Free The Summer the World Ended by Matthew S. Cox Page A

through the door.
    “C-cold…”
    He chuckled. “Yeah, it got me too.”
    After figuring out how to get hot water, drying off, and putting the same clothes back on, she wrapped her hair in a towel and sat on the foot of the torturous bed. Dad huddled over the little table, muttering on the phone.
    “Bit less than halfway back. Almost there. Yes, I’ll be able to fix it by Thursday.” He nodded twice, and went pale. “The Russians did
what?
” Fingers drummed on the table. “That’s not good. Especially not with the Korea situation.”
    “What’s not good?” asked Riley.
    “Yes, it is.” Dad covered the mouthpiece with his hand and looked over his shoulder at her. “Colonel Bering says hello. He’s sorry about Mom.”
    Riley forced a lackluster smile. “Thanks.”
    Crescents of clean, new toenail peeked above the polish, an inexorable marker of time. She scooted her feet back and forth over the thin carpet while Dad muttered a series of ‘yes sirs’ at the phone.
    He hung up and fished her flip-flops out from under the table. “Ready?”
    “No, but… Yeah.” She stepped into her flops, tapped the tips on the floor to seat the thongs between her toes, and meandered outside. It wasn’t even eleven yet, and the air felt hot and muggy. “Blech.”
    She leaned against the passenger-side door while Dad paced around the motel room in a circle, three times. He walked outside, patted down his pockets, and re-entered the room to do another circuit. The second time he approached the exit, he backed out and pulled the door closed. He hit the button on the key fob to unlock the truck and jogged over.
    “What the hell was that?” Riley pulled herself up into the seat and closed the door.
    “I wanted to make sure we didn’t forget anything. Never know what you can leave behind that seems inconsequential, but someone can use to, uh… steal your identity.”
    “Right…” She let her head thud against the seat back, and closed her eyes.
    The engine started. Dad backed up, turned, and drove. She swayed with a turn onto a larger road and tried to get comfortable. Motion and bumps jostled her for a few minutes, though sleep wasn’t in reach. Riley shot upright and opened her eyes when the truck went over a stiff bump.
What can I say to make him turn around?
    They swung through the drive-through of a Dunkin Donuts.
    Dad grinned. “Breakfast time.”
    “Coffee,” said Riley, earning a raised eyebrow. “And one of those croissant things with the egg on it.”
    The scent of coffee and eggs lingered in the cab for an hour and change after the last trace of either was long gone. No one said a word. Dad focused on the road, tapping a finger on the wheel as if worried about something. Riley tried to think about anything other than Mom, but everything she called to mind eventually traced back to her old life. She didn’t feel like crying any more, and sank into an implosion of blah.
    A few minutes past noon, Dad chuckled out of the blue.
    She glanced sideways at him.
    “You remember why we nicknamed you Squirrel?”
    Her face reddened. “Dad. I’m not a little kid anymore. Don’t call me that.”
    “When you were three, you got a hold of a muffin and held it in both hands like a―”
    “Squirrel with an acorn,” droned Riley.
    “You didn’t forget.” He took his eyes off the road for two seconds to grin at her.
    It seemed different from the last time he smiled, somehow more genuine.
    She made a sour face at the door. “I didn’t forget.”
    You used to call me that, and then you left.
Her hands clenched to fists.
I hated everyone that still had a dad.
The corners of her eyes burned as overworked tear-makers struggled to find moisture. Riley gritted her teeth.
Why does he have to keep calling me that?
It made her angry with Dad all over again for leaving. It made her angry with herself for lashing out at her mother for using it.
    “Sorry,” said Dad.
    “What”―she started to snap, but relaxed and