“Then why don’t you?” I look her way.
Her mouth purses and she stares out the window lost in thought, offering nothing but a simple, “Hmm.”
Serena settles into her seat, her body relaxing, melting almost, as if she’s finding I’m easier to be around than she originally anticipated.
“Maybe I will,” she adds. And then she chuckles. “Eudora would really think I’ve gone crazy then.”
We pull up to a stop sign, and I peer over the dash.
“Which way?” I ask. “Left? Right? Straight?”
“You want me to choose?” Her hand splays across her chest before toying with a gold-charmed necklace as she rakes her teeth along her lower lip. “Oh, hmm. Straight?”
“Is that a question or an order?” I’m teasing.
Serena’s mouth pulls up halfway, and she bats my shoulder, leaving her hand a second longer than I expected. “Just go straight. Let’s not make this complicated, okay? Just drive.”
The sky has grown darker in the minutes that have passed since we left Belcourt, and I switch on the radio from the controls on the steering wheel.
“What kind of music are you into?” I lift a finger. “And don’t tell me Chopin or some bullshit like that, because it won’t impress me. You’re young. You’ve got a pulse. Tell me what you like, or so help me, I’ll subject you to ESPN Radio.”
“No, no! Don’t do that.” My hand hovers over preset number four, and Serena pushes it away. “I like . . . I kind of like . . . everything.”
“Everything?” I lift a brow.
She nods. “Yes. Everything.”
“But what’s your favorite? You’ve got to have a favorite.”
“You’ll never believe me if I tell you.” Serena pulls in a heavy breath.
“Try me.”
“Classic rock. I have a huge vinyl collection. At least, I used to have one. I’m sure it’s in storage somewhere. Anyway, I have a secret love affair with Led Zeppelin, Bob Seger, the Steve Miller Band . . .” She rattles off a few more, and in the meantime, I press preset number one.
Serena’s face lights when Tom Petty’s “American Girl” begins to play over the speakers. I turn it up, and she does a hint of a happy dance in her seat.
I watch her as best I can from the driver’s seat, completely transforming in the span of a single song. She mouths along to the music, her shoulders twisting and lifting with each kick of the bass drum.
Pressing my foot into the accelerator, we climb up hills and coast down valleys, the highway lined in gorgeous, budding trees. A sign on the right tells us Walworth Township is two miles ahead, and the speed limit slows to thirty-five.
The song ends, and The Stones play next as we approach a four-way stop with a flashing red light.
“I’ve never seen someone come alive like that,” I say.
“It’s got to be all this fresh air.” Her cheeks blush and fade away. “I’ve been feeling so listless staying at the Belcourt. It’s amazing what a little music and a change of scenery can do for the spirit. Although, now I feel completely ridiculous. I can assure you, I don’t normally make a habit of turning a car into a disco dance hall.”
“No, no. Don’t. Don’t feel that way.”
I make a left at the stop sign and spot a bridge in the distance. Serena reaches for the door handle as we approach it, her body freezing.
“What? What is it?” I press my brakes.
She closes her eyes, swallowing deep breaths. “The bridge.”
I glance ahead and back at her. “What about it?”
“This is where I had my accident.”
“Oh. Shit. That was here?” I drag my hand along my chin before shifting into reverse. “We don’t have to go this way.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” Her blue eyes are wide open now. “It was just a little winter driving accident. The bridge was slick. It should be safe now. Go ahead.”
“You’re sure?”
She bites her lower lip and blinks slowly before finally nodding. “Yes, just go.”
I take it easy, pulling ahead no faster than ten miles per hour. When we get to the end of the bridge, a patched metal railing indicates where her car must have broken through and slid off.
“Good. They’ve got it all fixed up.” She gives it a glance before staring straight ahead. “That was the most terrifying moment of my life. I truly thought I was going to die.”
We pull away from the bridge, and I take a right at the next intersection, which leads us to another stretch of highway. A sign tells us we’re fifteen miles from the next town.
“You thought you were going to die?” I ask.
Her hand rests on her chest, which is rising and falling in quick succession.
“Yes. I was driving along, and this little cat ran across the bridge, and I didn’t want to hit it, so I slammed on my brakes. I’m not used to winter driving. It had just snowed, and I guess there was a layer of ice underneath. Or that’s what I was told. Anyway, I slid off the bridge and broke through the railing. Landed in the water beneath. Thank God, it wasn’t very deep.”
“But.” I scratch the side of my head, watching her then watching the road. “I’m confused.”
“About what?” She bats her lashes, staring ahead.
“The articles, the doctor’s statement . . .” I say, “they all say that was a suicide attempt. That you drove off the bridge to hurt yourself.”