The Foxe & the Hound

“I’m on the shoulder,” she defends.

I’m left watching the car careening toward us in the distance—a massive red truck complete with a muddy cattle guard. I’m half-certain Madeleine is about to be road kill, and she doesn’t care. I groan and run for her, hooking my hands beneath her arms and hauling her out of the way just before the truck tears past us. Her hair whips up and the air surrounding us is momentarily tainted with her fragrant shampoo.

It’s lavender, and on another day, I would have liked the smell.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I ask gruffly.

The truck technically didn’t come close to hitting her, but I’m looking for any excuse to fight at this point.

She wiggles out of my hold and tugs down the front of her blouse. “After the afternoon I just had, MAYBE I AM!”

“Oh, after the afternoon you had? AFTER YOUR AFTERNOON?!”

“Stop shouting at me!”

“What was that bullshit you fed my mom about elaborate dates! About marriage!”

She whips around and her brown eyes sear into me. “What are you talking about? What dates? Marriage? Is this a joke?”

I stalk toward her until I’m pointing my finger into her chest. “Don’t play coy now. I never asked you to go for an academy award with your acting.”

She pushes me and I stumble back. “Oh fuck off, your mom called your little charade the moment we stepped out of the car. She clearly wanted to have a little fun with you. I guess she went overboard.”

“So, what, she asked if we were really dating and you just spilled the truth?”

Our voices carry out over the bleak landscape around us, but we don’t care. There’s no one around for miles, just Mouse, who has slithered into the front seat of Madeleine’s car and is resting his head on the dashboard.

“She’s a kindergarten teacher, Adam! They’re basically human lie detectors. She got it out of me, and I figured it was better to tell her the truth than to keeping lying to her face.”

I’m dragging my hands through my hair for the hundredth time today. Soon I won’t have any left.

“So you’re saying you’re no better at lying than a 6 year old?”

She throws up her hands and stalks off. “I’m saying that maybe if you’d given me more than 5 minutes of warning, I might have been able to concoct a believable backstory.”

“Speaking of that—did you tell my mom we were getting married?” I blurt after her.

“No!”

“Any made-up dates? Something about a camel ride in the park?”

“NO! What are you talking about? Do you think I’m a complete psychopath?” She doesn’t even bother turning around to address me, just waves me off and walks away. “If you’re angry, you need to take it up with your mom. She’s the one who created that demon baby thing on her phone.”

I shudder at the memory.

“To be fair, our kids would be cuter than that,” I point out. Not that it matters.

I think I hear her laugh, but she could also be crying at this point. Either way, I give her space. For ten minutes, she stands off to the side of the road, cooling down and staring out at the rolling pastures. I head back to her car and sit beside Mouse, patting his head and wondering how in the world I got myself into this mess. My life was settled back in Chicago—I was settled there. Now I’m stuck on the side of the road in the middle of Texas with a hotheaded brunette who needs a mechanic yesterday.

I stare down at my phone and contemplate going over her head, but it wouldn’t end favorably for me. Instead, I recline the chair and close my eyes. It doesn’t take long for guilt to start to seep in and replace my anger. From the sound of it, Madeleine didn’t really do anything wrong. My mom guessed we weren’t dating because she’s not an idiot, and I should have picked up on her little games sooner. Instead, I’d assumed Madeleine was crazy enough to concoct wild tales about hot air balloons and camels. I smile. Now that I’ve had a few minutes to think on it, none of it makes sense.

How many camels are there in Hamilton, Texas?

I’m going to have a word with my mom. She thinks she’s so funny. Even now, she’s probably gloating at how easy it was to dose me with my own medicine.

I realize I’ve shouted at Madeleine yet again for something that isn’t really her fault. She probably thinks I need anger management. Hell, maybe I do. But for now, I just need to get this car running.

I reach across and pull the trunk release lever. Her eyes follow me curiously as I haul the 24-pack of water bottles up to the front of the car. I take off my button-down so that I’m left in my undershirt.