Page 5 of The Stranger
“Do you or do you not live around here?”
She turns her head to stare at me. “How much longer are we going to play Twenty Questions?”
“As long as it takes for me to get some real answers out of you.”
Facing forward again, she purses her lips. “Answers were never a part of the deal.”
“Can you just—” I jolt as the car skids across a patch of ice, and it’s as if I’m touching the ice with my body rather than the tires. My entire body is suddenly a shard of frozen water, breakable and still as I wait for the impact. Before I know what’s happening, the car rights itself, staying steady on the road. I huff out a breath, hand to my chest. I really, really hate this weather.
Next to me, she’s hardly flinched.
“Can you just give me something? Anything?” I demand, suddenly angrier than I expected to be. “A name? A… Hell, a business card? A carrier pigeon message? Something?”
Without warning, she slams her hands on either side of her and looks at me. “I was walking because I got in a fight with my boyfriend, and he kicked me out of the car. Is that what you want to hear?” she blurts out, all in one breath.
“What?”
The fact that she won’t look at me tells me there’s truth in her words, even if it’s not the entire truth.
She folds her arms across her chest, slowly bobbing her head up and down. “Yeah, so…you’ll excuse me if I don’t feel like gabbing.”
“He kicked you out in this storm?” I study her. She can’t be more than a hundred and thirty pounds, a tiny little thing. This weather will kill her. I’m seeing red over this stranger, ready to fight for her. To confront this guy. “How long ago?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Half an hour or so.”
“That’s not much of a boyfriend,” I manage to mutter, hardly breathing.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“He didn’t come back for you? Or try to call you?”
She inhales sharply, adjusting in her seat. “Can we just move on from this? He’s an asshole. Lesson learned.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you, um…” I trail off, still not knowing what to call her.
“Tibby.” She says a word I don’t recognize, and I glance her way out of the corner of my eye.
“Gesundheit?” I offer playfully.
She rolls her eyes, sinking lower in her seat. “My name. It’s Tibby.”
“Oh. That’s…different.”
“Much like Walker, unless you’re a country singer or Texas Ranger.”
I snort at that, and to my surprise, she’s smiling too, but it’s just for a brief second. As if she didn’t realize she was doing it. Then, it’s gone.
“It’s short for Tabitha, after my grandmother.”
“I like it. Tibby.” I repeat the name, letting it roll off my tongue. Somehow, it fits her. It reminds me of a moody cat with its back arched, hair standing in every direction. Probably best not to say that, though.
“I’ll be sure to let my mom know,” she says under her breath, brushing the hair back from her face.
“So, where are you headed, Tibby?” I ask. “Where will you get a ride after I drop you off?”
“I’m not sure, really. We, um, we were driving to Chicago to visit his parents, but obviously I’m not going there now. I have some friends in St. Louis, so maybe I’ll head there.”
“St. Louis? Is that home for you?” I venture to ask, though I know it’s probably too much.