself get lost, who drove a half-dead van up the side of a mountain—was this a man you’d trust to pick up your own children from soccer practice?
“We’ll be okay,” he said. “I promise. There’s no one around for miles.”
“Oh, great,” she groaned. She was remembering the bits of the shower scene from Psycho she had glimpsed through her fingers, when Rudy had discovered she’d never seen it and decided it was an essential part of her cultural education. She also remembered how, a few nights later, Rudy actually ripped open the shower curtain while she was in there, scaring the absolute bejesus out of her. Although he apologized immediately and swore up and down he had no idea it would terrify her so, it was days before she’d even let him spend the night. And she never again took a shower when he was around.
Because, when it came down to it, Pru was an absolute chicken. That was why she lived in the city, in an apartment building, surrounded by people. People, people, people, please, and more people. Nothing can happen to you with that many people around. At least, if something does, there are witnesses.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”
She grabbed his arm. “What?”
“To use the facilities. The bushes.”
“Oh,” she said, releasing her grip. “Okay.”
While he was gone she searched the glove box for anything she might be able to use as a weapon. The only thing she found was a very short screwdriver. He was away for a long time. She sat there with the little screwdriver in her hand, feeling alternately scared and foolish. He was gone so long that she finally rolled down the window and yelled his name.
“John?” she called, louder. She strained her ears. No movement, no response, nothing. She sat up, tense and alert. Her fingers tightened around the ridged handle of the little screwdriver.
“John?”
Suddenly, there was someone standing next to her, outside her window. “What?”
She almost leapt out of her skin. “Jesus!”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t do that again!” Her heart felt as though it would explode out of her chest.
“Okay. Sorry. I was just looking around the ranger’s station again. This van is going to get cold, you know. I thought I might find a way inside.”
He opened the rear doors of the van, and she could hear him rummaging around back there. “You get under these blankets,” he said. “You’ll be warm enough, I think. It shouldn’t get much below thirty, if we’re lucky. And these are pretty thick. You’ll be okay.”
“What are you going to do?”
He was climbing into the front seat. “I’ll be up here,” he said. “Okay? I’ll lock the doors.”
Pru made her way to the back of the van, and slipped between the moving blankets he’d piled up for her. They were quilted, very thick and heavy. But John was right, she was entirely warm and cozy under them.
“How are you doing?” he called from the front seat, when she was settled.
“I feel like an armoire.”
“They’re a little moldy, aren’t they? Sorry.”
“Why do you even have these?”
“What? Oh. From when Lila moved out. She took some furniture with her.”
“Did you help her move out?”
“Yeah. It seemed the decent thing to do.”
A new thought struck her.
“Is it okay if we fall asleep? We won’t die or anything, will we?”
“No.” That was all he said, that one word. No other explanation. But it reassured her. She was going back to liking him again. Already, she missed his nearness.
“Are you okay up there?” she asked, after a minute.
“Just fine.” A pause, then: “Wow, the stars are amazing. Oh, wow. You should see Delphinus. Look, see that diamond? With nothing else much around it?”
“No.”
He turned around. “Are you even trying to look?”
“I already know I can’t see. I can never see constellations. I
