Chapter Text
For all the bullshit that comes with working for Loggerhead Hauling, Chloe couldn’t be more grateful for Shannon — dispatcher and lifesaver, especially having ended up in northern Vermont and in need of backhaul that’ll link her back up to Oregon before winter hits. She needs to use her vacation time after months of pushing her hours to their absolute legal limits, but it’s not going to start on the road; if her rig is moving, it had better be earning.
It’s been a long and headache-inducing day between loading up and planning out the cross-country route and on-duty hours to come, and of course an early autumn rainstorm had to pop up after the sun went down, forcing Chloe to take her time reaching the next truck stop.
“I don’t even know what you look like but I could fucking kiss you for all the help you’ve been today,” Chloe says, dictating a message that she sends off to lifesaver-Shannon before adding another. “I’ll be passed out in twenty. Stupid rain.”
A response comes shortly, the automated voice reading off, “Call me biased but you’re my number one, and number ones get what they need. Goodnight and don’t let weather piss you off. Rain don’t have a brain but you do.”
“You hear that, Rip?” Chloe says, glancing off to the passenger seat. “We’re her favorite.”
The brindle brown-and-white dog curled up there tiredly lifts her head upon recognizing her nickname, one ear flopped back wrong like the canine equivalent of a bedhead. Her tail thumps once.
“What do you think? Does she like us so much ‘cause we’re not one of the boys, or because we’re hot shit?” Ripley yawns in answer, showing off sharp teeth and indifference. “C’mon, seriously. There’s gotta be a reason she gets all personal in our off-duty thread. The woman asks about my love life more than my own mother.” Chloe snorts, shaking her head. “I could pull a cougar, yeah?”
Ripley settles back down and curls up tighter, a clear indication that she’s too exhausted to stay alert to Chloe’s ramblings.
“I see how it is. My own first mate has no faith in me.” Chloe reaches to turn up the CB radio, which sits on channel 19 as per usual. It’s no surprise that she hears nothing but dead air; this county highway she has found herself on as she shortcuts from one interstate to another is dark and empty, sheets of rain fighting to wreck her visibility and trees looming on both sides. “Well, you just watch, Rip. We won’t be coworkers once I go owner-operator, and then something’s gonna give.”
Chloe takes a deep breath and puts in one earbud to listen to the music that’s been playing on her phone, keeping tabs on the radio and the road with the rest of her senses.
“Something better fucking give,” she mutters, fingers flexing on the wheel.
Minutes pass in would-be silence, if not for the screech of guitars in one ear and pounding rain in the other. Ripley’s soft snores begin to join the soundscape before long and Chloe can only feel relieved. Too-quiet is a mood killer, a fast track to a hundred thoughts she has no business having if she wants to stay focused. The cacophony is better than any white noise machine she has tried.
The flash of a small, bright light in the dark haze beyond the reach of the headlights seems like a trick of the eye at first. Maybe the shine of a deer’s eye reflecting her approach before it turns tail and runs, though she’s seen that plenty enough to know better. Still, just in case there’s a danger of an animal bursting into the road in front of her, she downshifts and slows. As for why she then reaches for the microphone, even she couldn’t explain it — it’s an odd gut feeling that something’s wrong, and she has learned to trust her gut.
“This is Blue Hammer westbound, anyone listening? I’ve got a…” She pauses just long enough to register the sight coming into view, which is a person in this hellish rain with a cellphone flashlight. It’s hard to pick up any details in these conditions, and she’s still moving. Chloe turns off the high beams and continues, “…got a lost pup. Any drivers out there who can take a ride-along?”
Silence.
“Any fuckin’… loners with a radio hobby?” Chloe wrinkles her nose; she’s not sure she actually wants to grab the attention of the kind of person who’s out in these wooded hills listening to trucker radio in the middle of the night. Especially not as she passes the person and they look utterly miserable, hunched and small as they pull a compact suitcase along, face turned away from the headlights. She grits her teeth and exhales. “Whatever, I’m talkin’ to ghosts. Ten-ten.”
It takes time to stop a big rig, and dangerous to do it too hastily in the rain, but eventually Chloe gets it pulled over as much as physically possible without the risk of getting stuck in muddy ground. She keeps the lights on and peers into the mirrors, expecting the stranded person to have noticed her stop and start coming her way, like most would-be hitchhikers. Ripley sits at attention, her nap interrupted — she looks out the windows and back at Chloe with a tilt of her head, unsure exactly what’s going on but certain it’s out of the ordinary.
“At ease, Rip, it’s just a hitchhiker,” Chloe mutters. To her dismay and concern alike, the flashlight shine that indicates the person’s position seems to have stopped moving completely. She swears under her breath. “Was hoping I could shower at the stop, not out in this shit.”
She quickly delves into the cabin’s closet and grabs her most robust rain jacket, pulling it on as she commands Ripley to stay put. The pup gives her big mournful eyes — like she always does when Chloe leaves the truck without her — but does as told with all the seriousness of a dog on duty. The last thing Chloe picks up is a flashlight from a drawer of miscellaneous tools, then she’s stepping into the downpour.
“Hey, you!” she calls out as she walks, her jeans just about immediately and unpleasantly drenched. She pinpoints the phone light and follows it, resigned to the fact that the rain is falling too deafeningly for even her own loud voice to cut through.
It can’t be longer than a minute, but it feels like it takes forever to reach her destination. Her flashlight finally falls on a young woman who has taken a seat on her suitcase, her head bowed so that long bedraggled hair obscures her face. She is not dressed for the weather, shivering in what looks like a cardigan and a modest skirt, and Chloe can’t bring herself to give even an inch of attitude to this person who seems to be having a hell of a night to rival some of her own.
“I’ve got spare room in the big blue beastie back there,” she says, crouching down. “I’d like to get you outta this weather. Find a motel… get a room to dry off and chill out in. You’re gonna get sick staying out here.”
There’s a quiet but distinct sniffle from the woman, who just nods and gets to her feet. Chloe takes her arm, nervous that she’ll be unsteady on her feet.
“Swear I’m not one of those big rig creeps,” she says, voice raised over the rain. “I know the type. I’ve punched ‘em too.”
It’s all she can think to do, keeping up a one-sided conversation. Whether she’s trying to distract herself or this poor woman, she’s not really sure — and maybe it doesn’t matter as long as they keep moving. Talking at least gives her something to do.
“And here’s the beastie herself,” she announces upon arriving at the truck. “There’s gonna be a dog inside, but she's a good girl.”
Chloe opens the door and lets the woman inside first; she steps tentatively up and in. Ripley watches her warily but, true to Chloe’s word, she doesn’t so much as budge from the passenger seat. Chloe makes sure to give her a reassuring pat on the head after getting inside and closing the door, finally muffling the noise of the storm.
“’Kay, so, uh…” She clears her throat and pulls the hood of the coat down. “I can look up the nearest motel or whatever while you change into something dry.” A glance at the suitcase’s size tells her that there’s not much to work with, so she adds, “You can raid my closet just in that door there. Any questions?”
The woman still won't look at her, hovering anxiously in the space between the front seats and the fold-down bed in the back of the cab. There’s a table and chairs that can be set up if the bed gets pushed up against the wall, but Chloe decides she’s not going to crowd any personal bubbles trying to get back there just yet. So she grabs the edge of a privacy curtain that separates the driving-zone from the living-zone and offers a half-smile.
“Just holler when you’re ready?” Once again, the woman just nods. “Cool.”
She pulls the curtain along and sits heavily in the driver’s seat, rubbing at her face in sheer disbelief at her situation. A detour to a random motel’s gonna throw off her timing, but if she plays her cards right, she won’t have to make any serious changes to her schedule and ruin Shannon’s day. Chloe grabs her phone off its mount and gets to searching — luckily it’s not an internet dead zone, though that further begs questions as to why this woman was out here alone with a seemingly functional phone. It’s not her business, but she wonders anyway.
She almost sincerely thanks God for the first time in ages when there’s a motel on the same route as the truck stop, meaning it won’t take her totally outside of her intended path. “Good news, Miss Vagabond, we’re not far from a… probably pretty shitty bed, but it’s better than nothing.”
“Really?” comes an impossibly soft voice, which cracks slightly. It’s heartening to hear something at least.
“No lies here, ma’am. I can get you there, cover your room, and you’ll be all set to call someone you know in the morning for help.”
A long, unsettling pause follows her words. “I… I don’t think…” Another pause.
Chloe wrestles with her impulse to fill the silence, and promptly fails. “Or, like, a ride service to Montpelier or something. I dunno where you need to go, but—”
“Um, Oregon?”
“Shit, really? Me too, actually. That’s a long haul,” Chloe says. “Least you don’t have to stay on the road like me, you could hop on a plane and go straight west.”
“Yeah. Sure,” the woman says, sounding entirely the opposite of sure. The more she speaks, the more she sounds vaguely familiar, but Chloe’s met so many people over the years in this job that she doesn’t trust that she’s not just imagining it. After long enough on the road, it's like she's subconsciously desperate to find something friendly in any voice that comes along. Chloe glances at the curtain, ready to ask questions, but only gets halfway to making them known when the voice on the other side hurries through another few words. “I-I actually, could you… I’m sure you’re busy…”
“What’s up?”
“I do need to talk to someone, but… I suppose I’m asking if maybe you could—”
“Me?” Chloe interrupts, too surprised to keep her mouth shut. “You sure? Doubt I can be much real help, but if you just need an ear to talk at, I’ve got a couple of those. They still function, mostly.”
“That’s exactly what I need,” the woman says, audibly relieved. “But if you have to work—”
Chloe shakes her head despite knowing she can’t be seen. “Let me worry about that. Listen, for whatever reason, you were stranded on the Great American Labyrinth of Idiots. Those of us who aren’t total dicks gotta watch each other's backs."
The conversation falls silent again and Chloe fiddles with the zipper of her jacket, making a face at the way water’s dripping everywhere. Not that she cares too much about how tidy and orderly things are in here — she prefers to err on the side of anarchy, as expressed through an impressive collection of trinkets and stickers and other odd items that decorate this interior — but she does make an effort to keep the elements outside where they belong. Especially now that she has a visitor, however temporary.
She listens to the gentle rustle of clothing, which soon comes with the slide of hangers. Chloe reclines back in the seat, expecting nothing more until this person finishes changing. That is, until she hears a soft sound of surprise. “Oh.”
“Sorry, didja find one of the skeletons? I meant to hide those better,” Chloe jokes. There’s an exhale of laughter and she takes it as a win.
“No… well, it depends. You’re going to Oregon?”
“Yup, that’s my home twenty for now. I’ve got hella vacation time that I plan to use unwisely,” Chloe says, grinning at the thought. “You probably wouldn’t know the old hometown, though, it’s a snoozer.”
“It’s Arcadia Bay, right?”
Chloe sits up, turning so she can stare at the curtain head-on with furrowed brows. “Uh… yeah. How—”
The curtain slides to the side, and Chloe finds herself face-to-face with a memory. Hair still down and damp, wearing a lightweight plain t-shirt, gripping the faded maroon of what’s recognizable as Chloe’s old and ragged high school hoodie — but the voice connects instantly with the soft, meek features in front of her, matured yet familiar… and even more weary. A gold cross still hangs from around her neck.
“No fucking way,” Chloe says, hushed and wide-eyed. “Kate Marsh?”
Kate blinks. “Chloe. You… remember me? I thought I recognized your voice, but I wasn’t sure. If I’d seen your hair sooner, though…”
Chloe reflexively pushes a hand through her still-blue hair and laughs, almost sheepish. “‘Course I remember you, the list of people I didn’t hate at Blackwell could fit on a post-it. I thought you moved on from the Bay.”
“I thought the same about you.” Kate pulls on the hoodie and bundles into it, arms wrapping around herself. “Didn’t you and Rachel Amber…”
“Ooh, long story,” Chloe says, attempting offhandedness. She clicks her tongue towards the passenger seat at Ripley. “Down girl, Kate needs the chair. This is Ripley,” she adds when Ripley huffs and drops down to the floor, walking back beyond the curtain without giving Kate more than a passing glance. “Uh, don’t take that personally, she’s not used to strangers.”
“That’s alright, I’m not making the best impression.” Kate takes a seat and buckles in, soon curling up as much as she can without compromising the effectiveness of the seatbelt. She shivers through an exhale and Chloe reaches to turn up the heat before getting herself and the truck back in gear to drive. Chloe doesn’t know a damn thing about what’s going on but she knows the last thing this woman needs on her list of problems is hypothermia.
As the truck rumbles back onto the road, she says, “How’d you even get out here?”
“Vacation,” Kate mumbles, almost inaudible against the rain’s percussion. “We stopped at a gas station that’s up ahead somewhere…”
“…and you went for a walk in this lovely weather, yeah?” Chloe says when Kate trails off.
“It wasn’t raining when I left. Not that it would’ve stopped me. I just… had to go.”
Chloe nods, mostly to herself since Kate’s not looking her way. She’s been there a few times, likely for very different reasons. Instead of continuing her questions, she focuses on the route to the motel, hoping it doesn’t have a horribly tiny parking lot. She can probably get away with leaving a rig and trailer in the lot for one night as long as there’s room enough not to block anything.
Kate stays quiet for the rest of the ride, and Chloe can’t get a good enough look at her expression for even the slightest hint at what might be going through her mind. Everything she knows about Kate Marsh is from high school; no way she's in the middle of New-England-Nowhere because of bullying, which is the only thing Chloe knows for sure she had trouble with back then.
They’d been distantly friendly the few times they directly interacted, though Chloe could never shake the notion that Kate pitied her, or worse, judged her. Nothing ever happened to generate bad blood, but there was no reason to get to know her, either. Chloe had already thoroughly checked out of the concept of school by the time Kate came around.
Before long she was off to Los Angeles with Rachel, and she didn’t look back long enough to wonder about Kate or anyone else. By the time she shuffled back to Arcadia Bay with a shallow resume and her metaphorical tail between her legs, most of her former classmates had gone on to bigger and better things. Blackwell students who actually graduate usually do.
“Thank fuck,” she murmurs when the motel finally comes into view and its parking lot is both sizable and nearly empty. It’s one of those old-school motels from last century that looks like it’s less than five years from becoming an abandoned building for local kids to tag. Chloe pulls in and teases the trailer up against one end of the lot, only blocking the view of some trees. “Time to go cozy up.”
The sixty-something man at the front desk doesn’t even register the presence of a dog at Chloe’s side despite a faded sign claiming that there’s an extra charge for pets, and she doesn’t point it out — she gets a room key with little fuss and leads Kate with a tentative hand on her shoulder to the proper door. Inside is a deeply mediocre room with the cheapest of the basics, décor from the seventies, and an odd smell as places like this often have. But it’s dry, which is what matters.
“Shower’s all yours,” Chloe says, testing the mattress of one of the beds with a light bounce on the edge. As expected, it’s not especially comfortable, and the springs creak loudly. “Jeez, good thing we’re here for business and not pleasure, right?”
Kate looks up from her suitcase, laid open on the other bed, and quickly gathers what she needs before all but scurrying off. As the bathroom door clicks shut, Chloe swears under her breath.
“Was that really too much? I just meant, like, a vacation or some shit like that,” she says to Ripley, who ignores her to shake off the rain — instantly splattering her, the end of the bed, and some of the TV stand drawers. Chloe wrinkles her nose. “Aw… thanks Rip, now I smell like wet dog. You’re lucky I haven’t showered yet.”
Chloe uses a rag from the duffel bag she threw together for the night to finish drying Ripley for the sake of avoiding any future wet-dog incidents. When Kate quietly returns ten or so minutes later, freshly showered and still wearing the Blackwell hoodie despite her pajama pants being her own, it’s to the sight of Chloe cross-legged on the floor, holding Ripley’s bemused face between her hands and whispering nonsense to her.
“Your turn,” Kate says, leaning against the corner with a weary almost-smile. She still seems distinctly uncomfortable, and Chloe can’t really blame her; all the hometown friendliness in the world can’t change the fact that they ran in very different circles and still clearly do. This would be a mildly uneasy reunion at best even without the dramatic circumstances. “Um, if you want. I just assumed.”
“Don’t worry, I know I’m rank,” Chloe says, getting up with a quiet grunt of effort.
“It’s really not… no, you’re fine,” Kate says as she hangs her drenched clothes up to dry, avoiding eye contact.
Chloe can’t hold in her snort of laughter. It’s plainly obvious Kate’s just being nice, because if there’s one thing she knows Kate Marsh does, it’s that. To see that it hasn’t changed after all these years is strangely comforting. It seems like the ordeal of getting older tends to crush that out of people. Or maybe Chloe’s just cynical. Either way, she’s not gonna argue with a woman who just walked who-knows-how-long in pouring rain, not even to poke fun.
Usually Chloe would take advantage of an opportunity to sleep somewhere other than the truck, to use something other than a truck stop shower, and enjoy the hot water a few minutes longer… but she’s more curious than she’d like to admit about Kate’s predicament. So she gets through it at her usual brisk pace, except for a spare moment taken before she gets dressed to lean on the sink and stare into the mirror with furrowed-brow disbelief.
“What are the fuckin’ odds?” she mutters to herself, lifting a hand to rub at the stubborn circles under her eyes. With no answers forthcoming, on go a tank top and pajama shorts for the night.
She opens the bathroom door to the sound of the TV playing quietly, local advertisements droning on about RV rentals and mattresses. Kate, sitting primly on the end of the bed she chose with head bowed and hands clasped, pays no apparent attention to the commercials or Chloe — who makes a valiant attempt to sneak unnoticed to the other bed. She almost succeeds… until she settles on top of it as slowly as possible, which doesn’t reduce the noise it makes so much as it just stretches out into a groaning crrreaaaaaak.
Chloe winces as Kate looks up. "Uh, don't let me get in the way of your long-distance call. I'll just—" She gestures vaguely at the TV, though she has no hope of finding something halfway watchable.
Kate shakes her head and pulls her legs up to sit with them crossed. She picks up the remote beside her and delicately turns the TV off. Even with how quietly it had been playing, the fresh silence is jarring. "I was more or less finished anyway. It's you I should really be talking to right now."
"If that's what you want, then shoot." Chloe leans back on her elbows and cocks her head to the side, keeping a curious eye on Kate. "What's up with Kate Marsh these days?"
There's an odd flash of confusion across the face, a glance like Chloe's about to get a question instead of an answer, but Kate just sighs. "The whole story is a bit long… but if you mean just tonight, well, I guess I'm a runaway."
"I'm not sure that term applies past eighteen, but go on."
Kate stares at the blank television screen. "Every couple of years my family takes a trip to catch up with distant relatives or my father's seminary colleagues. It's usually kind of a road trip, flying somewhere and driving a rental around to these little towns and churches."
Chloe lifts a brow. "And this is… fun?"
"It can be," Kate says, almost defensive; all signs of that instinct quickly deflate. "The sightseeing is nice. Getting out of the house… meeting new people. It can be wonderful."
"But…"
"But things have changed. My sisters are busy with school, so they didn't join us this time. I wasn't meant to either, but—" Kate purses her lips, gaze dropping. So does her voice, into a whisper. "I should never have let myself get so worked up."
Chloe sits back up, slow and unsure. "Okay, but you obviously had a reason. Nobody bails on a trip in the middle of nowhere for nothing."
"Having a reason doesn't mean it's a good one. My… some parts of my family have always been, um, particular, so nothing happened that that was out of the ordinary," Kate says, her hands clasped together and squeezing. "When we stopped for gas, my parents went inside for a restroom break. I was supposed to fill the gas tank. But there was this bunny for sale in the window, apparently not well loved once Easter passed and he grew. He looked so sad. And then, I… left." She looks to Chloe with wide eyes, as if only now processing her own actions. "Oh, no. Pop must be worried sick, I-I haven't been answering any of their calls."
The gaps between details in Kate's story feel like so many yawning chasms, but Chloe can't bring herself to press for more. They're practically strangers. At least she doesn't need to know much to sympathize with family issues. "Hey, little things have a bad habit of building up into some big bullshit in my experience, so… 'nuff said."
Kate buries her face in her hands and her shoulders start to shake. Ripley, who's been half asleep on the floor between the two beds, lifts her head upon hearing the first stuttering sob. Then she fixes Chloe with that expectant stare, awaiting her person's response — but her person has no fucking clue what to do.
Fuck.
Chloe gives Ripley a helpless look, but it's not like a dog will have all the answers. Bracing for the very real possibility of making things worse, Chloe gets up and takes the single step over to sit beside Kate and rub hopefully-comforting circles at her back. Kate freezes at the first touch, which almost convinces Chloe that she fucked up, but then there's a loosening of tension in her shoulders that suggests otherwise.
"Uh, look, one thing at a time, right?" Chloe tries, offering half a smile when Kate takes a deep, shaky breath and looks up at her with red eyes and wet cheeks. "You've got a good… good enough place to rest up for the night. In the morning I can help you get to wherever you gotta be."
Kate sniffs as she attempts to compose herself. "Aren't you working?"
"Well, yeah, but the beauty of working on the road is that it's all connected. If you want to get to an airport, my route gets close enough to Burlington that it'd be no biggie to make a quick stop." Chloe shrugs. "The company doesn't give a shit as long as I get to where I need to be when I need to be there." Not totally true, but true enough.
"If you're sure…"
"I'm sure I'm not gonna ditch you without some kind of plan, yeah," Chloe says with a short laugh. "I'm not that kind of asshole."
"I don't think you're any kind of — that, really," Kate murmurs, and Chloe snorts.
"Ha, yeah, right. That's how you know it's been fuckin' forever. Look," Chloe says, her hand moving to rest gently on Kate's shoulder as she leans to catch her eye, "'til you've figured out where you wanna go and when, the passenger seat is all yours. Rip won't mind."
Kate glances at the pup, now softly snoring. "I don't want to be in her way too long. The… the airport seems like a good idea. I'll tell Pop I'm safe so they don't start gathering a search party."
"If it keeps my truck from getting her tires popped by pitchforks, I'm all for it."
A tiny smile shines through the gloom. Being able to get even that much leaves a small, warm burst of pride in Chloe's chest. "I was thinking more about accusations of kidnapping, but that too."
"Oh, right." She can only imagine what Kate's family (and congregation) would think if they saw the two of them together. A modest young woman of faith and some loser truck-punk of a dyke. Of course kidnapping would be the natural conclusion.
Chloe leaves Kate be while she focuses on texting her father, only lingering long enough to see her swipe away several notifications with slightly shaky hands. Finding her mood dampened, Chloe crouches down with Ripley, rubbing one of her ears until the pup yawns with big, toothy jaws.
"Hey, Rip. One more chance to get outside before lights out. What do you say?"
To her relief, Ripley perks up at the mere mention of 'outside' and trots to the door. Chloe's close behind, only pausing to put on her jacket and boots, double-checking that her lighter and a pack are still in the pockets. It's not like Kate's potential disapproval would stop her, but it's nice to have an alternative excuse to take a few minutes to herself.
She finds a decent spot around the side of the motel to lean back against the faded paint under an overhang while Ripley goes about her business. The rain hasn't stopped but it's less intense now, closer to a moody September drizzle. Chloe watches the smoke that trails from her lips dissipate and sighs. When Ripley returns to her side, she looks down at her with a wry smile.
"It'll be nice to have a bit of company, right?" Another drag, exhale. "Burlington's practically around the corner, so you won't have to share for long." Ripley leans her head against Chloe's leg, which prompts absentminded petting. "Not even a day. Shit… is it weird that I think she shouldn't go home yet?"
Ripley's eyes close, enjoying the affection.
"Not that she has to stay with us, there's gotta be better places to figure shit out, but…" Chloe groans. "It's none of my fucking business. Just… I dunno, something about this whole bullshit gives me a bad feeling."
She stamps out the cigarette butt under the heel of her boot.
"Whatever," she mutters, following Ripley back to the room. "She's a grown woman."
She re-enters quietly, half expecting Kate to have gone to bed. But there's still a soft light on; once Chloe takes off her outerwear and steps into the main room, she finds Kate having moved to sit against the headboard where she's once again in prayer. Or deep thought. Both?
Unwilling to interrupt again with the squeaky mattress, no matter how nice Kate had been about it, Chloe busies herself with rubbing Ripley's short fur dry, setting an alarm on her phone, then with a round of mouthwash when an inkling of self-consciousness comes over her. Her morning self will appreciate it, anyway.
The next time she wanders into the room, Kate has bundled herself into the comforter — but she's not asleep, as Chloe discovers when a soft voice drifts over while she's getting settled in.
"It took some convincing, but you're safe from pitchforks."
Chloe looks over her shoulder at Kate and grins. "Good to hear. I guess your folks are gonna be heading back too?"
Kate shakes her head, bundling in tighter. "I told him to finish the trip. My father hasn't seen some of these people we were visiting in decades… I'll take a bus home from Portland and see them later on."
"Hey, at least you get some time to yourself."
"Yes, all alone in my parents' house," Kate says with a rueful look. "Waiting for the other shoe to drop." When Chloe pauses mid-pulling up the blankets, brow raised, Kate avoids her eye. "Sorry, no, you're right. I need the time to think."
"Still at their place, huh?" Chloe asks. "Uh, that's not meant to be judgy, by the way. My mom's place is my permanent address, so I'd be a huge fuckin' hypocrite."
"I moved back in earlier this year. I had hoped it would only be for a few months, but…" she trails off.
"Shit happened?" Kate hesitates, then nods. "Figures. Good of 'em to put you up for now, I guess."
Kate's tight smile in response makes Chloe wince internally; she really should keep her mouth shut more often about things she has no reason to understand. "I should try to get some sleep. Everything that's happened is starting to catch up to me."
"Yeah, 'course. I'm right there with you."
Chloe watches Kate turn off the lamp beside her bed, which is the last light remaining. She faintly hears Ripley let out a heavy sigh through the gentle patter of rain. There's one street lamp keeping the parking lot illuminated, its pale LED bleeding into the room through the window and tinting the darkness. Of course, even this old-ass motel has had its orange sodium lamp replaced.
The other mattress creaks as Kate turns over, and Chloe finally sinks into bed. She faces Kate first, jaw working with the weight of an idea that she's not sure will even help, much less be anything close to realistic... or welcome. But since when has that ever stopped her?
"Y'know, there are airports fuckin' everywhere. You don't have to leave from Burlington." You don't have to wait around alone for whatever's coming. She leaves that unspoken, feeling strangely like it might be too much, somehow. "I meant what I said about taking time. There's plenty of room aboard this ship."
I could use the company, anyway. That also seems too much, even if she doesn't mean it in the way that she suspects some of Kate's family would think of it. Maybe even Kate herself.
(Besides, it's pathetic, isn't it? Wishing a near-stranger, one with whom she has nothing in common, would stay a little longer. Fuck, she really needs this vacation.)
As it turns out, none of it matters; Kate remains silent and Chloe understands that to mean that she must have fallen asleep. She rolls over and stares blankly at the wall, soon annoyed that her thoughts have decided that now is the time to run a marathon.
Kate Marsh, wandering the backwoods of Vermont, spontaneously on the run with no plan. What if Chloe hadn't been there? Would she have arrived in Arcadia Bay to news of a tragic disappearance or worse? The idea puts a bad taste in her mouth that has nothing to do with her smoking habit.
Her sentimental streak is going to be the death of her one of these days. Every time she resolves to give fewer fucks, they seem to multiply instead.
Like god damn rabbits.
It's not the alarm on Chloe's phone that wakes her, but the sound of a quiet, murmuring voice. It doesn't take much — life on the road with its deadlines and solitude has trained her to become a light sleeper. Nonetheless, she still hates the whole 'getting up' part. Even her drowsy confusion over the source of that nearby voice isn't enough to rush Chloe through begrudgingly blinking her eyes open.
The first thing she notices is that Ripley's awake, perked up and sitting on the floor directly at Chloe's bedside, her head tilted to the left. The second thing brings a jolt of shock before the memories of last night come rushing back: Kate, fully dressed with her hair in a neat bun, kneeling a few feet from Ripley and offering out a careful hand to sniff.
It takes a few seconds to completely unpack the sight and convince herself that the entire situation hasn't just been some weird dream. By the time Chloe has decided it's real after all, Kate looks up and spots her staring.
"Good morning. Was I too loud?" Kate asks, grimacing as she gets to her feet and straightens out her skirt with a brush of her hands. "I'm sorry."
"No," Chloe croaks. She clears her throat, props herself up on her elbows, and tries again. "Nah, it's fine. I wake pretty easy unless I've had a few." She yawns and rubs at her face. "You're an early bird, huh?"
Kate clasps her hands in front of her and looks down, either unwilling or unable to keep her gaze on Chloe. "I try not to make a habit of sleeping in."
"Oh, right. Church stuff's a morning thing."
"Not always, but there is that. I just think it's a peaceful time, that's all."
Chloe squints at her, and finds that the simple makeup Kate has done for herself hardly obscures the dark circles under her eyes. She suspects that having a hard time sleeping probably has something to do with being up at the ass-crack of dawn too, but she decides against pointing it out. "Not to disappoint, but you're gonna need more than one night to get Ripley to cozy up to you."
Kate smiles faintly at Ripley, whose ear had turned towards the sound of Chloe's voice — but who hasn't turned around, keeping her watchful eyes on the stranger in the room. "I had a feeling, but it was worth a shot. I don't mind, though, that just means she's very serious about her job."
"Yeah," Chloe says, fondness and pride coming over her. She leans over and gives Ripley a hearty pat to the top of her head; though the pup keeps watching Kate, her tail thumps. "She's my first mate on these asphalt seas. You should see her hats."
"Her… hats?" Kate asks.
Chloe tosses the blankets off before she gets too tempted to stay in bed and stretches her arms. "Got a buncha doggie hats in the rig. Never met a pup that likes having something on her head so much, fuckin' weirdo."
Kate steps aside towards a chair and tiny round table, the latter of which has been taken over by her suitcase. As she double-checks its contents, she says, "That sounds adorable."
"That's why she can't wear 'em all the time." Capable of taking a hint, Chloe gets up and maneuvers around Ripley to reach her duffel and start the getting-ready process. "She's a guard dog. Got pit bull in there with the rest of her mutt self. She can't be too cute."
"Hm. I suppose not."
Chloe gets to the door of the bathroom before pausing, a hand on the door frame and clothes folded over her arm. She should probably ask… "Hey, uh, how are you doing?"
Kate glances at her. "I'm managing," she says after a moment. She looks as if she has more to add, but she turns away and busies herself with organizing her belongings. Chloe nods to herself — still none of her business — and steps into the bathroom.
Between the headbanging music playing from her phone and a few splashes of cold water on her face, Chloe conquers the rest of her grogginess in short order. She discovers her Blackwell hoodie hanging on the inside of the bathroom door; when she's dressed and more or less put-together, she takes it down and contemplates the worn-out old rag it is.
This one wasn't hers to begin with. The hoodie she received from the school got trashed early on. No, this began as Rachel fucking Amber's, at least until Chloe took it from her room. She had wanted to get a reaction out of Rachel when she showed up later wearing it. It worked, and Rachel ended up deciding that Chloe should keep it.
The only reason she still has it… fuck, it's so stupid. It doesn't matter. Here it is now, having kept Kate from freezing. Weird how shit works out sometimes.
"We're making hella good time," Chloe says as she returns to the room and packs her clothes haphazardly into the duffel. "I could pick us up a couple of bagels down the road. I've got snacks 'n shit, but nothing— uh, what's up?" she asks, noticing Kate's anxiously on the brink of saying… something.
"I just wanted to thank you," Kate says, each word tumbling into the next. She takes a deep breath, adjusting the lay of her cross, and continues, "You didn't have to stop for me. It's not as though you knew who I was, you just…"
Chloe rubs at the back of her neck and shrugs. "Would've been a dick move to leave anybody out in that weather."
"Still. I-I don't know what will happen after the mess I've made of things, but I know I can go home and think it through because of you. I'm not lost or, or Lord knows what else. My father's sermons—"
"Whoa," Chloe says with a wry laugh, picking up the duffel. Ripley bumps up against her leg and she absentmindedly pets her. "I'll take the thanks but, uh, hold the sermon. Not really my thing."
"I… yes, I do remember that," Kate says softly. "The point is, I don't want to take what you've done for granted. It would have bothered me not to say something before we part ways."
"Well, there's still time, and no breakfast between now and then. So… I'm getting some bagels. Meet you at the truck?" Chloe asks, a restlessness she couldn't explain if she tried settling in the more Kate insists on her gratitude. Kate gives her a long, distantly familiar look before nodding. "Sweet. C'mon Rip, if you keep Kate and Big Blue safe maybe there's a peanut butter packet in it for you."
When pity starts getting involved, that's her cue to leave.
A couple of bagels later, Chloe navigates onto the nearby state highway and exhales — no matter how long she has worked this job, she can't help the thin strain of tension that lingers in each muscle while taking a big rig across anything less than a major road. Music helps, but she's pretty sure Kate wouldn't appreciate her go-to noise… so the truck's FM radio has been tuned into some inoffensive classic rock station at a reasonable volume.
A little dad rock never hurt anybody, anyway. She wouldn't admit it to the crowds that she typically runs with on her off nights, but sometimes a classic is a classic for a reason.
Chloe glances at Kate, who hasn't said much since leaving the motel. She seems nervous, or thoughtful, maybe both — or maybe Chloe's no good at figuring shit like this out. The seats in long-haulers like this are meant to be comfortable for long periods of time, yet Kate's sitting bolt upright with her hands clasped in her lap like she wants back pain or something.
After a while, Chloe can't stand keeping quiet anymore. With Ripley curled up in her bed farther back in the cab now that her usual spot is unavailable, and no interest in playing Radio Roulette with the strangers who could be out in these hills, there's only one option left for conversation.
"What d'you think of truck life so far?" Chloe asks, keeping it light. Kate leans forward, peering out over the hood.
"I don't think I ever imagined what it would be like to be on the inside looking out of one of these," she admits, sitting back with a sheepish look. "I knew they were big, but this is…"
Chloe laughs. "Not used to being the big dog on the road, huh?"
"Not at all. How do you even see everything?"
"This thing's decked out with mirrors and shit. I've got an eye on every angle you can think of… except right up my ass." To Chloe's surprise, Kate lets out a soft snort of startled laughter behind her hand. "Uh, sorry, not used to reining it in."
Kate shakes her head. "I don't mind. I just wasn't expecting that way of putting it."
"You're not bothered? If I brought my mouth into a church I'd get every dirty look in the book."
"Well, inside a place of worship is a little different," Kate says with a small smile. "Ever since I was a kid, I've done charity work with my church and some outreach programs. The people we help don't always use polite language, so I got used to it."
"Oh yeah, I think I remember that."
Kate finally sits back, relaxing into the chair with one leg primly folded over the other. "I'd hope you remember. You ruined a few flyers for the programs I was working with."
"Hey, that could've been anybody." Chloe catches Kate's eye and shrugs, grinning at the mildly unimpressed look that meets her. "C'mon, that was forever ago. I had to burn off my teen angst somehow."
"At least you…" Kate murmurs, so quiet that Chloe misses the rest as her voice is overpowered by the roar of the engine and the music.
"Come again?"
Kate looks ahead at the road, where small towns and cars have slowly been increasing in density and population among still-green trees and the occasional rolling field. "I— no, it's not important."
Chloe desperately wants to pursue this — it's about her, of course she wants to know — but, taking stock of her surroundings and the map on her dashboard, she realizes she needs to focus. It's not a huge city they're approaching, but it's still a city, full of cars whose drivers Chloe has no good reason to trust will treat her presence with the respect it demands.
"If you say so," Chloe says instead. "We should be there soon. I better not drive all the way in and get in trouble with the sky cops, but I bet there's a spot I can drop you off close enough to walk."
"Oh. That was fast."
"Vermont's no Texas," Chloe says. "Shit, probably a good thing, too. The sooner you get home, the better, right?" The highway curves into a neighborhood of the city's outskirts and Chloe sets her jaw, eyeing the ever-closer cars. She can't fucking wait to get back on the interstate.
Minutes pass of silence between them, which Chloe chalks up to Kate being nice enough to let her pay attention to the road. Which, well, she doesn't need the extra caution, but she appreciates it. Finally, her map indicates a turn at the next traffic signal, where she can see a sign directing the way to the airport.
"Dope, there it is. You'll be free of this beastie in no time," she says. With traffic stopped at the light, she has a chance to look over at Kate with a smile. "We should catch up when I get back, yeah? Unless, I mean—" She pauses, taking in Kate biting her lip, arms hugging around herself. "Kate?"
A horn beeps and Chloe jolts the truck back into motion, realizing the light has turned green. She swears and flips up the turn signal switch, then sets her hands in preparation for taking the rig and its cargo — her paycheck — around a relatively sharp corner, which isn't exactly one of its strengths. Traffic moves slowly in reaction to the change of the light, but eventually the truck reaches the intersection.
Chloe swings the truck slightly to the left to improve her trajectory, then turns the wheel the other way.
Or… she tries to turn it.
Her arm is forced to a stop by the elbow, and she's plenty strong enough to push through but the fact that it's quickly clear that Kate has grabbed her arm, eyes wide with panic, manages to short-circuit her thought process into obeying the apparent demand.
The truck's still moving, but at just the right angle to clip the traffic light post. Chloe yanks it back into the lane just in time to sail through the intersection with only a partial bump up on the curb that knocks several trinkets off her dashboard and elicits a gasp from Kate, who nearly falls over from the unexpected jumble. More cars honk angrily at her, but Chloe disregards them in favor of the ringing in her ears.
"What the fuck?"
"I'm sorry!" Kate says, withdrawing into her seat with her hands over her mouth. "I don't know, I— I just couldn't."
"Well fuck, good for you!" Chloe snaps, her hands shaky on the wheel, heart pounding. "But we're in a fucking diesel-powered siege weapon! What the hell has gotten into you?"
"I know, I'm sorry," Kate repeats, lowering her hands. "I thought I knew what I wanted but... I'll get on a flight somewhere else, like you said." Fingers loosely grasp her cross. "Unless you didn't…"
Chloe takes a deep breath, but needs two more to settle her rattled nerves enough that she doesn't feel quite as much like pulling over and walking away. "Nah, I meant it, but fuck— you didn't say shit!"
No argument, no rebuttal comes; Chloe looks at Kate, who can only shake her head to herself. Chloe sighs and flexes each of her hands in turn to loosen their stressed, rigid grasp. She grabs the cap that's perpetually hanging off the hook installed on the interior wall and puts it on, if only to do something other than handle the wheel.
"Whatever, it's… just speak up, alright? We're gonna hit the interstate pretty soon and then we'll be outta here. I've got a paycheck to make." It doesn't take much of a glance to see that Kate looks like she's barely hearing anything. Chloe loudly clears her throat, which gets Kate's gaze to shoot back over to her. It's probably not the midmorning light that's making her look even more pale. "Have a rest in the back. The big road's gonna be smooth and you look like you need more than… whatever sleep you got."
Kate nods wordlessly, unlatching herself from the passenger seat and steadying herself on whatever surfaces she can reach as she walks back to the bed. After a moment, Ripley trots to the front of the cabin and jumps into the seat in Kate's absence. Chloe mouths what the fuck? to the dog, who merely looks at her with a clueless stare before the interesting moving shapes outside the windshield recapture her attention.
Soon enough, Chloe merges the truck onto the interstate, turns up the music, and sets her cruise, the next stop well beyond the next border. Once the surrounding cars have grown sparse some time later, she turns around the back of her chair to check on Kate. She's in Chloe's bed, lying on top of the covers and facing away from the front. It's impossible to tell if she's sleeping or only taking a moment to herself.
"What do you think of all this, Rip? Talk about Jesus taking the fucking wheel," Chloe mutters, turning back to the road. She hears the muffled thump of a tail. "Yeah, I dunno what we're getting into here."
She's oddly relieved that Ripley can't understand, can't point out the fact that Chloe would be hard-pressed to explain herself as well, much like Kate. The offer she made… she's not under any illusions about how she wouldn't have offered an indefinite ride to just anyone. She just didn't know Kate Marsh — a woman she hardly knows (much less understands) — would be on that short list, not until she imagined leaving her behind.
It's the sentimentalism again, she decides. She runs into a familiar face from the past and wants to hold on to the moment for as long as she can. Even if that familiarity is distant, made of little except a shared class project, mutual friends, and rumors from years ago.
It hasn't done her much good yet, this impulse of hers. Not long-term anyway. Why else would she still be circling the country, spinning her wheels, going anywhere just to pretend that she's going somewhere?
But now there's Kate Marsh, and she needs help. That's something Chloe can take some sort of direction from until further notice. The super-religious thing makes her a touch uneasy, but Kate — even if she pities or judges Chloe (and who doesn't, really?) — at least has never tried to push the big book on her. There are worse guests to have on the road.
"I'll get you the biggest bone you've ever seen when we get home," Chloe says to Ripley, who recognizes the treat tone and wags her tail some more. "To make up for having to share for a little while. Deal?"
Chloe leans over, stretching her hand out to Ripley, who looks at it and taps her paw into the open palm just as trained.
"No take-backs. That means no sad puppy eyes at me about it," Chloe says with a grin. Ripley huffs and settles down in the seat, perhaps savoring the time she's getting there. "Atta girl."