Page 65

He ignores me. Naturally. He’s too caught up in a car chase to realize I’m talking.
“Tiller?”
Nothing.
Okay, well. I look around the truck to see if there’s anything I can catch puke in, but I can’t find anything. His truck is meticulously clean.
“I’m serious, Tiller. She’s going to puke!” I shout, unbuckling my seatbelt and hanging over the passenger seat. Half of me is in the front seat, the other in the back, trying to sooth River by rubbing her knee. “It’s okay, baby, just take a deep breath.”
She cries hysterically, pushing Tiller’s jacket and hat off her. “No, no, no, no!”
“Uh, Tiller?”
The Durango pulls ahead, whips in front of us and slams on his brakes. “What a fucking asshole!” Tiller shouts and slams on the brakes himself.
And then it happens. I hit the dashboard from not being buckled in and River vomits.
All.
Over.
The.
Truck.
Some even hits me in the face, and the windshield.
That, and only for that reason, Tiller pulls over because apparently if he smells vomit, it makes him sick too.
“I sorry,” River says, rubbing Tiller’s arm when we’re at the rest stop and he’s cleaning her off with baby wipes.
He mumbles out a reply, but I don’t hear it. For one, I’m so angry at him and I’m too busy trying to get chunks out of my hair and keep myself from vomiting. It’s so gross.
“I can’t believe you did that!” I yell at Tiller.
He stares at me, his eyes hard and cold, but says nothing. He knows what he did wrong.
Stomping away, I take River to the bathroom and finish cleaning up the two of us while Tiller rolls down all the windows to the truck to air it out.
“I sorry I puked,” River tells me, shaking as I wipe her down. “That was scary.”
I touch her cheek. “It’s okay, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry that was so scary for you.”
When we’re back at the truck, I stand there on the sidewalk with River. Tiller’s tossing soiled shop towels on the ground. “I think you can put her back in.” He eyes River carefully, like he’s waiting for her to spew again. “You don’t feel sick again, do you?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
Lifting her up, he gets her back in her seat and she squirms. “It wet.”
He hands her the iPad and her blanket that amazingly didn’t get wet during the process. “Because you puked in it. I had to hose it off.” And then he shuts the door.
I don’t even know where to begin, but I have to say something. “You’re a selfish jerk. I cannot believe you put her life in danger just because some douche wanted to race you.”
His eyes snap to mine like bolts of lightning. “You don’t think I fucking know that?” he bites back at me, the quiet lost as his temper flares. He looks panicked, guilty, and... angry. “
Tears surface, stinging my eyes, pool in the corners and I swallow over that familiar lump rising. As I attempt to get inside the truck and let the both of us calm down before getting in, Tiller’s hand catches the door. I don’t look at him, afraid if I do I might start crying.
“Oh goddamn it. I’m sorry,” he grumbles, reaching his hands up to tug at his hair. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry! Okay, I’m fucking sorry!”