I left the pay phone and glanced at a slowly passing pickup, acutely aware of how vulnerable I was in that lone station under a spotlight. I quickly got into the Toyota, locked the doors, and turned the key in the ignition. But when I tried to put the car in reverse, it shivered and jerked.
I killed the motor to keep from making it worse, and watched the pickup move down the road. I tried to think. “Baby it along,” Dad had said. The car was clearly on the verge of collapse. If I pushed it to the point of no return, I might never get there. I could lose Andie, or worse. This couldn’t be happening.
I sent up a fervent prayer for help and cautiously unlocked the car door to get out. Not knowing what else to do, I opened the hood. If that didn’t send a distress signal, nothing did. I closed the hood and called Dad collect.
When I explained the problems I was having, Dad thought for a moment. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He asked if I saw any leaks. I told him to hold on, and left the phone dangling while I popped the trunk for a flashlight. The batteries in the flashlight wouldn’t connect, and I banged it against my palm, triggering a dim beam of light.
I had to get down on my hands and knees to see beneath the car. My dress slacks and blue sweater would never be the same. Dad was right. A slow drip was leaking onto the blacktop. I reached far underneath and smeared some onto my finger. Then I backed out from beneath the car and shined the flashlight on my finger. I went back to the phone and told him about the pinkish-brown smear on my fingertip.
“Transmission fluid,” he said. “I was afraid of that. That’s why you’re having trouble getting it into gear. You’ll have to add fluid.”
“Wha—how? The gas station is closed, Dad.”
“There’s a bottle and a funnel in the trunk.”
I sighed deeply, on the verge of tears. The night was passing, and I didn’t know where Andie was, and I didn’t want to do this. “Did you get the sheriff?”
“Yeah. They’re out looking for her.” He cleared his throat. “You want me to come up, or can you add the fluid by yourself? You’ve watched me do it often enough.”
I felt relieved that the sheriff would be watching for her, but it wasn’t enough. “No, Dad. I can’t wait that long. Just tell me what to do.”
“All right. First make sure the car is sittin’ level. Put it in park and let the engine idle for a while.”
Minutes later, I was back with Dad. “Okay, now what?”
“Now, shut it off. You got the tranny fluid and the funnel?”
“Got it.”
“The dipstick is situated between the battery and the engine. Got an orange top on it.”
“Okay, so I put the fluid in there?”
“You got to check the level first. Wipe the dipstick off with a rag and stick it back in. Then pull it out and check the level at the hot mark. If it’s low, add a little bit. Don’t overfill it. And be careful you don’t burn yourself.”
“Okay. Don’t hang up.”
“There’s a rag under the seat,” I heard him say before I left the phone dangling by the cord.
The fluid level looked like bad news to my untrained eye. I removed the cap from the bottle and positioned the funnel in the pipe, letting a small amount of the cherry-syrup fluid trickle down. Then I paused to let it settle in. Juggling the flashlight, the funnel, and the fluid at the same time made it a messy affair. Shining the flashlight into the pipe, and seeing no evidence of fluid, I added a little more. Then I went back to Dad.
“I added about a cup,” I guessed. “A cup and a half. Maybe two.” I must be losing my touch. I rarely needed to measure. “Do you think that’s enough?”
“Don’t know. Start her up and check the level again.”
I wiped the oily fluid from my hands with the rag, and without thinking swiped at a spot on my sweater, smearing it into an ugly dash. It didn’t smell at all like cherry cough syrup.
The fluid level wasn’t yet in range. Carefully I dribbled in more fluid, guessing at the amount, while trying to keep my clothes from getting more grease from the car.
The next time I checked, I was good to go.
“I think it’s okay now, Dad. The level is between the two hot notches.”
“That’s my girl. Check it again after you get there. If it keeps leaking, you’ll have to add more.”
“Pray for me, Dad.”
This time I was able to put the car more easily into reverse, back up, and pull out onto the highway. Slipping my seat belt on one-handed, I glanced at the clock. Nine thirty. Did the sheriff have Andie, or was she alone in the night?
Don’t think about it, I told myself. For crying out loud, just drive.
I gunned the motor to fifty-five. Fifty minutes later I passed the bright lights of the hospital just off the freeway to my right. I considered taking the exit to the hospital, but drove a half mile farther to the exit for Pine Run. She may not have made it to the hospital yet.
The exit emptied onto a quiet street of closed businesses and a bus stop, which was just a covered bench in full view of any creep lurking nearby. There was no sign of Andie or of patrol cars.
She probably knew the fastest route to the hospital, but I had to keep to the streets. I cruised along in the direction I felt she might have gone, slowing to peek down alleys and into yards, feeling a little like a creep myself.
Outside the town limits, the road funneled down and the sidewalk vanished into scrubby bushes. A full moon cast an eerie glow on the unfamiliar street. Scattered houses with dented, leaning mailboxes backed up to the road, and long driveways crept away from it into gloom. Where the houses ended, tall trees stepped in. The deep spaces beneath their boughs allowed no moonlight through. Across the road, open fields reached out to the distant mirage of parking lot lights. The thought of Andie alone on this stretch of road made me sick.
Please let her be at the hospital, I prayed. Keeping an eye on the shoulder for any sign of her, I made my way down the road and into the hospital parking lot. The front was dark, so I went around to the emergency entrance. Of course, visiting hours were over. It was ten thirty.
A sheriff’s vehicle was parked in the emergency driveway. I pulled up behind, forced the car into park, killed the engine, and jumped out. Let them tow it, if they could get it into gear. I ran to the glass doors, ignoring the fear that she might not want me.
That no longer mattered. I had to know where she was.