Worth the Trip (14 page)

The bigger vehicles were unable to evade the sudden snarl of traffic. Trip took advantage of it, guiding the bike through gaps and between cars, leaving the scene of the accident and their pursuers far behind.

“Not exactly
The Matrix
,” he said.

“It worked.”

“Thanks to Hollie.”

Yes, Norah thought, thanks to Hollie. And her ulterior motives, whatever they were.

THEY SPENT ABOUT TWO HOURS ON THE ROAD
between Chicago and Milwaukee, with no visible indication there was anyone following them. Trip took his time, seeing as the ferry across Lake Michigan didn’t leave until 12:30, and since it was the only car ferry they were at its mercy. Trip chose to kill their extra time at a restaurant on the outskirts of the city, well away from the docks.

“Tell me again why you chose this place?” Norah said, keeping her voice down and talking behind her menu. Even then her eyes shifted to the locals, a couple of grizzled old-timers nursing coffee at the Formica counter and a trio of teenagers at a table across the small dining room.

“We have a clear view of the parking lot,” he said.

“Good thing. There’s not much to look at in here. And I’m including the menu.”

“Are you kidding? Places like this usually have the best food.”

“Even the menu is greasy,” Norah said, closing it and slipping it back into its slot behind the condiments.

“It’s a long ride, and I’m not stopping between here and there except for gas. I guess you could get a hot dog at one of those convenience stores.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Reverse psychology working?” Trip said.

“Reverse psychology is unnecessary. I was making a commentary on the food choices here, not stating my intention to boycott.”

“Save the commentary, at least while the waitress is around, or you’re likely to get an added bonus.”

Norah thought about that a second then made a face. “Great, now I won’t be able to eat at all.”

“Neither will I if that waitress doesn’t get her act together.”

Said waitress glanced their way and completely ignored Trip’s we’re-ready-to-order smile. So he gave her a little wave. She shifted so she was leaning against the back counter, lifting one hand to lazily chip at the nail polish on her thumb. Trip opened his mouth—

“Spitting,” Norah reminded him, “in your food.”

“I don’t understand this,” he said, honestly puzzled. “I never have this kind of trouble with wo—waitresses.” Then he smiled because the waitress in question was meandering her way to their table.

“OMG,” a voice shrieked into the uncomfortable silence, cutting off Trip’s route to lunch.

The voice was followed by a teenage girl, tattooed, pierced, and wearing black—including her nails, lips, and hair—who skidded to a stop by their table.

“You wrote that book, right? The book that, like, explains, like,
everything
about men.”

Men
was a relative term, considering her two friends were similarly garbed and not even close to adulthood by anyone’s standards but their own.

“I’m Jillian,” the girl said, pointing to her friends in turn, “that’s Tommy and that’s C Clip. His name is really Calvin Clipper, but he thinks C Clip sounds cooler. I tried to tell him you have to
be
cool, not just come up with a cheesy nickname, but he’s a guy, and you know guys.”

Norah smiled at the kid. “I don’t know cool, but C Clip sounds like one of those rappers.” The red in his face went from embarrassment to a hot kind of vindication, and while he was giving Jillian a snotty see-there look, Norah winked at her.

“Oh, sure,” Jillian said, completely mollified before she could even take offense, “right, sounds like a rapper.”

“Nicknames are really just a way of reflecting our true personality,” Norah continued, Jillian nodding like a bobblehead the whole time, “a way to honor the name your parents gave you while establishing your own identity.”

“Anyway,” Jillian said, reclaiming the center of attention, “I saw you on TV the other day. That Hollie Roget’s a bitch, right? But you got the last laugh.”

Norah looked at Trip. “Yeah, I got the last laugh.”

“So what brings you to Milwaukee?” Jillian wanted to know. “Nothing going on here, and I mean, like,
nothing
.”

“There’s beer,” Trip observed.

Jillian’s friends perked up at that notion.

The women ignored him.

“I’m . . . researching a new book,” Norah said.

“Man, can I be in it?”

Norah laughed a little. “I think you have to be. But of course I’ll need to change your name.”

“Oh”—Jillian’s face fell—“oh, sure.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Norah said, pulling out her cell phone, “give me your number, and I’ll call you if I have any questions. I imagine your name will show up in the acknowledgments.”

“Really? That’s, like, amazing.” And Jillian reeled off her number, stumbling to the door behind her friends, and only because C Clip grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along.

“That was, like, amazing,” Trip said, “how they all walked away feeling good about themselves. Except Tommy. I’m not sure he talks.”

Norah looked pretty pleased with herself.

“That’s some smile.”

“Just remembering how it feels to be young.”

“Sure, you’re all of what, thirty-two?”

That seemed to startle her. “The operative word there is
feel
,” she said.

“Isn’t that your choice?”

“Yes,” she squared her shoulders, “yes, it is.”

“You’ll have to tell me how to do that someday.”

“Do what? Make those kids feel good about themselves? It’s just basic psychology.”

Trip snorted. “Psychology is just a con masquerading as science.”

“Everything I said to them was absolutely true. It’s all in the way you say it.”

“Like a con. Don’t lie to the mark if at all possible.”

“You’d know,” Norah said, then clamped her mouth shut when the waitress, her pink plastic name badge identifying her as Polly, sidled up to the table.

“You a celebrity or something?” she said, curiosity overcoming her taciturn nature.

“Not really,” Norah said. “I wrote a book. On relationships.”

“Not . . . You wrote
How to Create Your Mate
.” The woman’s face lit up and she turned in circles, trying to find someone in the place she could tell about it. She came up empty, so she proceeded to chatter on about the book.

Trip had stopped paying attention after the word
Mate
, but Norah listened attentively, not able to get a word in edgewise, but nodding now and then and making what must have been the appropriate face at the appropriate time since it kept Polly’s verbal diarrhea flowing.

“Can we order?” he finally broke in.

Both women looked at him, Polly’s mouth clamping shut. Finally.

“I’ll have a burger, medium, American cheese, fries, Coke,” Trip said.

Polly didn’t write it down, but he figured it couldn’t be that difficult to remember.

“No salad on the menu,” Norah said glumly as Polly turned to her. “I guess I’ll go with the grilled cheese and water, with a slice of lemon if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” Polly glared at Trip again, walking around the counter to the window. She had a short, pithy conversation with the cook on the other side, filled their drink order, then returned to the table and picked up the conversation where she’d left off. At least that’s what Trip surmised since he spent the time running over his plans for the rest of the day.

A little bell dinged, and Polly hustled back to the window to retrieve their food, Trip already salivating by the time she slid the plate in front of him.

“Wow,” Norah said, “thank you, Polly.”

Trip looked across the table and threw his hands up. “I don’t believe it. You got them to make you a salad.”

“The grilled cheese is on there, too,” Norah pointed out.

Polly sidled over to Norah’s side of the booth and leaned down a little. But her eyes were on Trip. “Chapter four,” she said to Norah. “Right?” And everyone in the place laughed.

Except for Trip.

 

THE FERRY LEFT AT TWELVE THIRTY. DESPITE THE goings-on at the diner, Norah and Trip made it to the dock in plenty of time, Norah standing by while Trip secured his bike personally, then following him to the premium seating on the uppermost deck.

“Nothing but First Class for the feds,” Norah said, taking a seat across the table from Trip.

“They only had premium tickets left,” Trip said. “They’ll probably reject my expense report.”

“Maybe I should offer to pay my own way.”

“They’ll probably take you up on it.”

“Tell them to deduct it from the haul—”

“Ixnay,” Trip said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Didn’t you ever speak Pig Latin?”

“I grew up with a father who spoke English right to my face and still managed to make it so I couldn’t understand him until it was too late.”

“No wonder you’re old beyond your years.”

“Ouch.”

“Okay,” Trip allowed, “
old
probably wasn’t the right word, but since the other choices were
inhibited
,
boring
, and
repressed
, I decided
old
was the least objectionable.”

“I was wrong about you,” Norah said. “I accused you of being a con man, but a con man would never stoop to that level of honesty.”

“Did you just insult me?”

Norah smiled. “So what does it mean,
ixnay
?”

“It means be careful what you say because you never know who’s listening.”

Norah didn’t bother looking over her shoulder. She knew who owned that voice. “How did you know where to find us?”

“Some girl named Jillian plastered it all over the Web that you were having lunch at a greasy spoon near the ferry terminal in Milwaukee.”

Hollie plopped down at the next table, Loomis shuffling along to lurk behind her chair. “Sucks to be famous, doesn’t it?”

“Right this moment? Yes.”

Hollie just laughed. “You can’t be surprised to see me.”

“I understood the ferry was sold out. We only got tickets because of the bike.”

“It wasn’t hard to convince someone to sell me their ticket and take the next ferry,” Hollie said with a shrug. “The up side of being famous.”

“Don’t you mean infamous?”

“Really, Norah, it’s going to be a long trip if you insist on being unpleasant the entire time.”

Norah looked at Trip and relaxed. She didn’t have to give Hollie the satisfaction of objecting because Hollie wasn’t going to get away with stalking them. Trip was already on it.

“I mean,” Hollie was saying, “isn’t it convenient that there are two of us and two of you, and even the same sex. And it’s such a small boat—”

“Ship,” Trip inserted.

“That there’s really no way for us to avoid each other anywhere, even the bathroom.”

“Head,” Trip corrected her again.

Hollie looked startled, but then that word probably had a whole other connotation in her world. “Convincing” someone to sell her a ticket, for instance. Maybe an ungenerous thought, but it made Norah smile, and it had the added bonus of shutting Hollie up while she tried to figure out why Norah was smiling. Unfortunately, the silence didn’t last long, Hollie resuming her attempts to get a rise out of them. Trip crossed his arms and went into some sort of half doze/zen-looking state. Norah had psychology on her side. She knew it would drive Hollie crazy that she didn’t react.

Ninety minutes into the two-and-a-half hour trip Norah was on the verge of strangling Hollie and shooting Trip. She settled for kicking him under the table. He slitted one eye and peered out at her for a second or two. Then the other eye opened, he got to his feet without saying a word and wandered off, Loomis tagging along behind him.

Norah, annoyed, watched him go.

“Men can be so . . . inscrutable,” Hollie said.

“Wow, congratulations on the correct use of the word
inscrutable
.”

“Oh, the claws are coming out. Really, Norah, if you would just let me come along this wouldn’t have to be so unpleasant.”

“You should get a life of your own, Hollie,” Norah said, not completely out of spite. “You just need to get some perspective.”

“Perspective!? It’s your fault—” Hollie stopped, throttled back on her anger, impressing Norah again. “I’m trying to get a career,” she said. “Then I can worry about having a life.”

“Suit yourself,” Norah said, wondering where in the blazes Trip had gotten to.

Hollie sat forward just then, a frown on her face. Norah looked over her shoulder and saw him ambling their way. Hollie’s lackey was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Loomis?” she wanted to know.

“I left him in the head. I think he’s seasick,” Trip said, taking his seat.

“After two hours?” Hollie said, angry and suspicious, and rightly so considering Trip’s smug grin.

“He was doubled over the toilet, groaning. Sounded pretty bad to me.”

“And he had no help getting that way, right?”

Trip put on a sympathetic face. “I wanted to help, but there really wasn’t anything I could do for him.”

Hollie stewed about it for a minute, then crossed her arms and huffed out a breath, arriving at the inevitable conclusion there was nothing she could do about it.

Trip met Norah’s eyes, one side of his mouth quirking up into a smug little grin. “Don’t you want to . . .” He tipped his head toward the bathrooms.

“Why yes,” Norah said, getting to her feet and not bothering to hide her smile. “I was just about to do that very thing. It’s cold out there,” she said to Hollie, as if the woman didn’t already know that, “and then there’s the motorcycle—all that vibration. Not to mention the coffee, and, I don’t know, all that water out there just naturally gives you the urge to—”