The two women hadn’t said a thing.
The older woman in the driver’s seat focused on centering her rig on the scale
at the same time her scared young passenger worked to catch her breath. The driver
handed her papers to a Canadian highway official and rolled up her window. She
turned to talk to the passenger just in time to see a vehicle rapidly
approaching through the window.
“Is that friend
or foe?” she said in a substantial Canadian accent.
Brynn peered out
the window to her right. The vehicle in question bounced along the dirt road
and Brynn caught a quick glimpse of the side of it. She knew it was the van she
had been riding in just minutes earlier.
“Foe,” she said
and she started to breath heavy again.
“Climb in the
back. There’s a compartment underneath the bed where I store my dirty clothes.
Roll into it, then pull the clothes in after you,” The woman said without
turning to Brynn.
Brynn did what
the woman said to do. Lying in the dark, stuffy compartment, she closed her
eyes. The compartment smelled of musty cigarette smoke and stale beer, and she
covered her face with her shirt and started to count to keep her mind from
deteriorating into mush.
She had counted
to 162 when she heard the loud banging on the truck door.
“What do you
want?” the driver barked.
“We’re looking
for my sister. She’s run away from our group,” the man’s voice said. Brynn
thought it sounded like Andy and she pinched her eyes together as tightly as
she could.
“I haven’t seen
her.”
“Did you see a
young girl wandering around? Please, ma’am, she suffers from mental illness.”
“Nope. I haven’t
seen any women around her all night except for that window clerk,” the driver
said, pointing at the woman working behind the large glass window inside the
weigh station.
The man turned to
look at the building. The same worker that had taken the papers from the driver
rig briskly advanced the cab. “Sir, you can’t be out here on foot.”
“But my sister.
We’re looking for my sister.”
“I don’t care if
you’ve lost the Queen of Sheba. You’re not permitted to be on or near the
scales on foot. Return to your vehicle immediately,” the worker said.
Brynn exhaled carefully,
but to her ears, it sounded like a foghorn. Before the worker could escort him
away from the truck, Andy climbed up and looked into the cab. Seeing nothing
but an unmade bed, he glanced at the older woman before jumping to the ground
and running to the van.
The truck pulled
off the scales, and Brynn didn’t move until the heat from the vibration of the truck
below her became unbearable. She climbed out from underneath the bed and slowly
peered into the cab of the truck. The woman looked at her through the rear-view
mirror and pointed at the passenger seat. Brynn climbed to the seat and
fastened her seat belt before turning to the woman.
“Thank you for
the ride, and for hiding me.”
“Was that the
creep that’s been hurtin’ you?” the older woman asked. Sitting in a dirty
sweater, frayed, fingerless gloves and a crooked beanie cap, the woman had to be
in her early sixties. Brynn could see a small piece of gray hair sticking out
from the cap as her eyes traveled down from the hair to her wrinkled, pale
face.
“No, that was his
friend. The creep was probably looking elsewhere.”
“Was he abusing
you?”
“Yes,” she said.
“My name is Brynn.”
“I’m Penner.” She glanced at Brynn before quickly refocusing on the road.
