“You know,” Murphy countered, squinting when she lost sight of the road, then quickly found it again, “I really wasn't about to leave him behind. Except for my brother, Moonshine is the only family I've got. What if the power had gone off? He would have frozen to death.”
They lapsed into a stiff silence, which lasted for another half a mile—or eight minutes, depending on who was counting.
Garrett was the first to break the quiet. “What grade?”
Murphy frowned, never taking eyes off the road. “Huh?”
“What grade do you teach?”
“What makes you think I'm a teacher?”
That made him stop and think for a second. “Just a hunch.”
A hunch? Garrett was a stranger—she instantly pushed aside the memory of his kiss—how could he have any hunches about her?
The only reason Murphy answered him was because talking, she soon realized, was a nice distraction. That and, truth be told, she liked the rich, gravelly timbre of his voice. Enough, at least, to encourage more conversation. “I'm a social worker.”
His disbelief was palpable. “Really?”
“No, I'm lying,” she quipped, then grinned to soften the snap of sarcasm in her tone. “Yes, really. Well, I was until a week ago.” She scowled. “I'm not sure what I am now.” That wasn't true. Murphy knew exactly what she was. Unemployed. Rather, she would be come Monday unless she changed her mind.
“Did you quit or get fired?” Garrett grunted when the wheels of the Rabbit dipped into a pothole.
Murphy felt his gaze on her. He was waiting for an answer she didn't want to give. It felt funny to be the one answering questions instead of asking them. She was much better at drawing information from people—young people—than she was at divulging any about herself. “Neither,” she replied vaguely, “yet.”
Leaning forward, she scrubbed the fresh layer of frost off the inside windshield. While she doubted he was satisfied with her answer, she was thankful he didn't push.
“I'll bet you're good at it.”
“At what? Social working?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. She shrugged, and suddenly wished the radio was working. The noise would have been a better, safer distraction than talking.
“Well?” Garrett asked when she didn't answer.
“Well what?”
“Were, or are, you good at it?”
“I used to be.”
“‘Used to'. Past tense?”
“Yes,” she answered flatly.
A few seconds passed before he said, “Do you want me to stop asking you questions?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
While he graciously dropped the subject, he hadn't lost interest in it. She could feel his curiosity like a crackle of static electricity in the cold, breath-misted air. Yet he stopped interrogating her…because she'd asked him to.
Under Murphy's guidance, the Rabbit crept another quarter of a mile down the road. At this rate, they might get to Greenville by New Year's, but she wasn't counting on it.
She was staring to get worried. In the ensuing silence, she had too much time to think. The path her thoughts took worried her. All the questions she'd refused to ask before they'd left the warm, relative safety of her brother's house now came back to haunt her.
What happened if the Rabbit got stuck in a snow drift? Or if they came across an obstruction in the road? Or if the car's battery died again? Or the starter conked out? Or the fanbelt broke?