Chapter 6: Entry 413

The truck died on a mountain road with no streetlights, no cell signal and four miles to the nearest house.

Tiernan turned the key six times.

On the seventh, the dashboard went dark and stayed that way.

"That's the alternator," he said.

"Can you fix it?"

"In daylight. With tools. Not in this."

Rain hammered the roof.

He pulled a thermos from behind the seat and unscrewed the cap.

He took a sip and handed it to me.

I took a sip and handed it back.

He zipped his jacket to his chin.

I zipped mine.

He leaned his head against the window.

I leaned mine against my window.

"Gwendolyn."

"Yes?"

"You're doing it."

"I'm not doing anything."

He lifted his left hand and scratched his ear.

I scratched mine.

He looked at the ear, and then at me, and then he put his hand over his own mouth, and his shoulders shook.

"I didn't know I was doing that," I said.

"I know you didn't."

"It's the cold. I get mirror-ish when I'm cold."

"You get mirror-ish when you're warm, too. I've seen it at dinners."

"You've never said anything."

"I've said a lot of things," said Tiernan. "Not to you."

That sat in the dark between us for a while.

The truck ticked.

Then my right leg started to ache.

It does that in rain.

It starts as a dull line above the ankle where the bone healed a little crooked, and by night it throbs.

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