Last Exit in New Jersey Read Free Page B

hand, and said in barely a whisper, “I just killed a man.” She wondered what Joe was thinking, but she was afraid to ask. Maybe she didn’t want to know. Even with the air-conditioner straining and AC/DC screaming from the radio, the silence was intolerable.
    “You think it’s not getting enough fuel?” Hazel said at last, stating the obvious. She might as well have commented on the weather. Joe paused, forehead creasing like he was trying to read between the lines, and he wiped his face with a bandana.
    “Yeah. Figured I’d test the fuel pump.”
    She could see he wanted to say more but turned his attention back to the motor, setting the end of the fuel line into an empty two-liter bottle, cranking the engine. The pump kicked to life, and the fuel line spurted like a severed artery, filling the bottle with raw gasoline. He killed the power, capped off the bottle, and reconnected the fuel line.
    Silence resumed. Minutes ticked by.
    “Joe?”
    He looked up. “Yeah?”
    Hazel knew what she wanted to say, but couldn’t actually say it. Joe waited.
    “What’s better?” she asked, just to say something, anything. “Double-clutching or floating shifts?”
    Joe chuckled darkly. “Neither, if the vehicle in question sinks like a rock.”
    She was never going to live that submerged Miata down. “You know what I mean.”
    “Yeah. RoadKill ’s tranny’s acting up again, and you want me to check it before your dad notices.”
    “Could you? Please? Maybe it’s nothing, but I don’t want to take any chances. I’d tell Dad but…”
    Joe rubbed his face. “Lay off the clutchless shifting until I take a look.”
    Hazel smiled. Her father had bought RoadKill back when she’d been born; even then the Kenworth was already old and rusty. And once they finally purchased a new truck, he began suggesting what Hazel considered unthinkable: getting rid of the antiquated Kenworth. But so long as RoadKill remained reliable and continued to earn its keep, thanks in part to Joe’s ongoing clandestine repairs, Hazel got her way and the truck stayed.
    She said, “It’s just that Dad really doesn’t need any more aggravation right now.”
    “Speaking of which, I haven’t seen Micah around much these days. What’s he been up to?”
    She gathered scattered sockets from the workbench, returning them to the gang box. “I wouldn’t know.” Joe was fishing, but he wasn’t going to catch anything. She knew better than to volunteer any information, not that there was anything to volunteer other than the fact that last night’s visitor asked the same questions. But that little detail might only make matters worse, and besides, it wasn’t what Joe asked. “I haven’t seen Micah.” And that part of her story wasn’t changing. “Or heard from him.”
    Joe looked less than convinced. Hazel and Micah weren’t just cousins. They were best friends, confidants, and partners in crime, inseparable for as long as either could remember. Unlike Hazel, Micah’s upbringing had the benefit of married parents, a picture-perfect suburban house, traditional schooling…and a home life that was anything but happy. He rarely talked about it and never suffered any outright abuse, just emotional neglect by parents preoccupied by their own dysfunctional relationship. Aboard Witch he found warmth, guidance, acceptance, and sanctuary from the screaming at home.
    For the most part, Hazel’s father treated them equally, though he tended to push Micah a bit harder, expecting more from him. And he blamed Micah whenever Hazel got into trouble, whether justified or not; either way, Micah always accepted it with a smile. Unfortunately this earned him a reputation as a troublemaker, no matter how loudly Hazel proclaimed his innocence. In the end her father and Joe simply assumed that if something went wrong, Micah was at fault. This was a perfect example.
    “Maybe he’s just away with some girl.” Hazel said, pulling threads from the hole in the