Free Driving With the Top Down by Beth Harbison

haste?” Tamara asked, quirking a smile. “You know, like when you’re in a hurry and you scribble over your name and it looks wrong?”
    Colleen laughed out loud. She had no idea Tamara could be clever. Kevin could, so maybe it was hereditary. A gene that had skipped Chris. “That would be awesome. Imagine what it would be worth.”
    “A Revolutionary War blooper.”
    “Exactly. Keep your eye out for that.”
    “You got it.”
    They fell back into silence, but Colleen was heartened that Tamara was a slightly livelier wire than she’d expected.
    The drive past the worst of D.C.’s suburbia finally opened up to a dull highway lined with green. Nothing remarkable, but better than buildings. Once they got past Richmond, much of the traffic dropped off, and what remained seemed to be primarily big-rig trucks and family-packed minivans with Rubbermaid boxes bungeed onto racks on the back. Disney-bound, no doubt.
    Colleen drove about half an hour past Richmond, then took an exit to a Sheetz gas station. (“Don’t stop for a gas station until you can actually see it from the road,” Kevin had always told her. This one was right off the highway.) She opened the door and turned to Tamara. “You want anything from inside?”
    “I wouldn’t mind some Doritos.”
    “You got it.”
    “Cool Ranch flavored!”
    Colleen gave her the thumbs-up, went in, found some Cool Ranch Doritos, a tall bottle of Evian, and then hit the wine section to get a little something for later if she wanted it. On the shelf next to the fridge was a display of what looked like Reddi-wip but was in fact spiked whipped cream. Hazelnut, vanilla, and caramel. She’d never seen anything like it, so she added one of each to her purchases, making a mental note to keep it away from Tamara, who seemed perilously likely to help herself to it, whether she knew it was alcoholic or not.
    They started back on the highway. But for the sound of the wheels on the road and the wind whipping over them, the miles passed in silence.
    About half an hour from the North Carolina border, a truck bore down on them and slipped beside them into the right lane.
    Colleen put her foot on the brake to let him pass, but he slowed down with her. When she sped up, he sped up too.
    A nervous tremor crossed her chest.
    “Do you know him?” Tamara asked.
    “I certainly hope not.”
    “He’s gesturing at us. Do you think something’s wrong with the car and he’s trying to warn us?”
    Colleen glanced in the rearview mirror. Everything looked as it had the whole time. There was no odd pull on the wheel; the drive felt normal. Except, of course, for the apprehension she suddenly felt, remembering old urban legends about truck drivers seeing murderers lurking in backseats and trunks and so on and trying to warn drivers, who just blew them off and treated them like pests.
    She wondered if she should pull over and check everything out, but he was pretty good at keeping pace with her, and there were no exits within view. There was no way she was going to pull over right now.
    They were about ten miles from the Henley exit, though, which happened to be where Colleen had gone to college. That would be a good place to pull off and just check everything out for safety. Besides, the Henley Diner was incredible, and after McDonald’s for breakfast and nothing but junk food since, she thought they could both probably go for an incredible meal.
    “The car’s fine,” Colleen said with more confidence than she felt. “Who knows what he’s doing?”
    “Okay.” The doubt in Tamara’s voice was clear.
    The trucker kept pace with them, tracking their speed relentlessly. The road maneuvers went from seeming like they might be a coincidence to being clearly on purpose to feeling downright scary.
    They were almost at Henley when Tamara said, “Oh my God! No way ! Creeper!”
    Colleen’s nerves were so frayed by then that the words startled her. “What?”
    “He’s … ew.”
    “He’s