Short Story
Growing up in a household where being mean was to be affectionate, Carly never knew the difference. Exodus took the hit heavily and the tears began to flood. “Yeah, basically. Pretty obvious, huh?” Carly shrugged again. Quiet. Then, the idea sparked Exodus and her tears momentarily parted. “Hey…did you happen to pick up a guy recently? A big guy probably. Maybe a 14 Keen?” It struck Carly that this girl was probably exhausted, starved, near delusion. “Huh?” “The past few days I was following a set of footprints—Keen boots, size 14. But I never caught up to him.” Exodus shifted in her seat. “It can get pretty lonely out there, you know? Even with God around. Your mind really gets lost and you start to. . .imagine what this guy is like. What 14 Keen likes, what he dislikes. Where is family is, why’s he on the trail. Stuff like that and then. . .then I toss in my head like, ‘Maybe I’m met to meet this guy.’ Right? ‘Maybe he’s the man of my dreams’ or something. You know?” Carly didn’t. “Nevermind. I dunno.” Quiet. “I didn’t pick up anyone for a week now,” Carly offered. “Oh. Okay.” “There’s a hostel a little way up the road. You want me to pick you up tomorrow and drive you back to the trail?” Exodus shook her head. “No. No, I’m done.” That, Carly understood. The next evening, Carly was getting ready for her date night, French-braiding her hair in the bathroom while the TV chatted at her from around the hallway. Just then, the front door burst open and Tom strode in. “Carllllly. Carlllly,” Tom called, in his best Rick Grimes impression—the accent of which was not so far from his own. “If you leave your door unlocked the zombies are gonna getcha, Carllllly.” Carly called back. “Hey, if you’re going to bust in here you need a search warrant!” “You know who doesn’t apply for search warrants? Zombies. Also burglars. Also boyfriends.” Tom swung around the bathroom doorway to plant a kiss on Carly’s head. She turned to him. “Hey, I thought we were dressing up tonight?” Tom tucked in the shirt of his police uniform. “Didn’t know we were getting so fancy! But don’t let that stop you from dolling up. That hair twisting you do. . .is very sexy. What, are we celebrating something?” “Yeah. Tonight, I cut the cord.” Tom put his hand on the small of her neck.
“Really? You serious?” Carly shrugged and nodded. “Are you. . .ready for that?” “Sure. We’ll go out to eat and when we get back, I’m going to take the kitchen scissors and chop that phone line.” Carly finished up as Tom turned off the TV. She emerged, and hand-in-hand, they exited the house. As Carly pulled the door shut to lock, a noise stopped her. The phone rang inside. “You’re off duty, Carly. End of watch,” said Tom gently as Carly shifted her feet. “One last ride. Last one. It’ll just take a minute. Fifteen minutes, tops!” she called back, already fleeing inside to catch the phone. The smell of the old man sandwiched between Carly and Tom in the truck silenced any opportunity for conversation. Tom did not regret forgoing changing into something nice when the old man attempted to crawl over him to step out onto the hostel steps. The old man bid them thanks and “Adieu.” As the door slammed shut, Tom turned to Carly. “Adieu not want to pick up anymore hitchhikers tonight. Adieu want to resume date night, dieu you?” “Aw, come on, that wasn’t that bad. Not as bad as that one that threw up on you that one time, remember?” she retorted, loosening up. Just then, there was a knock on Carly’s window. The man was back. “Say no vacancy at the door,” the old man said, his breath wafting in as Carly rolled the window down. “You know of anywhere else I can go tonight?” “Shit. Uh…” Carly looked to Tom, who shook his head. “Um, not really. Uh… look, you can just stay at my place tonight.” The man gave a toothy smile, and turned to throw his stuff back in the truck bed. Out of earshot— “Are you crazy?? You want to get murdered tonight?” Tom hissed. “That guy is old as dirt. He’s harmless.” “No one’s entirely harmless.” “Well, if you’re so concerned, you should just stay the night with us, then.” That was new. “Really?” Tom perked up. Carly nodded. “Does he have to sleep with us?” Tom asked as the passenger door flew open and the man crawled back in. Back home, Tom dropped his things by the doorway and made a beeline for the kitchen, hoping still to salvage date night with some cooked steaks. The old man followed suit, dumping his hiking bag, sleeping mat, tent, and trekking poles to the floor. Carly resumed her position on the couch facing the door, so the old man settled in the lazy boy chair adjacent to her. Carly spread her legs a bit and pulled her elbows to the top of the couch. These solo hikers always try to come across
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