I stared up at the sky for a brief moment and begged Grandpa to pull a few strings for me. “Come on, please? Just get me to Anna’s.”
The knocking sound began to trade off with a strange sizzling hiss. I pulled into the next turn-out and stretched back to retrieve my phone.
My heart pounded, and I could feel my palms getting sweaty. Fighting down panic, I turned off the car and reasoned it might just need a break. While I waited for the hissing sound to stop, I scrolled through the many text messages from Owen.
"Come on, come on," I clicked on each one without reading them. "Get a fucking clue, Owen, leave me alone.”
I held my phone up and waved it around, but it was no use. I was far out on the California coast with a noisy engine and no cell phone signal.
How was it I could get Owen’s stupid text messages but not have a signal to make a call?
I forced myself to wait a full five minutes. Then I gritted my teeth and started the car again. It ratcheted to life with more of the disconcerting knocking, yet the gauges on the dashboard made it seem like everything was perfectly fine. I took that as a sign to get back on the highway and keep heading south.
The sharp curves and switchbacks I had ridden like a rollercoaster before were now nerve-wracking detours. The only signs I saw told me the safe speed to approach the treacherous corners. I wanted signs for towns. Gas and service stations. People. The farther I went without seeing a road sign, the higher a bubble of panic rose in my chest. There were no cheerful green signs declaring how the next town was only a few miles away. There was nothing.
The car shuddered as I let off the gas into the sharp turns, then knocked loudly as I accelerated out of the curves. I squinted, hoping to spot a cluster of buildings, a ranch outpost, anything that marked civilization and phone service. Instead, there were only wheeling sea gulls and mile markers that meant I was far from anywhere.
Finally, a brown sign peeked out of a clump of tall grass. I slammed on the brakes. Pulling into the state park, I was relieved to see a large white pick-up truck emblazoned with the state seal of California. A ranger, stationed in a little booth, caught my panicked look and waved.
"Sorry, but could you tell me how far until the next town?" I called from the convertible. “I need a mechanic, I think.”
"Half Moon Bay is about an hour away.” He stared in the direction of the loud noise coming from under the hood and then shook his head. “You know, that doesn’t sound good."
"I know, but I'm guessing it's either another hour on the road or I stay here tonight."
"Sorry, miss, but the state beaches all close at sunset. You can't stay here."
I hadn’t meant I’d really stay the night here. Shaking my head, I shifted back into drive and thanked him as I turned the car around.
"Good luck!" he yelled as I drove past his booth.
Every time the car shuddered, I glanced down at the dashboard, hoping everything remained dim. Instead, this time, the check engine, low oil, and a mysterious circle with an X inside all came on at once. They should have just given me a skull and crossbones. I was so distracted by the indicator lights that I almost missed the road sign.
"Michel's Beach," I read. "Ooh, wait, did that give a population number? Population means people! Hell yes! Civilization." I looked up at the sky again and smiled. “Thank you!”
The next sign told me the beach outpost was only four miles away. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and coasted as often as I could, allowing my foot to hover above the gas pedal. The car shuddered and knocked until I couldn’t stand it. I pushed the volume button on the steering wheel as the speakers began to flood with golden oldies—my grandpa’s favorite songs—to drown out the sounds.
I was barking out the second verse of an early Elvis song when I spied a white building perched on a green slope of grass. I figured it was some sort of a spa or retreat until I saw the neon sign declaring happy hour. Patrons sat on a balcony behind a protective wall of Plexiglass. They looked comfortable, unruffled, and able to enjoy what was fast becoming a fantastic sunset.
I, on the other hand, was white-knuckled and windblown as I turned away from the building and down a sharp switchback. When I followed the highway back toward the coast, I saw a row of sun-faded buildings next to the white one.
"Oh god, please tell me Michel's Beach is more than a bar and four shacks," I muttered.
In answer, the car spluttered into silence. I coasted off the highway and into the gravel parking lot. I flopped my head back on the seat and saw the sign above me.
The Sand Dollar, where a buck can buy happiness. I sighed and turned my energy to strangling the steering wheel. "I'd pay anything if you would just get me out of here!"
I pried my fingers off the steering wheel and turned the key. The engine cranked up to running. I whispered encouragement.
"That's it. All you needed was a couple minutes off, and now we can make it to a real town. I'll just let you rest and we'll go."
As soon as I said the word 'go,' the engine shuddered. The thick smell of something burning overwhelmed me. Thank god the top was down. The car died before I could turn the key.
“Fuck!” The profanity flew from my mouth without hesitation, something I wouldn’t normally do, but seemed to become easier for me over the last few months.
I stumbled out of the car, then reached back in and retrieved my phone and my copy of the car rental agreement. I held my phone up and wandered the gravel parking lot, hoping there might be a signal. Apparently, no one inside The Sand Dollar cared if their cell phones worked because I had to walk to the opposite end of the lot, on the pinnacle of a seaside cliff, to get even a faint signal.
I flipped open the rental agreement and punched in the numbers, praying again that the call went through and someone actually answered.
The man at the car rental office was sympathetic but useless. "It sounds like you’re at least an hour away from the nearest office, and it’s almost six o'clock."
"I'm sorry, didn't you hear me?” I asked. “There was a burning smell and the engine just stopped. Now there's nothing."
"So it's completely dead?"
I curled my fingers into a fist. On the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, the last word I wanted to hear was dead. "The car is not working at all."
"You said you smelled something burning and then it died?"
A split rail fence divided the gravel parking lot from the precipice. I leaned heavily on it as my vision blurred with hot tears. "Yes. I need another car or a ride or something."
"I'm sorry the car died. I can send a replacement for you on Monday."
I dug my fingers into the weather-worn wood of the fence rail. "Could you please stop saying 'dead' and 'died'? This is just not the day I can handle that." My voice wavered. "Wait, what? Did you say you can’t send a replacement until Monday?"
The rental car clerk cleared his throat. "Yes, and I apologize."
"I need a car or a ride now. I have somewhere to be!"
"Our mechanic isn’t available to drive down there until Monday. Also, we don’t have any available cars. Are you sure the car is dead?" he asked.
"Yes. Dead! It just died and left me here on my own!" I clapped a hand over my phone as jagged sobs bent me over double.