We ran back through the forest, laughing so hard we had to stop to catch our breath.
My curfew was in an hour, but Brett had no intention of allowing the night to end with us catching two people going at it in the woods. So we hopped in his car and drove two towns over, which sounds far, but it barely took fifteen minutes. Why two towns? Brett wanted fast food. Apparently the only “respectable” burger, shake, and fries in all of Georgia were at Paul’s Diner.
There was no Paul’s Diner in Crestmont.
When our order was ready, we sat in Brett’s car with the windows down, munching away on junk food at midnight. In five minutes I watched him inhale a burger, chocolate milk shake, and a large fry. It was equally impressive and gross. Now he was stealing my fries and dipping them into my strawberry shake and I was kind of annoyed but not really. The night was going well, so I was rolling with it.
“How do you know about this place?” I asked, slurping my shake. I was learning so much about Georgia tonight. And a little more about Brett.
He pointed down the road. “There’s a park a few miles down. This huge stretch of grass with soccer fields and stuff. My dad and I used to come here when I was a kid on the weekends. This was before his promotion, back when he was home more often. We’d throw a football around for a few hours, then drive here for lunch. It was this tradition we had.”
“My dad used to take me for ice cream after class,” I said. “That was our thing.”
Brett dipped his fry in my shake, held it out for me. “Is this our thing, then?” he asked. “Eating fast food at midnight in my car?”
I opened my mouth. He stuck the fry in. “I am totally okay with that.”
“Me too.”
“Why does your dad travel so much?” I knew his family had money, but I had no idea why.
“Have you seen that new hotel being built off the interstate?” I had. It was right when you drove into Crestmont, a few miles after the welcome sign. It was supposed to have its grand opening at the end of the month. “There’s a bunch of them throughout the country, but this is the first one being built here. My dad works for them. He’s the chief financial officer, does all that money stuff. So he flies around the country and checks in on different locations. Makes sure everything’s running smoothly, I guess.”
“What about your mom?”
“She doesn’t work.”
I wondered what that was like, to have enough money to feel secure. Not having to worry about the price of tuition, student loans, or how much textbooks were going to cost. Having the ability to go to whatever school you wanted to.
“My mom always worked. She used to be a nurse,” I said. “When she first opened the bakery, she was worried. It wasn’t doing that well. Only a few customers per day. She invested so much money into it and I don’t know what we would have done if it failed. A few months later, it started to take off. People were talking about it in town and we started getting huge orders. That’s when I began helping out there. I don’t think my mom expected the bakery to become so popular; she only hired, like, three people.”
“I’m happy her business took off,” Brett said. “I don’t know what I’d do without jelly bells.”
I smiled at him. “Me either.”
“You know what would make this moment even better?”
“Jelly bells?”
“That too, yeah, but I was gonna say another burger. I’ll be right back.”
How was he still hungry? And how did he stay in such good shape? There must have been some secret gym routine he was on, plus the intense football training.
I was watching Brett outside the car; he was rummaging through his pockets, probably looking for his wallet, when a car pulled into the spot in front of us. I was expecting more teenagers craving something greasy like us. Instead it was an older couple holding hands, and wow, that car looked expensive. Like, way too expensive for this town. Brett must’ve noticed them too because he was hovering outside, watching. I thought he was admiring their ride because he was standing there, frozen. One of his hands was still on the door handle. Did all guys have a thing for nice cars?
But then I really looked at his face. His mouth was wide open and he looked like he’d just been punched in the gut.
He jumped back inside, mumbled something about having to leave, and sped out of the parking lot. I barely had time to put my seat belt on and went flying into the door when he turned onto the road. “Slow down!” I yelled, placing the cup between my thighs so it wouldn’t spill. “Brett!”
He was driving so fast. I looked at him and it was like he was in a different world. His eyes were locked on the road; his hands had a death grip on the wheel. His lips were moving. Was he talking to himself? He looked like he was either going to cry or hit something.
“Brett, you’re scaring me. Slow down.” He was mumbling so low I turned the radio off to hear him. “What?”
“I have to get out of here,” he said.
“Brett.” I reached out, placed my hand on his arm. “Pull over.”
“He’s not supposed to be here.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
I watched the needle on the speedometer go higher. Higher. Higher. Until it was nearly at one hundred. We were going to crash and die and my body would be covered in a strawberry milk shake when the police found us.
“Brett.” I leaned across the middle, placed my hand directly over his on the wheel. “You need to slow down.”
Brett blinked, shook his head, then glanced down at my hand on his. He looked at me, must’ve seen the terrified look on my face, and swore under his breath. Then we were slowing down. Finally, Brett pulled over, shut the engine off, and buried his head in his hands.
I was speechless.
I breathed in. Out. In. Out. Did a mental count of my body parts. Wiggled my toes. Wiggled my fingers. Ten each. I told myself we were both okay. When I was sure I could speak, I said, “What was that?”
No response.
“Brett?”
Nothing.
“You’re freaking me out. Did you know those people?” It was too dark for me to see their faces clearly, but they didn’t look like anyone I knew. And Crestmont was pretty small, so I’d probably recognize them at least.
Then I remembered that no, we weren’t in Crestmont anymore. So how did Brett know them?
He lifted his head off the wheel and rested it back against the seat. His eyes were closed, his chest moving in and out too quickly. Was he having a panic attack? Should I call an ambulance? When I took my phone out, he placed his hand on top of mine. “I’m fine,” he said, sounding anything but.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was that?” I tried instead.
“I don’t want to know.”
This was making less and less sense by the second.
Then my heart dropped, plummeted right into my stomach, because Brett said, “I think that was my dad. And that woman wasn’t my mom.”
Oh.
Oh.
“But I— You said your dad was in Ohio.” As soon as I said it, I realized how dumb it was. And then everything sort of clicked into place, a puzzle neither of us wanted to solve.