"I dunno, Jax."
"'Dunno',
what
, Em?"
Jackson and Emily Foster have stationed themselves at the entrance ramp to eastbound I-40 from Main Street along with their spotted puppy, Solomon, hoping to thumb a ride to get them closer to Albuquerque and her parents' home. They had just sold their dilapidated heap of a '69 Nova to a buy-here-pay-here used car lot for $50. It ran, sort of, but after overheating up the hill in Cajon Pass, there was no way what was left of it was going to make it up the grade the other side of Kingman, and that was
if
it made it across the desert to Needles. Last and best opportunity to at least get a little pocket cash for it was Barstow.
The cigar-chomping lot attendant mumbled something about "not running a charity" when he begrudgingly handed them two 20s and a 10 for a hooptie that would fetch at least $200 at a breaker yard since it was "a classic". The new-ish battery alone was worth fifty bucks.
The car was all they had they were willing to sell for hard cash. The disgusting troll at the car lot offered another $50 if he could watch them screw, at which point they beat feet.
Ten of what they got for the car went for not much of a lunch at the McDonalds three blocks west of the on-ramp.
"Sol and I aren't cut out for this."
"Our options seem to be limited."
"But we've been out here half the afternoon."
"You need to show a little leg, Em."
"And you need to brush your hair and tuck in that shirt. Look respectable, dammit. Nobody's going to pick up obvious vagrants."
"Dare I remind you of our current circumstances?"
"But we don't have to
look
the part, Jax!"
"More leg. That'll get somebody's attention."
"I'm wearing jeans, shithead."
"And?"
Daggers.
"Okay, how about this? Tie-up that shirt the way you do. They gotta see
some
skin. Unbutton it, too."
"What? So they can see my bodacious cleavage?"
"Oh you so funny. You have no cleavage."
"Thank you ever so much for reminding me, bastard. My small tits save us money on bras, okay?"
"They're adorable. They go perfect with the rest of your girlish figure."
"Not the time, Jax."
"It's
always
the time, Emily. Here. Happy?"
Jackson had retrieved his hairbrush from the backpack and somewhat neatened his sandy-blond hair, tucked in his shirt, and stood up a little straighter.
Things went down real fast when they were laid off, so it hasn't been too long since his last haircut. To Emily's point, they don't
look
like vagrants -- clothes are too fresh and their appearance is as it is, a young couple between jobs who have been on the road only a couple of days,
somewhat
freshly bathed and groomed, maybe a little wilted from the summer heat Barstow is known for.
There's no reason they shouldn't have attracted the attention of some generous traveler heading east by now. Except. Except for the minor problem that nobody trusts anybody these days. Except for the aftermath of COVID. Consequently, hitchhiking is a dead art. Then add all the "overwrought mommy" fears promulgated by the media in recent decades, that on either side of casual ridesharing might be a serial killer or sexual predator waiting to pounce.
No sooner did that contrived worry enter Jax and Em's minds than somebody did indeed pull off onto the shoulder, in a recent model large SUV with Illinois tags. Tinted passenger window rolls down to reveal an attractive middle-aged couple, casually but still nicely dressed.
"You two look like you've had some recent hard luck," says the stunning blonde in the right-hand seat. "We love Dalmatians and have two of our own at home with a sitter. Good people have Dalmatians, so you guys
must
be good people. How far east you going?"
"Albuquerque," Jackson answers. "But any progress in that direction would be great! Em, you okay with these kind folks?"
"(They seem okay, Jax. Dog people,)" she whispers to her husband. She nods.
"Well, you're in luck, I guess," the gentleman in the driver's seat responds. "We're headed to St. Louis. You guys okay with doing Old 66 between here and Needles? We'll talk about further east as we drive. There should be enough room in the back for your stuff, so toss it in and have a seat."
"I'm Jackson, and this is Emily," as they climb into the spacious cabin. "This is nice!"
"Thanks!" the driver answers. "Not exactly 'green' as they say, but when you get to be our ages, comfort starts to bubble to the top of the priority list. I'm Steve, the lovely sitting on the starboard side is Cyan. Nice to meet you two."
"Starboard?" Emily giggles.
Cyan laughs, "Yeah. This thing is a barge."
Steve grins at his own joke, Jax and Em chuckle.
"I hate this merge," Steven sort of mumbles as he has to step on it hard for the four to not be squashed by a rampaging semi.
The excitement passed, Cyan asks, "What is
his
name?"
"Solomon," Emily answers.
"Ah, wise name," Steve quips.
"
You're so bad!
" Cyan slaps Steve's shoulder.
The young couple chuckles again.
"He's always like this," Cyan tells 'em. "No opportunity for goofy word play goes unpunished."
"Yep. Okay," Steve poses, "fun's over and we can get serious. There's obviously a story with you guys. You're too well-dressed to be out in the middle of the desert bumming a ride."
Jackson sighs. "The company we both worked for went out of business suddenly. We were stiffed on our last paycheck and severance, too."
"But you would have something to fall back on, right?" Cyan asks.
"You'd think so, but like a lot of ground-floor tech companies most of our compensation was in stock options. We were paid enough cash to live on. Barely."
"Unemployment?"
Emily answers, "Didn't pay the bills. We were able to sell one car before it was repossessed, but the other didn't make it, and we were kicked out of our apartment last week. L.A. is expensive."
"Wow," Steve comments. "Things happened awfully fast, I guess."
Jackson replies, "Yes. We had just enough to buy a junker hoping to make it to her parents' place in Albuquerque, but you can guess how that ended."
"And here you are."
"Yep."
"Well, you two make yourself comfortable," Cyan reassures. "Solomon okay on water? I saw you have a bowl for him. There's bottled water in the cooler right behind the seat, so help yourself."
"Gosh, you
are
dog people! What are their names?" Emily asks.
"Sky and Pixel."
She laughs, "Okay! Pixel I get! For a Dalmatian! Funny! But 'Sky'?"
