Chapter 1: Deluge

It’s 7:30 on a November night and it’s pouring rain and I was supposed to start driving to L.A. two hours ago when I see the flashers up ahead. They’re so weak I not even sure they’re on, but then I see the car, which turns out to be a faded old pickup truck. And then I see the woman, standing there by the truck, waving her arms, soaking wet, looking like a drowned rat.

What would you do...?

It’s after seven Friday “evening” – now night – and I’m already two hours behind where I’d intended to be by now. Earlier this week I shipped a lot of my clothes and sheets and towels and stuff to my friend Richie’s in L.A., so now I’m loading the last of my stuff -- books and CDs and vinyl and my stereo system – all the stuff I wasn’t going to trust to a shipping company (trust me – after five years with FedEx, I know!) -- into the camper top of my third-hand 2007 Chevy Silverado pickup.

The last things to go in were the old desk lamp that was the very first piece of “furniture” I ever bought for myself, back when I first moved into my college dorm at Hayward, along with a sports bag with the clothes and toiletries and snacks I figured I’d need for however long it would take me to get to L.A.

I couldn’t wait to get away from home, so after I graduated high school I enrolled at Cal State-Hayward, mainly because my high school grades were only so-so and Hayward had a rep as an easy school to get into. I really had no idea what I wanted to do so I took a bunch of what I guess you’d call “general education” classes. Then I took a few business courses ‘cause I thought that they’d be useful some time. But the idea of “business” never really appealed to me, either.

So after two years I realized I wasn’t really suited for college so I looked online and saw that FedEx was looking for workers at it’s Richmond distribution center, north of Berkeley, but after two years there I realized that with the crazy cost of living in the Bay Area I’d only managed to save a little more than $800.

Then a guy I’d worked with at Richmond called me. He’d transferred to the Fedex international distribution center in Blaine, Washington, right on the border with Canada. He knew how frustrated I was, making money and never seeming to get ahead, and he said why didn’t I transfer up there. He said that the hourly wage was about the same but you could find places outside of Blaine where housing was relatively cheap and I’d probably be able to save a lot more of my paycheck.

I did a little research and decided to do it. I stayed on my friend’s couch for a few weeks, but then I saw a classified ad in the local “shopper” newspaper for this guy just outside of Lynden who had this old Airstream trailer. He was out in the middle of nowhere and didn’t need a lot of money, plus, he and I hit it off OK so he gave me a pretty decent rate if I paid for my own propane (but he wasn’t a fool and made me put up three months’ rent as security).

It all worked out pretty good. I was saving a lot on rent and my trailer was only 25 minutes from work. I’d saved up some money, and another guy at work wanted to sell his old Chevy Silverado. It wasn’t much to look at – a bunch of bumper scuffs and supermarket parking lot dings and a little bit of rust around the left rear wheel well. But it was in good mechanical shape, and he even threw in the camper top when his wife told him there was no way he was going to store it in their yard.

But after almost three years I realized that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in rural Whatcom County or work for Fedex for the next 30 years. That, plus virtually no romantic life in the three year’s I been up here made it a no-brainer to call my old friend Richie in L.A. Culver City, actually. Anyhow, he’s got an event lighting company and he says he needs someone he knows and can trust to manage the office so he’s free to do the sales and technical stuff.

And that’s how I ended up that Friday night on Flynn Road in the pouring rain about two hours later than I’d planned on. I’d just tuned onto River Road, which more-or-less follows the Nooksack River as it winds toward the Pacific Ocean. Except that I’m headed upstream, in the direction of Rt. 529 that’ll take me into Bellingham and someplace – hopefully cheap – for the night.

Like you might expect of someplace named “River Road,” it twists and turns as it follows the general course of the river, and it was just past one of these turns that I saw the faint blinking red lights. I didn’t know if there was road construction there, or even worse, a washout. But when I got closer I could see that they were flashers, coming from the rear end of an old pickup truck – I think I could still read the letters “Dodge” on the tailgate – that even in the dim light I could see was faded to a flat brown color. I slowed down to avoid it, and also to see if there was anyone who needed help or a ride.

And just in time I noticed a person – it looked like a woman – standing next to the truck and waving her arms, kind of a mix between waving in distress and trying to flag me down. Because her flasher lights were getting dimmer even as I was watching, I decided to pull in behind her truck so that any other vehicles on the road in these miserable conditions would see my brighter lights.

I hit my flashers and put the truck in park. The woman rushed up to the passenger side of my truck. and I could see that she was wearing a cheap plastic rain poncho that she was trying to keep pulled over her head to fend off the rain, but it wasn’t doing much good and her hair looked to be pretty well soaked. I lowered the window and she stuck her head in.

“My truck just died and I know I’ve got ... well... some gas, so I think it’s ... dead. Is there any chance you could give me a ride to...”

And then she stopped in mid-sentence, and that’s when I got the idea that she really didn’t have anyplace to ask me to take her.

But I’m a male, so I know all about cars and trucks ‘n’ stuff.

“Get in and wait here and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”

Sir-Freakin’-Galahad.

So I got out and pulled my poncho up over my head and hustled over to the truck, which I could now see was even older and more dilapidated than I originally thought.

And I did the usual. The keys were still in the ignition. I turned off the lights to cut the drain on the battery and floored the gas pedal once and then tried the starter. And the starter made that pathetic, dying sound that says “I ain’t a’gonna start.” Under the circumstances I figured that the battery was completely drained – either that the battery itself was too old to hold a charge or else the alternator (or was this thing so old it still had a generator?) was no good and wasn’t putting out any current. In either case, it was beyond help tonight.

I turned her flashers back on – for however much good that that was going to do – and went back to my truck and got in.

“Nope – guess you were right – it’s dead, at least for now.”

She gave me this look, a look that could only be described as defeat.”

And then I remembered her original question.

“Sure, I guess I can give you a lift..., and then added, “to somewhere.”

But then I remembered – she hadn’t been able to tell me anyplace that she needed-wanted-could go. Okay, here’s where it gets tricky.

She was the one who said, “Look, I guess I got no place to go. I’m running away from my boyfriend – that’s his truck – and I was trying to get as far away as I could. I’m hopin’ to get to Oceanside, California – my girlfriend’s boyfriend is at Camp Pendleton and she said that if I could make it there that I could live with them ‘til I got something going.

“But right now I got nothing. I took some money from my boyfriend’s billfold, but only as much as I thought I’d need for gas to get me someplace where I could pick up a job waitressing or cashiering ... or something...”

Okay, I’m not liking this situation at all, but there’s no way we’re going to get that truck running tonight – or ever, probably. And there’s no way I can leave her – or anyone – here on the side of the road with that dead truck.

“Tell you what. Do you have any clothes or stuff? Put ‘em in my truck and we’ll get someplace where we can stay tonight. Then we’ll get breakfast in the morning and figure out what you can do then.” I wasn’t waiting for her answer or opinion, mainly, because there was nothing else she could say or do.

She thought, but only for about a second. Like I said, there wasn’t much else she could say or do.

“Yeah, I put all the stuff I could carry in a duffel bag – it’s in the front seat, along with an old tote-purse,” and she started to get out of my truck.

“No, you stay here and try to get dry – I’ll get your stuff from your ... from the truck. Are you sure that’s all...?”

I scuttled back to the old truck and opened the driver’s door, and like she said, there was this big canvas duffle and a smaller tote bag on the passenger side. I grabbed both of them, banged the door closed with my hip, then hustled back to my truck. I handed her the tote and tossed the duffel bag behind the seats.

“Buckle yourself in.”

I turned off my flashers, and then, being real careful, I used my left turn signal and eased out onto the highway. After we were out I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her flashers were almost invisible now. I hoped that no one else would hit it in the rain and the dark and get in an accident.

She never looked back.

“Why don’t you get that wet poncho off and toss it behind the seats – I’ll turn up the heat and the fan and we can both try to dry out.”

She unbuckled her seat belt long enough to wiggle her way out of the flimsy sheet of plastic and toss it in back. And when she got it off, I could see that she was pregnant. And not just a “little pregnant” – pregnant enough that it was obvious even in the dim light from the dashboard.

She looked, and she saw that I noticed, but she didn’t say anything, and neither did I. Finally I guess she felt that it had been long enough and that she should explain things.

“My name’s Lorene.” Except she pronounced it like “Low-REEN.” “Like I said, I’m trying to get away from my boyfriend – if he ever was that. He was never real gentle with me, but it’s gotten even worse since I been knocked up, and especially when he’s been drinking with his friends. But tonight was the last straw.

“I don’t know why I put up with it these three years ... yes, I do know why. But anyway, tonight was the last straw, ‘cause tonight when he shoved me I fell on the kitchen floor and the first thing I thought was, ‘The baby!’ And that’s when I realized that I couldn’t let things go on like this, so when he took the Bronco to town to go drinking with his asshole buddies I put as much of my stuff as I could into those two bags and took some gas money from what he thought he’s hiding from me in his bottom dresser drawer. Then I grabbed the keys for that old P-O-S Dodge and ... well, you know the rest.”

She seemed exhausted from telling me all this. And then she started crying. And she just cried and cried, and I didn’t know what to do, ‘til I realized that there’s nothing I could do – that her life had sucked, and that there was nothing I could say or do about it.

So I let her cry, until she finally came to a stop on her own. She sniffled a few times.

“I’m sorry – I must be a mess. I am a mess. Sorry.”

I tried to be reassuring.

“No need to be sorry. You’ve had a rough time of it lately – crying’s just natural.”

Where did that come from? My relationship skills with women are close to zilch. And I’ve got absolutely zero experience providing any kind of comfort to “distraught” women. But somehow it seemed like the right thing to say then.

She looked at me and smiled. And that’s the first time I got a real look at her face.

And I don’t want to be mean or cruel or anything, but she was kind of, well,... homely. Her face was – I’m not real good at describing faces, but her face was kind of... “long” is the only way I can describe it, and maybe a little bit ... narrow? Her complexion was pale, or at least that’s how it looked in the light from the dashboard. And there were dark rings around her eyes, but I don’t know if that was due to her pale skin or simply stress and lack of good sleep, which from the way she described her life would certainly be understandable.

Also, she had a little bit of an overbite, but the more I looked, the more it seemed to give a kind of an innocent, endearing quality to her.

So, ... not a beauty.

And certainly not a pregnant beauty.

And that’s when I realized.

“I’m Paul.”

“Thanks, Paul.”

And the way she said it – ’Thanks, Paul’ – it wasn’t like a... formality, like the kind of response you’re supposed to give – it was more like there was real gratitude in her voice.

That’s when I realized that the rain, which had been coming down pretty steady, was now a downpour and it was probably unsafe to keep driving. Then out of the blue – or out of the blackness – I saw the flickering red neon letters saying “.acan.y” I hit my signal and turned into the parking lot and heard the gravel crunch under my tires.

I didn’t even notice the name of the place but the guy must have heard my truck because as soon as we turned in the light went on the cabin with the lighted “Office” sign in the window. I pulled up as close as I could get so the door of my truck was right opposite the office door.

“You wait here – no need for you to get any more wet.”

I went in and told the older man behind the counter that there were two of us and we’d be staying just the one night. I saw him look toward the window, and I could see that where I’d parked, the lights in the parking lot allowed him to see Lorene sitting in the truck. Well enough that he could probably see that she was pregnant.

“I’ll put you in number 5 – that should still have plenty of hot water for your wife.”

I smiled and said thanks, then took the key with the big wooden fob, got in the truck, and we drove the 50 yards to the cabin with the “5” sign by the door.

“Wait here.” I ran around to the back and opened the camper top and pulled my sports bag out, then slammed the top shut. I rushed to unlock the door, tossed my bag inside, then went back and opened... Lorene’s ... door. “You go on in – I’ll bring your stuff.”

I checked out the bathroom. It looked pretty decent, plus it had what I was hoping for – a bar of a reasonably nice bath soap, plus little hotel-sized bottles of what looked like decent shampoo and conditioner – Vidal Sassoon, of all things. I turned on the hot water in the sink full blast and in about 60 seconds I was rewarded with a steady flow of hot water.

I came out of the bathroom. “You go first. I’ll...,” and saw that she was already taking off the heavy cable knit sweater she’d had on under her plastic rain poncho. That left her standing there in her straining brassiere, struggling to wiggle out of her wet, clinging jeans.

And she wasn’t being the least bit modest about it. And under the circumstances, maybe she was right. I mean, we’re pretty much stranded here in this small cabin. She voluntarily got in my truck, soaking wet, she has no money, and for the time being no place to go.

No, I guess she’s pretty much accepted the reality that she and I are sharing a small motel room together on a stormy evening, and that for tonight maybe privacy and proprieties are pretty much out the window.

She finally got out of her soggy jeans and draped them over one of the two chrome dinette chairs and moved it next to the baseboard radiator. Then she unhooked her bra and hung it over the other chair.

And that left her standing there in her pale pink panties – and large, pale breasts, topped with large reddish-brown aureolas tipped with swollen darker-chocolate nipples. As large as her breasts were, there was no sag to them-- still the breasts of a young girl – or young woman, I guess...

Those breasts looked even larger because of something I hadn’t been able to see when she was still bundled up against the rain. She was slim. Really slim. Almost skinny. Not quite, I guess, because her ribs didn’t show and her legs were thin but but they were nicely proportioned and her shoulder blades and collar bones didn’t protrude.

Plus, there was a nice curve in the rear of her pink panties.

But, still – she’s really slim, and her breasts looked really large on her slender frame.

She saw me looking – staring.

“The nipples are from the pregnancy. Most of the rest I had already.”

“Ohh-kay...” Then I got myself together. “You go ahead. Take as long as you want – you need to get warm.” Then I remembered.

“Oh, yeah – there’s shampoo and conditioner, and there’s a hair dryer in the basket on the toilet tank.”

She went in the bathroom and closed the door, but not all the way, and I started getting out of my own wet clothes. I was able to hang the shirt I was wearing in the closet. I looked around for places to drape or hang my jeans – only the lower legs were actually wet – and ended up hanging my poncho and ball cap on door knobs.

Then, standing in my briefs and T-shirt, I dug into my sports duffel and pulled out clean underwear. Then I had another thought. I dug my hand in again and pulled out a large green Seahawks jersey that I thought Lorene could wear tonight.

I realized that I was hungry and Lorene probably was, too. I found the granola bars and the two bottles of chocolate PowRmilk I’d packed for snacks. I took another look outside. The storm was even worse than before. I decided that this was going to have to be tonight’s dinner for the two of us.

The water stopped, followed by the sound of the shower curtain being pulled aside.

“Paul? Could you please give me my tote bag? Thank you.” Must have something she needs, I guess. I grabbed the big canvas tote and took it over to the bathroom. As I was handing it to her through the door I noticed that on the side it had a faded blue and white image of a sailboat heeling over in the wind. I could barely read the faded script – “Lake Chelan.”

I heard the hair dryer and was surprised how long she was taking, but then I figured that she probably has a lot more hair than I do, and besides, the warm air probably felt good after what she’s been through tonight.

Then I remembered the jersey. I stuck my arm through the partway-open door.

“Here ... Lorene ... you might want to put this on – it’s kinda cool out here.”

A hand reached out and took the jersey. I heard some rustling, and then the bathroom door opened and Lorene, barefoot, stepped out.

And, no, I didn’t do some kind of theatrical double-take. But she did look very different. First, her hair, which was soaking wet and matted and caused her to look like a “drowned rat” when I first saw her was now freshly washed and and blown dry. And what I now could see was that she had a full head of long, kind-of kinky ginger-colored hair, or maybe it was what you’d call “chestnut.” It looked nice with my green satin jersey. In fact, it looked real nice.

Also, it might have been my imagination but the dark circles that were around her eyes didn’t seem quite as dark. In fact, if you didn’t look too hard she was actually kind of pretty.

But mainly, she didn’t have that defeated look she had when she realized that her old truck was dead and she got into mine.

“You use the shower – I think I left enough hot water for you.” Then she dug around in her tote bag and pulled out a big comb and began combing the remaining kinks out of reddish hair.

I grabbed the clean underwear I’d pulled from my sports bag and went into the bathroom. I stood under the shower longer than I normally would, not because I needed to wash so much as I needed to warm myself up.

Also, maybe to think about what would happen after I came out of the bathroom ... and later tonight.

I put on my fresh T-shirt and shorts and went out into the room, where I found Lorene setting out the granola bars and PowRmilk.

“While you were in the bathroom I thought I’d set out dinner.”

I guess she’s adjusted to the realities of the – our – situation tonight.

I remembered that I had some KitKats in my jacket pocket, so I got those out and set them on the table, too.

Then I realized it was still cold in the room. When I packed the sports duffel for this trip I never expected that I’d need a robe, but – here we are. I dug through the duffel and found my red Kansas City Chiefs jersey (don’t know where I got that one), a little longer than the Seahawks jersey Lorene was wearing. I put it on.

So like this, in our – my – team jerseys, we sat at that little table and ate our granola bars and KitKats and washed them down with PowRmilk. Didn’t say much – we were both physically tired, although I guess we were a bit relaxed after our showers. But also. feeling the awkwardness of our situation – and knowing that we’d soon be sharing the one standard “double” bed in the room.

We cleared the table, by which I mean we tossed the snack wrappers into the trash basket. But we decided that instead of tossing the plastic PowRmilk containers into the little blue “Recycle” basket we’d save them to use as beside water bottles. I turned on the small TV and we were able to get one channel decently, a local Bellingham station, and the news was on. We were most interested in the weather, of course. Not great. Many roads and underpasses flooded, with the rain probably continuing well into tomorrow.