Harlow was a ghost town, everything dark and closed. I signaled right to go over the bridge into Castle Rock. The rear wheels wanted to slide out from under me, but I handled the skid. Up ahead and across the river I could see the dark shadow that was the Castle Rock Youth League building. It looked shut up and lonely. I felt suddenly sorry, sorry that there had been so much pain. And death. That was when Nona spoke for the first time since the Gardiner exit.
“There’s a policeman behind you.” “Is he — ?” “No. His flasher is off.”
But it made me nervous and maybe that’s why it happened. Route I36 makes a ninety-
degree turn on the Harlow side of the river and then it’s straight across the bridge into Castle Rock. I made the first turn, but there was ice on the Rock side.
‘ ‘Damn — ”
The rear end of the truck flirted around and before I could steer clear, it had smashed into one of the heavy steel bridge stanchions. We went sliding all the way around like kids on a Flexible Flyer, and the next thing I saw was the bright headlights of the police car behind us. He put on his brakes — I could see the red reflections in the falling snow — but the ice got him, too.
He plowed right into us. There was a grinding, jarring shock as we went into the supporting girders again. I was jolted into Nona’s lap, and even in that confused split second I had time to relish the smooth firmness of her thigh. Then everything stopped. Now the cop had his flasher on. It sent blue, revolving shadows chasing across the hood of the truck and the snowy steel crosswork of the Harlow-Castle Rock bridge. The dome light inside the cruiser came on as the cop got out.
If he hadn’t been behind us it wouldn’t have happened. That thought was playing over and over in my mind, like a phonograph needle stuck in a single flawed groove. I was grinning a strained, frozen grin into the dark as I groped on the floor of the truck’s cab for something to hit him with.
There was an open toolbox. I came up with a socket wrench and laid it on the seat
between Nona and me. The cop leaned in the window, his face changing like a devil’s in the light
from his flasher.
“Traveling a little fast for the conditions, weren’t you, guy?”
“Following a little close, weren’t you?” I asked. “For the conditions?’
He might have flushed. It was hard to tell in the flickering light.
“Are you lipping off to me, son?”
“I am if you’re trying to pin the dents in your cruiser on me.”
“Let’s see your driver’s license and your registration.”
I got out my wallet and handed him my license.
“Registration?”
“It’s my brother’s truck. He carries the registration in his wallet.”
“That right?” He looked at me hard, trying to stare me down. When he saw it would take a while, he looked past me at Nona. I could have ripped his eyes out for what I saw in them.
“What’s your name?”
“Cheryl Craig, sir.”
“What are you doing riding around in his brother’s pickup in the middle of a snowstorm, Cheryl?”
“We’re going to see my uncle.”
“In the Rock.”
“That’s right, yes.”
“I don’t know any Craigs in Castle Rock.”
“His name is Emonds. On Bowen Hill.”
“That right?” He walked around to the back of the truck to look at the plate. I opened the door and leaned out. Hfe was writing it down. He came back while I was still leaning out, spotlighted from the waist up in the glare of his headlights. “I’m going to… What’s that all over you, boy?”
I didn’t have to look down to know what was all over me. I used to think that leaning out like that was just absentmindedness, but writing all of this has changed my mind. I don’t think it was absentminded at all. I think I wanted him to see it. I held on to the socket wrench.