We drive like that for a while. Just silent. Kate is passed out in the back. Every time I check on her in the rear-view her little mouth is open and her head pressed up against the head support thing. Ashleigh messes with my phone as she makes a playlist, then plugs it into the cassette player. The sad music comes on, that same stuff that had her walking off in the Middle of Nowhere, Utah two days ago. “The Naked and the Famous,” I say absently. She looks over at me, waiting to see if I’ll protest. “It’s your day, Ash. You can listen to whatever you want. Today is all about you.”
She smiles at that but her mood is somber.
“Where do you live? I mean, here, in So Cal, where do you normally live when you’re here?” I need to get something out of her before we get to LA, otherwise she might slip away.
She tilts her head, like she’s thinking about this for a moment, then shrugs. “We don’t have any houses in LA right now. But there’s a condo in downtown San Diego and the family house in Rancho Santa Fe.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “That’s swanky.”
“Where’s your house?”
“Bel Air.”
“Very swanky,” she says back. “I think Bel Air trumps El Rancho.”
“Did you go to school there?”
“No, a day school in La Jolla.”
“Swankier.”
She laughs at this. “I went where I was put, so it’s not like I had a choice.”
I don’t know what to say after that. The whole Tony thing is just hanging in the air between us. Even Ashleigh seems a little bit uncomfortable. We pass by Barstow, blow through Victorville, make our way through the hills they call mountains out here, and then suddenly LA is looming in the distance. The gray haze of smog that lingers over the tall buildings looks even more ominous with the overcast sky and the traffic begins to slow considerably as we approach the 10. Californians freak out on the freeway if the weather changes. A little rain is a big deal, so I hope the f**k we get off the freeway before it starts pouring. “Westwood, right?” I ask Ashleigh.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“You have an intersection, or an address you can put into the phone GPS?”
“Just take me to Strathmore and Kelton.”
“Kelton, huh? Not sure where that is. Strathmore is over by UCLA, right? Do you have an address?”
“Strathmore and Veteran. Just take the 405 up to Wilshire. That’s close enough.”
“So you won’t give me an address?”
“It’s my day, remember?” She turns her head away a little more, essentially ending the conversation.
The traffic is horrific so it takes a good hour to get over on the west side of town. I get off at Sepulveda and head towards the hills, because the traffic getting on the 405 is a nightmare waiting to happen. “My house is not far, Ashleigh. You sure you don’t want to go there first, rest up a little and then make a plan?”
“No,” Sweet Ashleigh says. “I’m good. Just take me there now.”
I fight the street traffic for a few miles, then turn on Wilshire and take it up to Veteran. Ashleigh gives directions. Left, straight, right, left again. “Stop,” she says.
“Where?” I ask, slowing down. There’s no parking here, the place is a clusterfuck of cars and apartment buildings.
“Just pull over here.”
I go up a half a block and then whip a bitch and pull into a red zone.
We sit.
And then she’s a blur of motion. She’s out of the car and walking back to the cargo area. I get out as she opens the tailgate and pulls out the stroller and then throws the diaper bag and her purse in the bottom area where there’s room for baby supplies. I just stand there, not quite accepting what’s happening. “Ashleigh, where are you going?”
She ignores me, just unbuckles Kate’s seat and hauls it over to the stroller. She fits it on top of it somehow, like it locks into place, and then folds the canopy over Kate’s eyes because a few drops of rain are falling. When all that’s settled she finally looks up to me. “Thank you, Ford. I am so, so happy that I met you. We’ll have to get together again sometime—”
“Whoa. Hold on. You’re just taking off? No address or phone number?”
“I’ll give you my number, call me later, we can make plans.” I fish out my phone and place it in her waiting hand and she types in some numbers.
“What’s this number go to, Ashleigh?”
“My cell,” she says, like this phone actually exists. “I don’t have it on me, I need to get another one. I’ll probably do that right after I take care of stuff. So just call me later.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want me to wait? Just in case?”
She shakes her head. “No, Ford. I’m sorry it’s so rushed, I just need to go.” And then she grips her stroller and walks up the sidewalk to one of the apartment buildings. I watch her for a few seconds because I’m actually unable to move.
She just walks away.
When she gets to the door she grabs the handle and pulls, but it’s locked. She glances nervously over her shoulder at me and waves. Then someone comes out the door and they hold it open for her.
I stand there like an idiot.
She just f**king left.
I get back in the truck and stare at the dashboard. I look over at the apartment building door and strain to see inside, but it’s the wrong angle from here. A cop car pulls up next to me and rolls down the passenger window. I roll mine down as well, and a few raindrops hit my arm as I wait to see what they want. “You can’t park here,” one of the officers inside says.