Chasing Stardust: A Novel By Erica Lucke Dean - 8

Let’s Dance

“ Wake up, sleepyhead. I made pancakes. ”

I jerk awake as the ghost of my dream fades into the ether. The sudden loss leaves me cold and empty. Instead of Mom gently nudging me, I’m greeted by the aromas of fresh coffee, bacon, and maple syrup, and the boisterous laughter from at least a dozen voices all speaking at the same time. The quiet, predawn diner I fell asleep in is now packed with the breakfast rush. The clatter of forks on plates and ice clinking in glasses drags me further out of my sleep hangover. I lift my head, breaking the long string of drool tethering my chin to the table, and use my shoulder as a rag.

The empty seat across from me makes me weirdly uneasy, and I search the crowd for a familiar face. Becky gives me a three-finger wave from the counter. I wave back, wondering where Dash disappeared to. Did he leave?

“You’re awake.” He drops into the booth with a bounce.

A startled squeal catches in my throat. The words Where were you? pop into my head, but I shove them back. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight thirty. I would’ve woken you sooner, but, uh . . .” He snickers, giving me a quick once-over. “You looked like you could use the rest.”

My hands go to my face, then slide into my matted hair. An inhuman sound rolls out of me. I can only imagine how horrible I must look.

Dash grins. “You mumble in your sleep.”

A quick intake of breath sends saliva down the wrong pipe. “What did I say?” I choke out the words.

“Something about church ladies and green Jell-O.” He laughs, and his whole face lights up.

“Excuse me.” I scoop up my tote and the tattered remains of my self-esteem and stumble out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

My dirty Skechers slap the greasy linoleum as I scurry to the restroom. Safely inside the subway-tiled walls, I lift my chin and approach the mirror. How bad can it be?

My reflection stares back at me in horror. Faded-black streaks of mascara trail from my eyes to my chin like creepy shadows against the sickly glow of death, courtesy of the yellow hoodie. Hardened mud and ash have turned my ponytail into a tangled nest, minus the sticks and leaves. Every exposed inch of me from my Skechers to my dishwater-blond hair is coated in a thin layer of filth. I look like I clawed my way out of the grave.

Worse than I thought.

Balancing my tote between my feet, and armed with nothing more than cheap diner supplies, I yank off my hoodie and tie it around my waist, ready to get down to business. The hot water tank groans as I crank on the taps and dump a handful of powdered soap from the rusty wall dispenser into the chipped sink. The basin quickly fills with bubbles, and the sickening scent of old lady perfume wafts through the air as I unfurl half a roll of paper towels and get to work.

After scrubbing my skin raw and yanking a brush through my tangled locks, I feel almost human again. Not exactly my best, but a giant step up from what had to have been my worst. I brush my teeth and add a bit of cherry gloss to my lips before tossing everything I own into my bag, a little too eager to get back to the booth. And Dash.

When I reach the table, he does a double take and then hands me his no-frills phone and a steaming cup of coffee. “I hope you don’t mind. I dialed the number for Mack’s. It’s ringing.”

“Great. Thanks!” I press his phone to my ear and wait.

“Mack’s Garage,” a deep voice answers. The rest of his garbled greeting is lost between a thick Southern accent and what sounds like a mouth full of pennies.

“Hi! Um . . . I’m calling about the yellow Cutlass that came in last night?” I dump two sugars into my coffee, fidgeting with the empty packets while I wait for his reply.

“We got a yellow ’73 Cutlass in this morning.”

“With the armadillo in the radiator?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Yup, that’d be the one.”

“Can you tell me if she can be saved?” I dart a nervous glance at Dash.

“Nah, that armadillo most likely died on impact.”

I clear my throat to cover a laugh. “No, I mean the car. Can the car be saved?”

“Oh, sure. Nothing we can’t fix with the right parts.”

Relief courses through me, sending a warm tingle from my fingers to my toes. “Great. When can—”

“Gonna need to order those from Atlanta.”

“Seriously? Atlanta? ” Dread sets in. “How long will that take?”

“Oh . . . not long. We can probably have them in by noon tomorrow.”

“I-I guess I can hang out here for another day.” I look at Dash, and he nods along with me. I hope the Betty has armadillo coverage. “I’ll have my grandma call her insurance—”

“But . . .” The voice cuts me off again. “With the holiday comin’ up, it’ll likely be Tuesday before we can crack ’er open.”

“Tuesday?” My insides plummet and the blood drains from my face, leaving me cold. “What am I supposed to do in Hicksville for a whole week with no money?”

“Well . . . the town puts on a pretty good fireworks show for the Fourth. And Memphis ain’t that far away, if you can get a ride.”

“Of course.” If I had a ride, I wouldn’t need the stupid car to begin with. I sink deeper into the booth and let my head fall against the seat back with a groan. “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”

He doesn’t say anything, and I can almost see him shrugging into the phone.

“Can I at least come get my charger and my pillow while I wait?” If I’m going to be stuck in this diner for a week, I’d at least like my favorite pillow with me. And that’s if they don’t kick me into the street for loitering.

“Sure thing. Come on over and get it.”

“Thanks.” I end the call with no clue how I’ll get to Mack’s, or what I’ll do in this one-horse town for the next week. I still haven’t called G-Lo to tell her about her car.

Dash gives me a sympathetic smile.

“So . . .” I tap my toe to the rhythm of my pulse as I contemplate the inevitable. “I guess your car is all charged up by now?”

He nods, still wearing the unreadable expression from earlier.

“Thanks again for letting me use your phone.” Sighing, I pass it back to him. “And for warning me about Travis. And for not letting anyone steal my stuff while I slept.” I let out a hollow laugh. “Too bad you weren’t in Cleveland.”

“Right?” He shreds the napkin in his hands, then grabs another one and starts over. “I’ve been thinking . . .”

“At least one of us has.” I lay my cheek on the cool table and stare into the crowded dining room. Mom would’ve had a backup plan.

“No, really, listen.” He wads the napkin confetti and chucks it at my head. “Memphis is just over an hour from here. If that.”

“Great.” I snort. “Close enough to Uber. If I had my wallet. Or my charger—”

“No.” He exhales. “You’re not getting what I’m saying.”

His frustration piques my interest, and I lift my head. “I guess not. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying . . .” He rakes long fingers through his dark waves. “I could take you there. If you like.”

“Why?” Somewhere in the dark recesses of my brain, a warning light flickers and then goes out. What are you cooking up in that gorgeous head of yours?

He pins me with a solemn look. “You promised your mom you’d spread her ashes.”

“So?” With my brain finally firing on all cylinders, I pick apart his body language.

“So it’s on my way. And . . .” He shrugs. “It might be nice to have some company, even for a little while.”

The adventurous part of my brain that somehow convinced me to climb behind the wheel of G-Lo’s car not twenty-four hours ago perks up. But the rational voice in my head tells me not to get my hopes up.

“Let me get this straight. You’re saying you want to drive me to Memphis—which is on your way. Then bring me back here—which is definitely out of your way if you’re heading west. Just so I can spread my mom’s ashes?”

He bobs his head a few times, lips twitching with the threat of a smile. “Sounds about right.”

The idea should thrill me, and yesterday it definitely would have, but after the events of the past twenty-four hours, I can’t help but wonder about his motives.

I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s in it for you?”

“What do you mean?” He turns his book over in his hands a few times before laying it face down on the table. “Can’t a guy simply want to do the right thing? Is it wrong of me to want to help you?”

“Not at all.” With my voice of reason battling the newly awakened adventurous spirit for control, a dark laugh bubbles out of me. “But I don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to trusting men.”

He arches a brow. “I’m not Travis. Or the guy in Cleveland, for that matter.”

Or Damian, but Dash doesn’t know me well enough to realize he’s being compared to him, too.

“I know that.” Jeanie’s warnings flash in my peripheral vision, and I stare him down like the criminal he could be. “But how do I know you’re not trying to lure me into the desert so you can kill me?”

He laughs. “Memphis isn’t in the desert. Come on, Zoey, road trips get boring. There are only so many diners you can eat at before you start getting lonely.”

“Get a puppy. Dogs love car rides.” I grab my tote and scoot toward the end of the bench.

“Wait!” He tugs on his hair. “You’re so stubborn. Why won’t you let me help you?”

With my tote in my lap, I lean forward until my chest rests on Mom’s urn and lock my eyes on his—first the brown, then the blue one. “Because I don’t buy it. No one sacrifices their summer vacation for someone else without some level of self-interest.”

A sliver of guilt works its way under my skin as I realize the ugly truth in my statement. Didn’t I tell Jeanie I wanted Mom all to myself, if only for a little while? Maybe I was even a little relieved she couldn’t make the trip. Doesn’t that make me selfish?

“Damn. You’re relentless.” Dash goes back to shredding napkins, adding them to his growing pile of casualties.

“Me?” I snatch the napkin holder, dragging it to my side before he kills again. “You’re the one dipping out on his own road trip to tag along on mine. Do you always pick up randos in the middle of nowhere? Because a habit like that could be bad for your health.”

“No.” He chuckles and relaxes into the booth again. “I’ve never picked up a stranger in a diner before.”

“Then why me?” I glance down at my dirty hoodie and catch a whiff of my stale-flower odor. “Must be my dazzling personality.”

“Okay, fine.” He shakes his head, accepting defeat with a laugh. “I set out on this trip because I have three weeks to make the most important decision I’ve ever had to make—a choice that will decide the path I take for the rest of my life—and I have absolutely no idea what to do. Helping you gives me a much-needed distraction. And yeah, maybe I’m a little curious about your secret connection with Ziggy Stardust. I wasn’t kidding when I said my mom loved Bowie. She’s practically a Bowie encyclopedia, and thanks to her, so am I. Your adventure sounds way better than mine, and maybe . . .” He leans closer, lowering his voice to a low purr. “Part of me wants to come along for the ride.”