The sun was setting as Trudy pulled back onto River Road, red and orange and shining right into her eyes. She pulled down the visor and leaned against the door, trying to find an angle that wasn’t blinding. She wanted to drive back past the construction site at Robson’s farm for another look. The sky was darkening behind her as she pulled over to the side of the road by the field. Across the road, the river was pink with the reflection of the sun. The sunset made the piles of dirt look different now: metallic and golden. The yellow tractors and bulldozers were still, scattered across the field, as if all the operators had been vaporized mid-shift.
Headlights from behind lit up the inside of her car, getting brighter as the car approached. But instead of going past, it veered off onto the shoulder of the road, coming straight at her. Trudy braced for impact, but the car came to a halt just inches from her back bumper, spraying gravel into the air. She sat frozen as the lights went out and the engine sputtered to a stop. She heard the thump of the driver door closing, the crunch of boots on gravel coming toward her, but she was too frightened to turn around. Suddenly the golden light turned grey. The sun had gone out. And Jules Tremblay leaned into her passenger window, smiling that smile.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re an asshole. You scared the shit out of me.”
“I mean, what do you think of my little project?”
Jules opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
“You see that island over there?” He moved over beside her and pointed past her face out the driver-side window at the river.
Trudy saw the long, narrow island covered in brown grass about halfway across. She could feel the heat coming off him, his chest almost touching her back. “Yeah, I see it.”
“We’re building a ramp in that field, and I’m gonna drive a rocket car off the end of it and land on that island.”
“A rocket car.”
“That’s right.” Jules pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and produced a folded-up newspaper clipping. It was faded and limp with wear. There was a picture of what looked like a Cadillac with a turbine strapped to the trunk and strange, stubby little wings attached to its doors. The headline read, “Crazy Canuck to Jump St. Lawrence in Rocket Car.” The car in the picture was a fake, he explained. Cobbled together for promotion. Tinfoil and glue and fireworks. The real rocket car was being built in Chicago. It would cost a hundred thousand dollars.
One hundred thousand dollars.
“You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious. I’ve got investors. Even got a TV deal.”
“You’re crazy.”
Jules shrugged and looked out the window. “Yeah, maybe.”
They sat there for a while — Jules looking out at the piles of dirt, Trudy looking at the island — not knowing what to say next. Jules opened the passenger door and got out. He turned back and put his head through the window again.
“Was that your kid?”
“What?”
“Back at the restaurant. That little girl. Is she yours?”
“No. She’s my sister’s. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Well, now you know.”
“You should come visit us some time. Me and James. We’re out on Old Murphy Road, right before the tracks. Bring the kid if you want.” And he turned away. She watched him in the rear-view mirror, walking back to his car. He nodded at her as he opened the door and got in. The engine made a loud, deep rumble. He backed up at top speed, then roared past her and cranked the wheel, spinning the car around in a full circle, leaving a black doughnut of rubber on the road. The rear end of the car dangled off the edge of the road, tipping toward the riverbank for a second, before the wheels caught the turf and the car sped away.
Idiot, she thought. Crazy, stupid idiot.
With dark brown eyes. And eyelashes like a girl.
Christ.