But there was no car. Only the road, and the night, and Rose, standing lonely and confused in her green silk gown. She looked down at herself; the dress was intact, no tatters or even stains from the ground where she'd been lying. She brushed her hands against her skirt, disoriented and confused. "I don't understand."
"Rose?"
The question came from the left. Rose turned, eyes wide, to see Gary Daniels--her prom date, the one she'd been coming to find--walking toward her with his tuxedo jacket tied around his waist and oil coating his hands. "God, Rose, what are you doing out here? I was going to call just as soon as I got back to a place with a phone--how did you get here?" He paused. "Rose, what's wrong? You're shivering."
"I'm cold." It was the first thing to come to mind. It shouldn't have been true, not on a hot June night in the hottest summer she remembered, but it was. It felt like her bones had been replaced with ice, freezing her from the inside out.
"Here." Gary untied his tuxedo jacket and offered it to her, saying, "I took it off before I started working on the tire. It shouldn't...it shouldn't stain your dress."
"Thank you." She slipped the jacket on, the cold fleeing almost instantly. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she threw herself at him, almost without thinking. "I want to get out of here, Gary, Gary, please, please, get me out of here. Please."
"Sure, honey, sure." He hesitated, finally stroking the back of the jacket as soothingly as he could. It was his coat; if he wanted to get it greasy, he could. "I've got the tire back on. We can go anywhere you want. We can even head for the prom, if that's what you want to do."
"No. Not the prom." Rose pulled away, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Let's just drive, Gary. Can we do that tonight? Can we just drive?"
Gary Daniels looked into her eyes, and realized two things all the way down into the bottom of his heart. He would go anywhere this girl asked him to...and he loved her. He wasn't halfway there. He loved her.
"Sure, Rose," he said, and smiled. "Anywhere you want to go."
***
They stopped at a service station, where he washed the grease from his hands and filled the tank to the very top with gas. Enough to go just about anywhere, especially for two kids with nowhere else to be. They were together, and it was a beautiful night, and that was enough. That was enough for the both of them.
It was one of those nights that every summer should have, especially for a girl who's just sixteen and very much in love. The roads were clear, and every star in the sky was shining just for them. He kissed her down by the old river bridge, and she let him. She kissed him behind the drive-in theater, where the flickering light from the soundless screens turned the sidewalk into something just this side of a dance floor. It was perfect. That was how Gary would describe it later, when people called him crazy. "Perfect," he'd say, and look away. Sometimes, if they pressed, he'd add four more words--four more words that silenced everyone who heard them.
"It was worth it."
Only two things tainted the perfection of that night. The first was the sleek black car that followed them, once, twice, three times, tracking them for a few miles and then sliding into the shadows. Rose wouldn't get out when that car was there. She clung to Gary's hand, staring out the windshield, and refused to let him go and start a scene. "Just drive," she said, all three times, and because he loved her, and because the night was perfect, Gary did.
The second was a commotion on Sparrow Hill Road. They saw it when they drove past; what looked like every police car and firetruck in the county, all flashing their lights and lighting up that hill like a beacon.
Gary slowed, squinting up at the center of the fuss. "What do you think happened up there?"
"I don't know," said Rose, who was becoming slowly, dreadfully afraid that she did know; that she knew all too well. "Let's not bother them, okay? I bet they're pretty busy."
"Yeah, okay," said Gary, and kept on driving.
They drove the night away, measuring it in kisses and parking places, miles and moments. The sky was getting light when Gary pulled up in front of her house, stopped the car, and got out to walk around and open the passenger-side door.
"Thank you for bringing me home," said Rose, and smiled--a sweet, heartbreaking smile, the sweetest he'd ever seen from her. She ducked her head forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and whispered, "I love you, Gary Daniels. Always remember that."
Then she was gone, heading up the narrow pathway toward the door. Gary stared after her, one hand going to touch the place where she'd kissed him. He closed his eyes, reliving the moment for just a few seconds more.