{"id":9923,"date":"2022-08-07T14:42:14","date_gmt":"2022-08-07T19:42:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=9923"},"modified":"2022-09-05T17:04:00","modified_gmt":"2022-09-05T22:04:00","slug":"getting-a-ride-at-the-end-of-the-world","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/getting-a-ride-at-the-end-of-the-world\/","title":{"rendered":"Getting a Ride at the End of the World"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Original Fiction <\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Patricia Crisafulli<\/h1>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

           The whirr of the industrial fan behind the diner drowned out Keller\u2019s words, not that he noticed, or she cared. A laugh shook his thin body, and he hauled himself upright. On his way to the back door, he brushed his thigh against her shoulder as she sat on a milk crate. \u201cYou\u2019ll see what I\u2019m saying,\u201d he said at close range. \u201cY2K gonna shut everything down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The new millennium didn\u2019t scare Fiona, even if all the power plants shut down and the banks couldn\u2019t open their vaults. She\u2019d use candles and didn\u2019t have any money to worry about. But the number \u201999 made her restless, as if she had to get someplace before the last tick of the clock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Retying her apron as she reentered the diner, Fiona spied two state troopers who had come in while she\u2019d been outside for a ten-minute break. Charlie frowned at her, which meant he\u2019d had to get off his rear and give them menus. Too bad. She\u2019d been on her feet since six, and the place had been hopping all morning\u2014locals, fishermen, tourist families passing through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona ran a hand over her hair, redder than blond and pulled back in a ponytail. \u201cLate breakfast or early lunch?\u201d she asked the troopers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cCoffee,\u201d the younger one said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The older trooper glanced at the menu, and Fiona would have bet all her tips he wanted to eat something but wouldn\u2019t with Mr. Coffee sitting there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cGot nice apple pie. Fresh made,\u201d Fiona coaxed, though she knew it was gluey and a day old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The older trooper pushed the menu back with stubby fingers. \u201cCoffee, cream and sugar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            And a quarter for a tip, she added silently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            At two o\u2019clock, Fiona turned the diner sign to \u201cclosed\u201d and bussed the last of the tables, bringing the remaining dishes into the kitchen where Keller fired up the ancient dishwasher. \u201cHow about you and me goin\u2019 down to the lake tonight. Buddy o\u2019mine gotta camper.\u201d He raised one eyebrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cGet bent,\u201d she sneered, pushing the tub of dirty dishes at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou won\u2019t think you\u2019re so special come October. Nobody left here, \u2018cept Charlie and me. At least I ain\u2019t old.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The kitchen door swung shut behind her, but not fast enough to block Keller\u2019s words. She had no plan after this place and no money to move on. The room she rented was cheap, but so were the patrons at the diner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Never should have stopped her, she grumbled, recalling the day she\u2019d bummed a ride this way with a delivery truck driver. She\u2019d been heading to Lake Placid and the fancy resorts where she\u2019d imagined earning a decent wage and making big tips. Then the driver had told how college kids took most of the summer jobs there. At twenty-six, Fiona only had a high school diploma and three weeks of beauty school. She knew she was pretty, but that didn\u2019t mean as much in fancy places as it did in bars and truck stops.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            When the driver had pulled up at the diner to make a delivery, she\u2019d gone in the restroom where she found the waitress shucking off her uniform and swearing that she wouldn\u2019t work there one more minute. Fiona had picked up the shapeless mustard-colored dress, smelling of the other girl\u2019s Secret deodorant and Suave shampoo, and put it on. She cinched the apron tightly around her waist and got the job. That had been May, now it was the last weekend of August. A century coming to an end.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            \u201cWhat do you do in the fall?\u201d Fiona asked Charlie as she slipped into the booth where he counted the money. He thumbed a few twenties and handed over her pay in cash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cStay open through Columbus Day. Then just weekends. Or maybe I\u2019ll close it up early this year and go down to Florida for the winter. Haven\u2019t decided.\u201d Charlie tapped a stack of bills into a neat pile. \u201cCome with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona turned her eyes toward the wall clock shaped like a percolator, with a little light that flickered at the top. Charlie had to be her father\u2019s age, though the similarity ended there. At least Charlie had a job and wasn\u2019t in jail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Looking back at him, she caught the glint of the gold chain at the open neck of his shirt. \u201cBet you look good in a bikini,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona\u2019s retort ended in an open-mouthed gasp when she felt the pinch of Charlie\u2019s fingers against her inner thigh. She pulled back, slamming her knees together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWatch yourself,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019ll get slow soon and we won\u2019t need a waitress.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            A passing car kicked up gravel, sending a spray of cinders against Fiona\u2019s legs. She\u2019d already walked a mile out of town, in the opposite direction of the old lady\u2019s house where she rented a room. Turning around would be a good idea, she knew, but couldn\u2019t stand the thought of passing by the diner or, worse yet, seeing Charlie\u2019s Buick in the parking lot. The road narrowed, and the air smelled like pine. A shiver went through Fiona as the sun slipped behind a bank of incoming clouds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Rain spattered the pavement, light at first, then in pelleting sheets. Seeing a cottage up ahead, Fiona quickened to a run, figuring she could stand on the porch. Halfway down the driveway she spied the front end of a Mercedes, angled out beyond the cottage. Summer people, <\/em>she said to herself, and backed up several steps. She ran, head down, eyes fixed on the pavement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A truck downshifted, the engine whining. Fiona jumped onto the shoulder, landing ankle-deep in a puddle. \u201cShit!\u201d she yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou wanna ride?\u201d The voice was male, unfamiliar. \u201cI\u2019m not a creep or nothing. It\u2019s just you\u2019re awfully wet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona glimpsed the writing on the truck door. \u201cBob\u2019s Septic and Excavation.\u201d Shit indeed, added to herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The defroster cleared the fog from the windshield and sent an oven blast toward Fiona\u2019s face. She pushed water-logged hair off her forehead to keep droplets out of her eyes. \u201cI take it you\u2019re Bob.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWhat? Oh, the door. No, that\u2019s my father. I\u2019m Jeff.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            She guessed him to be about thirty, probably working for his old man until he could find something better to do. \u201cWhat do you excavate?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff raised his palms from the steering wheel, then gripped it again. \u201cFoundations. Drainage ditches. Septic fields. What do you do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cNational Weather Service,\u201d Fiona deadpanned. \u201cThe consensus was for light showers, but I disagreed. I was right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff narrowed his eyes and widened his grin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI work at the diner. I got pissed off at somebody and stormed out. Better to do that in a car, but I don\u2019t have one anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWhere can I take you?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWhere\u2019re you headed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff pointed through the windshield. \u201cGot equipment to drop off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWell, let\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The rain let up to a light drizzle by the time they reached the construction site. Jeff handed her a hooded sweatshirt splotched with paint, the cuffs rimmed with what looked like cement. She put it on and covered her dripping hair with the hood. Standing at the tailgate, she watched Jeff haul a generator out of the back. His face reddened with the strain, but he set it down carefully on a piece of plywood and fastened it to a tree with a chain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Beyond the generator, muddy water half-filled a foundation, deep and square.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI take it somebody is bringing a pump tomorrow,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cThe owner wants to pour concrete as soon as possible.\u201d Jeff leaned over, inspecting the sides. \u201cSummer people\u2014always in a rush.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cMaybe they think the end of the world is coming,\u201d Fiona quipped, but the joke soured her mouth. \u201cYou know, double-zero, Y2K and all that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff\u2019s expression faded to neutral. \u201cWorld\u2019s always ending or beginning for somebody.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona didn\u2019t know what to say to that. Back in the truck, she gave him her address and turned on the radio. Looking around the truck cab, she saw a woman\u2019s face peeking out from the corner of the visor. She pointed to the photo. \u201cGirlfriend? Wife?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWife,\u201d Jeff said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWill she be mad that you gave me a ride?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff shook his head. \u201cYou didn\u2019t tell me your name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cFiona.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff nodded. \u201cHaven\u2019t ever heard that one before.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            She rolled her eyes. \u201cYeah, well, I\u2019m different. Fiona was my grandmother\u2019s name.\u201d She though back to other times, like the truck stop in Scranton where they\u2019d called her Debbie because that was embroidered on the uniform. She\u2019d been Suzie at a cocktail bar in Utica because pretending to be somebody else made the job easier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

           \u201cWhat\u2019s your wife\u2019s name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff stared at the visor. \u201cAnn.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona pointed to the next block and got out at the corner. She waved once as Jeff pulled away, then realized she still had on the hooded sweatshirt.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            She kept conversation with Charlie to a minimum the next week and ignored Keller\u2019s running commentary. With every tip she pocketed, she calculated how far it would get her and in which direction. The diner usually closed on Mondays but stayed open on Labor Day. Fiona welcomed the extra day of work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

           The lunch crowd had cleared when Jeff walked in. \u201cHey!\u201d Fiona called out from the table she was wiping. \u201cI got your sweatshirt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            He slid onto a stool at the counter. \u201cI\u2019ll get it next time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cCoffee? I can make a fresh pot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou got iced tea?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            She checked a tall glass for spots, filled it with ice, and poured from a pitcher of tea. She brought lemon slices on a saucer and handed him the sugar dispenser.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

           Jeff ordered a BLT and, since Charlie was taking a cigarette break, Fiona put the bacon on the grill herself. She brought the sandwich to him, the bread warm and lightly toasted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cLook I don\u2019t want you to get the wrong idea,\u201d he started. \u201cI gotta drive up to Blue Mountain Lake. Wondered if you wanted to take a drive. Just a drive\u2014nothing else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona shifted her weight, jutted out her hip. \u201cWhat about Ann? Can\u2019t she go?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff shook his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Suddenly aware of Charlie hovering nearby, Fiona took a step back. \u201cThanks for asking, but I got stuff to do at home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            After Jeff left, Fiona saw Charlie\u2019s smirk. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t want to spend an hour in that truck.\u201d He pinched his nose. \u201cNot too late to change your mind about Florida. Nice beaches. You\u2019d get a job there pretty quick, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            She had dated worse guys than Charlie and at least he was single. When they got to Florida, she\u2019d dump him as soon as she had a job and a place to stay. But she\u2019d keep Charlie guessing until the last minute.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Without giving him an answer, she gathered up the sugar dispensers to refill in the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            September fell like a curtain: days shortening, temperatures dropping, and business so slow, Charlie kept the diner open only on weekends. Fiona took a babysitting job to fill the gap, watching two kids after school. Bonnie, the woman who had hired her, explained that her husband had gotten injured in a logging accident. Until the company made a settlement, she needed to go to work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            When Fiona asked how long her husband had been in the hospital, Bonnie explained he\u2019d spent six weeks there. \u201cNow he\u2019s at St. Francis. It\u2019s a nursing home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona touched the other woman\u2019s arm. \u201cYou got any family to help?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cMy sister\u2019s coming at the end of the month. She\u2019ll stay for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona nodded, glad that when she left for Florida, she wouldn\u2019t be abandoning Bonnie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Walking home one evening, Fiona heard a truck rumbling behind her. Recognizing the sound, she turned and waited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

           Jeff lowered the window. \u201cYou want a ride?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona smiled but shook her head. \u201cI\u2019m good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            He rolled the truck along to keep her pace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou gonna walk me home like this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cLook, this is hard to say. Ann is never coming home. She had a stroke.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona blinked in surprise, wondering how old Ann was, though maybe strokes happened to younger people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cShe\u2019s still my wife and I ain\u2019t doing anything to disrespect her. I just like having somebody to talk to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The truck stopped. Fiona walked around the front, feeling the heat of the engine through the grill. \u201cJust talk,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd you should know. I\u2019m leaving for Florida soon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            On one of their long rides, Fiona heard Jeff\u2019s life story: how he\u2019d met Ann in high school, their certainty of marrying from the time they were sixteen, how they\u2019d done just that at twenty-one. Then an arterial dissection, a complication of a congenital heart defect. She\u2019d been twenty-eight, a year older than Fiona was now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cAnn\u2019s parents don\u2019t want to give up even though she\u2019s on life support,\u201d Jeff said. \u201cI figure as long as she\u2019s not suffering.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cShe at St. Francis?\u201d Fiona asked, remembering the name of the nursing home Bonnie had told her about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeff nodded. \u201cIt\u2019s not that bad. I go on Sundays.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona shared a little of her own life: growing up in Pennsylvania, leaving after high school because she just couldn\u2019t stay at home at any longer. \u201cI just couldn\u2019t,\u201d she repeated with a tone that didn\u2019t invite questions. Since then, she\u2019d been moving from place to place. Fiona hoped that part sounded more like adventure, less like running away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Then Columbus Day Weekend arrived with one last flurry of customers at the diner. Charlie told Fiona he would be leaving for Florida on Friday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The babysitting job had ended, she had no money and no plan. \u201cI\u2019ll go, but just for the ride.\u201d She doubted he\u2019d take that bargain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            After one hour on the interstate, Fiona realized she\u2019d made a horrible mistake. If 2000 meant the end of the world, she wasn\u2019t spending it with Charlie. Pretending she really had to use the bathroom, Fiona made him stop at a rest area outside Binghamton. She found a payphone, made a call, left a message.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

           Red-faced and swearing, Charlie took off. Fiona waited by the phone. Two hours later, it rang.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            Now, twenty-two years later, Labor Day looms once again, presaging the slide into fall. Soon the leaves will change, after that snow will fall. One year ends, another begins\u2014predictable and steady.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fiona hears the rumble of the engine before she sees the truck. She says good-bye to her 17-year-old daughter, promising to be back in an hour or two. \u201cOkay,\u201d the young girl replies, never looking up from her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Opening the truck door, Fiona asks, \u201cWhere to this time?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

           Jeff swings the truck around and heads back onto the road.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"Getting<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Original Fiction Patricia Crisafulli<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9923","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-original-online-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli"],"yoast_head":"\nGetting a Ride at the End of the World | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/getting-a-ride-at-the-end-of-the-world\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta 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