Roadside Attractions

Fifteen

MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, SK

“I’m about to hop on a plane and drop-kick his slutty ass into orbit.”

I wince at the volume of Noor’s outrage, holding the phone a little farther from my ear. Wyatt shoots me a knowing glance from the driver’s seat, obviously able to hear her even though I haven’t put her on speaker.

I’d waited a day to send Noor screenshots of Roman’s Instagram escapades, needing a second to process the information myself before I got her involved. The rest of our time in Winnipeg had been spent slowly. Wyatt didn’t pester me by insisting we do something adventurous and outdoors, and the day was made up of strolls around the city, mostly spent in silence. It was kind of nice, surprisingly. And when I bought a couple tubs of mint chocolate Ben I won’t know what to do with myself when this is all over.

It makes me realize how much of a crutch this whole trip has been. To feel like I’m actively doing something, working toward an end goal—it’s the only thing keeping me from spiralling into an endless pit of depression. I don’t know who I’ll be at the end.

“Did you hear me?” Noor demands.

“Yeah,” I say half-heartedly. Wyatt peers at me out of the corner of his eye. I chew on the inside of my lip. “How long do you think they’ve been together?”

Wyatt opens his mouth to respond, but Noor beats him to it. “Hey, it doesn’t even matter. The fact that there’s any overlap at all is shitty enough.”

“You’re right,” I reply with a rueful smile. Noor says something else, but her voice crackles, so I can’t make out her words. Tearing my eyes from the open road, I glance down at my phone. “The service is getting spotty. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay—remember—I said—love you!”

It’s silent for a few beats, and I can feel that Wyatt wants to ask me if I’m okay again. I banned that question yesterday, but apparently all bets are off today, since he’s already asked me several times. However, before he can, something catches my eye. I sit up straighter in my seat as a large beige splotch makes its way across the road.

No, that’s no splotch, it’s a—

“Deer!” I shout, pointing at the large animal meandering across the road.

“Oh, shit,” Wyatt curses, swerving and slamming on the brakes .

I shoot forward, straining against my seatbelt as we lurch to the side of the highway, then come to an abrupt halt. There’s a loud popping noise that makes me jump out of my skin as we stop, and as soon as we’re stationary, Wyatt groans, leaning his head back against the seat.

The deer freezes in place, staring at us for a moment before trotting off as if nothing happened.

On the contrary, my heart is pounding, my breathing quick as I gape at Wyatt. “What just happened?”

“If I were to make an educated guess,” he starts, sounding irritated as he shoves the car into park, “I’d say we just got a flat tire.”

With a heavy sigh, he unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the vehicle. I follow suit, scanning the nearby fields for more deer. It’s another day of scalding sun, and with zero breeze, the air is eerily still. A sheen of sweat forms on my forehead and the back of my neck in seconds.

I approach the driver’s side of the car to see Wyatt crouched next to the front tire. It’s partially deflated, drooping toward the pavement below. He glances up at me with a grimace.

“I’m getting déjà vu,” I say, flashing back to our first day of travel. “At least there’s no smoke this time.”

“Please don’t ask me if the car is going to explode,” he grumbles, then rises to his feet.

He heads to the back of the vehicle to get the spare tire and the necessary tools. I fold my arms over my torso, leaning against the vehicle. “Can I do anything to help?” I ask when he comes back around.

Wyatt squats down again, beginning to loosen the lug nuts with a tire iron, grunting under his breath. “Just stand there and look pretty.”

My cheeks warm, though annoyance flushes through me. “That’s sexist. How do you know I can’t change a tire?”

He glances up expectantly. “Can you?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“I’m not making an assumption based on your gender, Moore,” he says, carefully setting the pieces down on the road. “I’m making an assumption based on the fact that you drove a car for the first time in years three days ago.”

I fold my arms tighter around myself. “Touché. I was mostly joking.”

“As for the pretty part,” he continues, pausing to tug on the flat tire until it comes loose, “that’s just a given.”

A blaze spreads across my skin that has little to do with the sun this time. It’s the most distracted flirting I’ve ever been on the receiving end of—he’s not even looking at me—but I’m still more flattered than I should be.

He begins to slide the donut into place, and I grab the old tire, rolling it to the back of the Toyota, wanting to give myself something to do that’ll save me from responding to that comment. I take a look at our surroundings again, shielding my eyes with my hand. We’re in the complete middle of nowhere out here, and no one has driven by in ages.

Once Wyatt has secured the spare tire, he collects the tools, tucking them into the trunk, and then we’re ready to go again. Thank God this will be a quicker fix than our last mechanical issue.

“Can you find the nearest mechanic?” Wyatt asks as we take to the road once more. He flicks on the hazard lights as I grab my phone. I have service again. “We won’t be able to go very far on a spare, and we already have to go thirty kilometres below speed limit.”

“Looks like the closest one is in Elbow,” I inform him. “Twenty minutes away.”

“Elbow,” he repeats, amused. “And here I was hoping for Kneecap.”

I let out a snort. “Sorry to disappoint.”

His lips twitch. “Don’t know how I’ll ever recover.”

The landscape becomes increasingly hilly as we crawl down the highway, and twenty minutes becomes a lot more like thirty at the rate we’re going. Finally, we reach the small, surprisingly scenic village of Elbow.

According to the map of the province, it’s nestled along Lake Diefenbaker, and when I first catch a glimpse of the large expanse of water and the dramatic hills and cliffs on the other side, I briefly forget we’re in Saskatchewan. This is definitely not what I picture when I conjure up a mental image of this place. I kind of always thought it was one big prairie.

Elbow is tiny, with minimal businesses and options for accommodations, but we manage to catch a mechanic before he closes up shop for the night. He informs us that he’ll be able to put on a new tire first thing tomorrow morning, and that there’s an excellent bed and breakfast down the street.

Taking his word for it, we ditch the Toyota and follow his directions. I wheel my suitcase behind me on the gravel road with great difficulty. It doesn’t take long for us to reach a quaint home with white siding and baskets of multi-coloured petunias in the windowsills. An old wooden sign is posted on the front lawn, declaring George and Edith’s B & B .

We pause on the driveway, sharing a knowing look. I’m willing to bet the two of us are the only people of colour in a fifty-kilometre radius, which is always something to take into consideration. Rural Saskatchewan isn’t exactly known for its diversity and inclusion. No offence to George and Edith here—and the mechanic we met briefly—but it’s probably been a while since they’ve seen someone without Eurocentric features.

Wyatt lifts an eyebrow. “You got a better option?”

I sigh. “Not particularly.”

Seconds later, the front door swings open, causing both of us to flinch. A woman with a grey perm comes bounding onto the porch, smiling from ear to ear. She’s wearing a floral button-down shirt and tan trousers, lifting a hand in a friendly wave as she steps outside.

“Edith of George and Edith fame, I presume,” Wyatt murmurs, inclining his head toward me.

I cover up my burst of unexpected laughter with an awkward cough, then clear my throat. Wyatt works to suppress his grin, and I resist the urge to elbow— no pun intended —him in the ribs.

“Welcome!” Presumably Edith calls, taking the steps slowly as she beckons toward us. “Harold called us when you dropped off your car, said you might be stopping by in search of a place to stay.”

I raise my eyebrows. Word travels fast in small towns.

“I appreciate him giving you a heads up,” Wyatt replies pleasantly, then steps forward to shake her hand. She smiles at him, undoubtedly enjoying getting attention from such a strapping young man. “I’m Wyatt.”

“Good to meet you, Wyatt,” she says. “I’m Edith.”

“Stella,” I say, shaking her hand when it’s my turn. Her palm is soft and papery, and her blue eyes twinkle as she clasps my fingers.

“Edith,” she remarks. “My husband, George, went to make sure the room was ready.”

Room, singular. My eyes dart in Wyatt’s direction, but he hasn’t seemed to catch on yet.

“Please, come in!” she urges, gesturing for us to follow her up the stairs and into the house.

“Do you have a lot of guests at the moment?” I ask, hoisting my suitcase into the air as I trudge up the steps. Better see if I can turn that singular room into a plural.

“Oh, not many,” Edith says breezily. “You can leave your shoes by the door, if you don’t mind.”

I blink, taken aback when I glance around the foyer. It looks like God himself threw up all over Edith’s house. There are portraits of white Jesus on nearly every wall, gazing mournfully into the distance, holding a lamb, his hands clasped together in prayer.

Wyatt side-eyes me, subtly pointing to a figurine of Jesus with his hands on his hips, donning a Superman bodysuit. I narrowly avoid erupting in laughter.

“Tourism picks up in the summertime,” she continues as she guides us up the staircase to the second floor. “People come to golf and see the harbour. But we rarely have more than a couple guests at a time.”

That sounds promising. “I’m sorry to ask,” I say, placing my hand on the railing as I follow her, “but would you happen to have another room available for tonight?”

Edith pauses near the top of the stairs, looking down at me. A frown pinches her wispy eyebrows together. “We only have the one room available,” she remarks, lips turning downwards. “Is there an issue?”

Behind me, I can practically feel Wyatt’s energy shift as he realizes the situation, catching up. I give him the briefest of glances over my shoulder to see that his face has gone slack. But if they don’t have another room available, what are we supposed to do?

I force a pleasant smile onto my face. “No issue,” I say.

She nods at me, another portrait of Jesus behind her, before matching my smile. “Good.”

Without another word, she continues her ascent, and we follow. Dread twists in my stomach as we walk down a hallway laden with creaky floorboards.

So much for never sharing a room.