My heart sank.
No, I wasn’t going to think about that now. Tanya and I would probably fight after I got home from this trip. She’d grudgingly backed down, and she’d been somewhat more agreeable about it last night after I’d explained (again) why Marques and I needed to go. She knew how badly Dad wanted to get his hands on a Zoe Neelan piece, and how good this collection would be for the gallery. She just wasn’t happy about how we were going about getting that collection back to Virginia Beach, and neither of us could come up with a compromise that didn’t involve telling Dad to find someone else for this trip. By the time I got home, she’d either be itching to fight about it again, or she’d have moved on from it, and I wasn’t sure which option made me feel guiltier.
I shook myself and glanced at Marques. “So, um. Do you want to listen to any music?” I didn’t, but it was something to focus on besides the tension waiting for me at home.
He shrugged. “I’ve got plenty on my phone. Any preferences?”
“Not really.” I wrinkled my nose. “But if you put on Daddy Flay again, you’re walking.”
A laugh burst out of him. “Oh come on!” As he started hooking up his phone to the car stereo, he said, “Daddy Flay is awesome and you know it.”
“He is not awesome.” I gestured at the stereo. “Don’t even.”
Marques chuckled, sounding just a little bit evil. “What are you gonna do about it? Tell your dad you booted me out because you didn’t like my music?”
“Son of a…”
He snickered as he sat back in his seat. “That’s right. You’re gonna listen to whatever I play, and you’re gonna like it.”
“You suck.”
“So I’ve been told.”
We exchanged glances, and we both laughed.
He put on some music—not Daddy Flay, thank God—and set his phone in the console between us. “So do you think it’s a good idea to go this way?” He gestured ahead of us. “The Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel in this wind?”
“I’d rather put up with the weather on the bridge-tunnel than hit Washington traffic at rush hour.”
“Oh. Good point.” He shifted in his seat. “Just, uh, be careful on that thing, all right?”
“Always am. Don’t worry.” I flashed him a quick and sincere smile. Marques had never been a fan of the bridge-tunnel. A lot of people weren’t. With the weather being this shitty today, there was definitely a risk of us being knocked around by the wind, not to mention sliding or having minimal visibility thanks to the relentless rain. And that was to say nothing of the other drivers who didn’t think they should slow down on a completely exposed strip of asphalt high above the water.
I didn’t find it scary, but I respected it, and after I’d paid the toll, I started onto the bridge at thirty-five miles an hour. There was a wind advisory, so the speed limit was forty-five, but with the rain, I didn’t want to push it.
Good thing, too—I was used to driving my car in crap weather, but this thing was a lot bigger. The wind slammed into it, and I had to fight to keep it between the lines. It had decent traction, though, so that was a plus; even when I hit some standing water, it held the road. No way was I going to challenge that ability by driving faster, though. These other idiots could pass me all they wanted—and they did—but I was going to be careful, and not just for my nervous passenger’s sanity.
Marques turned off the music. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to cut down on distractions for me, or if there was just no point in keeping it on because the rain beating on the windshield was too loud to hear anything. Either way, I didn’t protest.
The first tunnel took us out of the wind and rain, and the noise stopped so abruptly it was jarring. When we reached the other end of the tunnel, the wind and rain smacked against the SUV again, and I had to tighten my grip on the wheel to maintain control.
“Do you think we should come back this way?” Marques had to shout over the noise. “If the weather is still bad when on the return trip, and we’ve got a truck full of Neelan art…”
He had a point.
I chewed my lip, trying to concentrate on keeping the wind-battered SUV in its lane while I thought about Marques’s question. Finally, I said, “Let’s check the weather on the way back. If it’s clear, we come back this way. If it’s crap…” I sighed. “Well, then I guess we slog through Washington and avoid…” I gestured ahead of us.
“Yeah, let’s do that. Because this is bullshit.”
I nodded, and I felt like an asshole for insisting on going this way. I knew he didn’t like the bridge-tunnel under the best of circumstances. As we dipped down into the second tunnel, I fought the urge to glance at him as I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would be this bad. We should’ve gone the other way.”
“Nah. It’s all good. I didn’t think it would be this bad either. And we’re almost to the end.”
When it came to this particular structure, “almost to the end” was relative. Once we emerged from the second tunnel, we only had about a third of the bridge left, but considering the bridge was over seventeen miles long, we still had a ways to go.
Finally, though, we had land on both sides instead of water. The rain was still hammering the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it away, but the wind was better now that we weren’t as exposed as we’d been on the upraised bridge. Everything was more forgiving out here, too. Though the bridge had a guardrail along both sides, a truck had gone through it a few years ago and wound up in the bay. Out here, we might end up in the ditch or taking out a utility pole, but we wouldn’t go careening into the drink. I could work with that.
“Well.” Marques relaxed into his seat. “That was an adventure.”
“I know, right?” I shook out one hand, then the other. “We’re definitely going the other way if there’s wind when we come back.”
“Thank God for that,” he muttered.
I winced. “Sorry. I really didn’t think it would—”
“Nah, man. You’re good. I just hope this weather doesn’t follow us all the way to Maine, or this is going to be a long trip.”
“Ugh. No kidding.”
“You want me to drive, just say so.”
“I will.”
We continued up the Eastern Shore via Highway 13. When we made it to something like civilization, we stopped for some fast food. I was tired from both our early start and driving through the bullshit weather, so Marques took over.
Cell phone signal was spotty out here. A few miles up the highway, I finally had enough signal to check my messages.
And as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t.
Now you’re not answering your phone?
Armin, you told me not to worry, but now you’re ignoring me.
Whatever. We’ll talk later.
I sighed. Really? We were really going to do this? Tanya and I had driven up this way ourselves more than once—she knew damn well that the Eastern Shore wasn’t exactly five-bar country. She also knew I’d planned to drive at least part of the time, so texting or calling would be off the table for a while.