Page 19 of Resonance
“Didn’t know I was a comedian, did you?”
4:15:
“Have you ever picked up a hitchhiker?” Owen asked, as we passed one standing near an exit ramp.
“Not that I can recall, no. You?”
“Are you kidding? No way. I’m hitchhiker bait. Me picking up a hitchhiker would be accompanied by the opening credits to a horror movie.”
“For you or the person who picks you up?”
“You’re hilarious.”
“You said that earlier. I think I might’ve missed my calling.”
A few moments later, he rattled the bag in his hand. “Peanut M&M?”
I eyed him sidelong before sticking out my hand. When nothing came, I glanced over again to find him angled in the seat, the bag tucked protectively against his chest. A smile spread slowly as he popped one of the candies in his mouth.
“You’re a brat, you know that?”
“It’s one of my superpowers. But keep that to yourself.”
The smell of chocolate filled the car, and Owen’s smile hung outlined against the backs of my eyelids as I turned back to the road.
A second later, he nudged the bag into my hand.
5:20:
“When’d you get all the ink?” I ticked my chin toward the whorls of color on his arm. There were birds and flowers, a few quotes in script, other symbols that were less determinable.
Owen blinked at me. “Are you actually asking me a question about myself and making conversation?”
“And regretting it already.” We’d been driving in silence for a while, listening to his playlist—which I had to admit was more than decent and filled with old classics mixed with newer stuff I liked just as much. The sky overhead had grown thick with clouds and twilight.
Owen gave me a sideways glance, almost coy, head tipped at an angle and a tousle of blond falling to one plane of his cheek. I fixed my gaze back on the road. Kid was a flirt in his own quirky way, and I didn’t need to be looking at him like that, feeling his gaze that deep in my core. It’d been happening all afternoon.
He leaned forward, wriggling out of his denim coat and tossing it to the floorboards.
“I didn’t get them all at once. Just added them over the years whenever I could afford it or had an in with someone. It’s what I remember most about my dad when I was little. The ink on his arms. And not that I ever want to be like him, but some things just stick with you, I guess. His were shitty prison tattoos, but…”
“What was he in for?”
“All kinds of shit, off and on. Mostly petty crimes. The longest stint was for car theft.” Owen shrugged when my lips set in a firm line. “I just thought it was a neat idea, I guess, to commemorate things on your skin. I moved around a lot. Got used to stuff getting lost, so when I turned eighteen, the first thing I got a tattoo of was this.” He pointed out an antique gold watch with a chain that wrapped around his wrist. “Supposedly it was my grandfather’s. My mom gave it to me. I don’t know what happened to it, but I remember playing with it a lot as a kid. And then one day it was just gone. I never found it, either. For all I know, my mom pawned it off. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. Either way, when I moved in with my grandma, it wasn’t with my stuff anymore. I was five, maybe.”
“And you remember it?”
“I remember a lot of stuff, yeah, but especially that watch. Now?” He lifted his forearms and turned them side to side for me to see. “Nothing gets lost.” A vibrant hummingbird shifted with the movement against the bouquet of music notes it suckled at, and a quiet ache stole through my chest.
The first fatflakes started falling near Brinkley, and as we passed beyond Little Rock, it got worse. Thick, pelting snow whirled around the truck and made the interstate a kaleidoscope of white, black, and red. I didn’t think it’d stick too long because the ground hadn’t gotten cold enough, but it was blinding and traffic slowed to a crawl. I sighed, inching forward another few feet and concentrating on the road ahead.
“Think we should just stop?” Owen wiggled around in his seat and leaned forward, staring out the windshield at the field of white interrupted occasionally by the red of taillights.
“Reckon so. I was hoping we’d get an hour or two farther in, but…” I shrugged, surprised the interstates hadn’t already been closed. The South wasn’t known for handling snow well.
Owen thumbed toward his window. “How about that exit? They’ve got some fast food and a… Motel 8?” He read off a big green sign that indicated an exit a mile ahead.
“Must be the redheaded step child of the Motel 6?”