I’m on my way out the door when my cell phone rings. It’s Jolene, and she whispers, “Zack?”
“Yeah?” Oh no. She’s going to cancel.
“I, um…” Her voice catches on a sob.
I feel cold all over. “What’s wrong? Jolene?”
“It’s just—bad. I can’t meet you. Oh god. I really need to get out of here.”
Stories Mom has told me about domestic violence flash through my mind. “Are you hurt?” I ask.
“No. Not exactly. I just have to get out of here. Could you pick me up?” Her voice breaks again. “I need a ride.”
She doesn’t mean on a bike. “Jolene? Sorry, I don’t know what to say.” I do know what to say, but I’m stalling.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Never mind. I’ll try someone else. Bye.”
I don’t want her to hang up. “What about the cds?”
“Oh. That. Maybe I’ll be in touch…” I hear a muffled thump in the background. “I better go!” she squeaks.
“No! Wait!” I say. I have to do it. “I’ll come and get you, okay? Tell me where you are. I’m on my way.”
I can drive. Of course I can. The car is here. Mom won’t know. What difference does a piece of paper make at a time like this?
“Are you sure?” Jolene asks.
“Absolutely,” I say.
“You’re a lifesaver. Okay, I’m going to start walking. Could you pick me up at the bottom of Heaven Hill Road? Past the high school.”
“I know where it is,” I say. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I don’t allow myself to think about what I’m doing. I just do it. I get the spare car keys and run out to the car. I remember the cds, run back inside, grab them and go.
Heaven Hill Road. How perfect is that for Jolene? I let myself think about that—and her. I drive at exactly the speed limit, and I’m there in five minutes. I park and look around.
I don’t see her. What I do see in the rearview mirror is a cop car approaching. I slump down in the seat and turn my head away. I’ve only met a couple of Mom’s new co-workers, but I’m not taking any chances. I sweat through the ten seconds it takes for the car to cruise past. Then I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Two seconds later, a rap on the passenger window makes me jump, and I hit my head on the ceiling. I gape stupidly at Jolene. She’s smiling as she pulls the door open.
“Surprised to see me?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah. I mean, no. Hi.”
She hefts a backpack into the backseat and hops in beside me. She looks incredibly hot. Her hair flies in a fine, pale mist around her shoulders. She’s lost the work apron, and without it there’s no hiding her body. The tight jeans she’s wearing, along with a form-hugging T-shirt and jacket…Wow.
She brings her scent in too, a heady mix of flowers and fruit. I breathe it in and ask, “Are you okay?”
“A lot better now that I’m here,” she smiles.
I swallow hard and stare at her. She’s here beside me. Incredible.
“So,” she says. “Maybe we should get going.”
I get a flash of my fantasy of Jolene and me heading into the unknown. This is quickly followed by a reality check. I have to get her wherever it is she’s going, fast, and get the car back home. I don’t tell her that. I nod and start the engine. “Uh. Where?”
“It’s not far,” she says. “Takes about half an hour.”
“Half an hour?” I choke.
She turns those violet eyes on me, and they’re huge. “That’s okay, right? I need to get somewhere safe. And it’s the only place I could think of.”
I consider taking her to my house. She’d be safe there. “My place would be—”
“No!” Jolene’s voice has a frantic edge. “If you can’t take me, then drop me off on the highway, okay? I’ll hitch.”
“What? No.” I take a deep breath. I’ve come this far. I’ve already crossed the line. “Tell me the way. I’ll take you.”
Jolene smiles and settles back in her seat. “Okay, you want to get on the highway.”
Five minutes later we’re on the highway going north. I haven’t done much highway driving, but it’s actually easier than driving in town.
I want to ask Jolene what happened, but before I can, she asks, “Have you got the cds?”
“On the backseat.”
Jolene unbuckles her seat belt, turns around and reaches into the back. I stare at the curve of her body, and a front tire bounces as it hits gravel.
I gasp and swerve back to pavement. Jolene mutters, “Wow. Drive much?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. I keep my eyes glued to the road.
She wriggles back into place and doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. When she still doesn’t answer, I keep talking. “So, I burned twenty copies for you. I put the original in the bag. But I kept one at home for myself so actually there’s only nineteen…”
“Why did you keep one?” she asks.
“Um. I thought it would be okay. Sorry. I can give you that one too, if you think…”
She waves a hand. “Never mind. Keep it. Not like you don’t have it on your hard drive or whatever now anyway, right?”
“Right.” A couple of uneasy moments pass, and I have to try again. “So, about your music, Jolene. I can totally relate.”
“Yeah? What do you mean?”
“The song about traveling?” I risk glancing at her. “When I heard it, I wanted to hit the road. It got me thinking about how great it would be to see the world on my own terms. Be free. And the one about being alone? Wow.”
“What about it?” she asks.
“It was like you could be me. I moved here and don’t know anyone. It’s tough.”
“Yeah?” She shrugs. “I guess for some people. Not me. I can’t wait to get out of this hick town. Like when I’ve gone on trips for auditions and stuff? I love that.”
“So is your favorite song the traveling one?” I ask.
“I don’t have favorites,” she says.
“No? Huh. I guess you like them all for different reasons. Like the one about being made into a fool and mocked. The colors in it—I mean, I’ve experienced that too. It’s harsh. I don’t want to think about it. But you were able to put it into words.”
I feel her stare, and then she mutters, “Yeah. But what about the singing?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“The singing. You know, the voice? I guess you don’t know much about music. You haven’t mentioned the quality of my sound.”
“Oh,” I say. Do I tell her how sound becomes color for me? I haven’t risked that for a long time. Still, she’s so honest in her music. I should be honest with her. “I see the sound in colors.”
“What?”
“Colors. I’m a sound-color synesthete. The traveling song is indigo and green. And the rejection song is mostly black and red.” I hold my breath and wait, hoping she’ll understand.
She emits a tiny snort and says, “Yeah, right.”