A Missing Peace by Beth Fred Page B

time I got up and headed to the door, Mirriam was in my kitchen. “Hope your mom’s not one of those ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ kind of people,” she said.
    â€œShe’s at work. The back door?”
    â€œUh, do my mom and Abrahem both work nights, meaning they’re at home during the day?”
    I laughed. “How did you get back there?”
    â€œI took the dirt road and jumped your fence.”
    â€œI should get a dog. You never know when a psycho might jump the fence and let themself in.”
    She laughed. “Shut up. How are we going to get to Austin without being seen?”
    I shrugged. “Once we’re off this road, we’ll be fine.”
    â€œYou can’t walk.”
    â€œThat’s why we’re driving.”
    â€œIt’s going to be hard to get in the car.”
    â€œI’ll be okay.”
    But she was right. Getting in the jeep was no easy feat. I grabbed the handle over the seat and held my breath as I crawled in the passenger side.
    â€œAre you okay?” Mirriam asked.
    â€œYeah, I’ll be all right.”
    She crossed her arms. “But you’re on the wrong side.”
    I grinned at her. “It’s going to be a long time before I’m driving, sweetheart.” She looked like she was ready to kick my ass, and it was awesome. She was so cute when she was mad.
    â€œI don’t even have a license.”
    â€œDon’t speed.”
    She growled, but she got in the driver side.
    â€œThe one on the left is the clutch. You—”
    â€œI know what the clutch is,” she snapped. “I just need a minute to adjust. The steering wheel is supposed to be on the other side.”
    I laughed. “Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.”
    â€œWho’s Dorothy?”
    Right. We’re from two different worlds. “Okay, we’re watching the Wizard of Oz.”
    She shook her head. “Whatever.” She sighed.
    â€œThe steering wheel is where it belongs. The problem is you’re used to driving on the wrong side of the road.”
    â€œUh, the steering wheel goes on the other side everywhere else in the world.”
    I laughed.
    She flipped the ignition, opened the garage door, and adjusted the rear-view mirror, which currently displayed her house.
    She blew out a heavy sigh and reclined her seat, while my jeep jumped around and died.
    â€œCan you drive a standard?” I asked as she cranked the truck again.
    â€œNo, this is the only place on Earth where standards are driven.” We rolled out of my driveway with Mirriam’s seat horizontal. There was no way she could see. “Do you know how much automatics cost in the rest of the world? Or the price of gas?” “Calm down, girl. It was just a question. You should probably sit up.”
    â€œDo you want to drive?”
    Point taken.
    By some miracle, she was able to come to a halt at the stop sign.
    â€œCan you see?”
    â€œNot really, so if you think a train is coming at us, it’s probably a good idea to say so.”
    â€œWhy do you want to drive with your seat laying down?”
    â€œSo no one sees me.
    â€œGreat. Well, you’re clear.” We turned the corner and Mirriam coasted into the curb. “These tires are new.”
    â€œThis was your idea, genius.”
    The car died again, and Mirriam sat her seat up, scooted closer to the pedals, put the car in first, and took off—smoothly. “You’ll have to tell me where to go.”
    â€œWe should probably take Phantom Soldier. It’s less busy than 35.”
    â€œWhere is this Phantom Soldier? And do you not find it slightly disturbing that even the highway is named after a soldier here? Phantom. Seriously? What’s up with that? It sounds creepy.”
    â€œIt’s called Phantom Soldier, because the soldiers take it to Austin to drink and come home. Lots of deaths on this highway at night because