More from H.L. Logan
More From H.L. Logan
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Reunited
19
Preview of Lost Hearts
Chrissy
I’d driven west across nearly the entire country to leave my hurricane flooded home behind, and of course I end up smack dab in the tail end of the biggest monsoon that Arizona had seen in over fifty years. That was just my luck the past month, I guess. My “career” was going nowhere (if an entry-level job working in a soul-sucking call center could even be called a career), my apartment complex had turned into a submarine, and my parents stopped returning my calls ever since they found out the reason why I wouldn’t be getting a boyfriend any time soon. But hey, at least I had Henry.
“Right, Henry?” I stole a quick glance down at the space in front of the passenger seat where the little black cat was huddled, his eyes like giant saucers and the fur poofed up on his arched back. The poor guy was terrified of the rain, which was drumming madly on every window of the car, seeming to pound in from all directions. We hadn’t encountered any rain at all in the four days since leaving Georgia until today, when we entered the northern part of Arizona. Not only was it a surprise to get soaked, it was a shock to go from miles and miles of flat desert, to seeing trees and forests again. I hadn’t done much research before setting out on this journey, and so I’d expected to see nothing but barren landscape in the west all the way to California.
I found Henry a week ago—five days, actually—when I was wading through waist deep water, lugging my duffel bag on my head. I heard a tiny meow and saw this black bundle of fur, soaking wet, clinging on to a tree branch for dear life. I figured the poor guy had to have been up there for at least a couple days without food. I sloshed over to him, and he just jumped right on down onto my bag and stayed there as I made my way to the higher ground where I had parked my car before the storm hit.
Henry hadn’t had a collar or tags, and I guessed he was a stray. He was small, and was probably about four or five months old. Driving out of town, I’d thought about finding a shelter to turn him over to, but seeing him sleeping soundly on my passenger seat, with no home of family to go to, I fell in love with the little guy. We were both in the same boat, after all.
I’d always been a dog person my whole life, so I named him after my childhood dog, who’d also been small and black. The funny thing was that Henry (the cat, Henry) had almost dog-like responsiveness. He was completely relaxed being in the car, and at the first rest stop just outside of Atlanta, Henry jumped out of the car, strolled around, did his business, and then came back when I called to him. I’d been scared he was going to disappear somewhere, but at every single stop we’d made he’d always come back when I called.
Thunder rumbled overhead and Henry let out a stressed out yowl as he pressed himself further into the passenger foot well. “Sorry, baby,” I said, my fists gripping the wheel so hard that I wouldn’t have been surprised if it snapped off in my hands. My wipers were slapping madly, barely doing anything to clear away the torrents of water coating my windshield. The beams of my headlights only illuminated the wall of rain in front of me and not much more.
I cringed as I passed through a large section of standing water on the highway. Don’t spin out, don’t spin out, I thought as I felt the back wheels losing traction. Trees shot by on the right, and a pair of headlights seemed to appear out of nowhere on the left. I managed to regain control of the car just before smashing into a spin that would’ve either wrapped me around a tree or sent me into opposing traffic.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. My heart threatened to burst from my chest and I knew that I really needed to find a place to pull over. What I should’ve done was stayed back in Flagstaff. There wouldn’t be another city for a quite a while, and driving through this storm at night was just a terrible idea.
Henry meowed sadly.
“I know,” I said. “The next exit, I’ll turn off.”
Lighting flashed in the distance, throwing a stark light across the pine and fir forests towering on both sides of the two-lane highway, and casting them in a jagged silhouette. My headlights flashed across a sign that read “Armstrong Rd, 1 MILE”, with a smaller blue sign below it showing symbols for gas and food.
Thank God, I thought. If there were a gas station and places for food, it would probably be a good place for me to stop for the night. I’d found that café parking lots were fairly decent places for me to park my car to sleep, especially if they were the all night variety that attracted truck drivers. Parking right in front of the entrance of the restaurant where people could see me always made me feel safer. I could stay here until morning and hope that the storm would let up a bit.
The headlights of another passing car dashed across my windshield, glimmering through the thick blanket of rain, and I braced myself for the tidal wave of water sent up by its wheels. It battered the entire length of my car like a hundred angry fists, and Henry meowed again. I was beginning to realize that leaving this journey up to the winds of fate had been a very naïve idea. My cash reserves were dwindling, and were only enough to pay for a month’s worth of food and gas. The road wouldn’t just take me to where I needed to be. That sort of thing didn’t happen in real life.
What would I do once I reached California? One big city was not much different from the rest, and if I were lucky enough to find a new job there, it’d likely be as fulfilling as the last. I really had no plan. I didn’t even like city life.
The Armstrong road exit sign appeared suddenly out of the storm, and I quickly jerked the car off the ramp as lightning lit up the sky like a flashbulb. The road was small and worn, and in the downpour and darkness, it was hard to see where it ended and the forest began. I brought my speed down to barely a crawl. There were spots where small streams had formed and were pouring across the road, carrying debris with it, and every time I drove through one, I prayed that it wouldn’t somehow be much deeper than it looked. After a couple minutes, I passed a wooden sign that was carved with green painted trees and the words “Welcome to Armstrong, Arizona.” Ahead, I could see the glow of the gas station’s sign and the lights from its overhead canopy. It was a small, locally owned station that had an attached minimart and garage, and the parking lot was empty except for a single pickup truck. I pulled up underneath the canopy and stopped by one of the pumps, thankful to be finally under shelter. The light inside the minimart was on, and through the window, I could see the attendant watching TV, his legs kicked up onto the counter.
“Okay, Henry,” I said to my frightened furry friend, who was still lodged underneath the dash. “We’re here.” I silently prayed that I’d be able to find a place for him to do his business—I really didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night to a smelly mess in the car.
I opened the door, but Henry refused to come out from underneath the dash. “Henry, you gotta come out. Come on, do your business.” I crouched down on my haunches and held my hand out to try to beckon him over, but he only stared at me wearily, his pupils huge. I sighed. I’d been lucky with him, I realized. Extremely lucky. If he were like most cats, this journey would’ve been over a long time ago. “Sorry, Henry, I’m gonna have to pull you out of there,” I said, and I reached in and grabbed him under his arms and lifted him out. He didn’t fight me, but his fur was still puffed up and he didn’t look happy at all. I looked around for a dirt or grass place he could go to the bathroom, but the only spot was off away from the gas station and out in the rain.
Maybe if I go over to the trees, I thought unhappily. They were swaying in the wind and I wasn’t in the mood to get wet or hit by a falling branch, and I knew that Henry wouldn’t be very eager about it either. Suddenly, a huge bolt of lightning streaked across the sky above the station, lighting the whole place up stark white. The immediate thunderclap was so loud that it vibrated the metal canopy. I shouted and dropped to a crouch, and Henry leapt from my arms and bounded right back into the car. I’m sure if he were able, he would’ve shut the door and locked it right behind him, too.
“Shit,” I breathed. “Please don’t poo in the car.” I shut the door, pulled out an umbrella from the back seat, and walked toward the gas station market’s entrance. A huge lake of water seemed to stretch out between the overhead canopy and the front door, and the ground was so dark that I had no idea if it was an inch deep or a swimming pool. There was no getting around it. I sucked in a breath, opened my umbrella and fought to keep it under control from the wind, and went for it.
It was definitely not just an inch deep.
Water sloshed over the top of my shoes and I cursed under my breath as I did a weird little dance trying to touch the ground as little as possible, but it was no use. By the time I reached the entrance, my feet and the bottom of my jeans were completely soaked. I should’ve worn shorts. One more item to my list of stupidly poor planning.
A chime dinged as I pulled open the door. I closed my umbrella and plodded inside, the wet soles of my sneakers squawking noisily on the tile floor. The clerk, an older man with white hair peeking out from beneath a worn baseball hat, looked up from the small TV that was playing “America’s Got Talent”.