Crimson Highway by David Wickenhauser (brene brown rising strong TXT) 📗

reached over, grabbed the steering wheel and immediately brought the truck under control. Then he motioned for Jenny to slide out behind him and into her own seat, while he settled back into his driver’s seat.

They were in their proper places, and Hugh had the truck going the proper speed, safely down the road.

“How the hell did that happen?” Hugh demanded, angrily firing a lot of questions Jenny’s way. “How did your uncle know where we were? Especially on this alternate road. How could you have told him? Why would you tell him? How could you have known about this alternate route?”

“Hugh, Hugh, Hugh, slow down,” Jenny pleaded, her pained expression showing her surprise at Hugh’s anger at her. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Hugh replied angrily. “It was what it was, just like before. How did you do it? And, why?”

Then, beginning to sob, Jenny answered, “Hugh, that wasn’t my uncle. I don’t know any of those guys.”

“What?” Hugh asked, trying to process what she had told him. And then it dawned on him. “You mean that had nothing to do with you, or your uncle?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Jenny replied between sobs. “I swear I had nothing to do with this, and I have no idea who those guys were.”

Hugh thought for a minute about that. This is unbelievable!

Then he said, “Jenny, I’m sorry. It’s just that having you as a rider has been one disaster after another. You’re some kind of a hijacker magnet. I just assumed …”

He looked over at Jenny, and saw that he had deeply wounded her with that last statement. She just stared outside the windshield, her red-rimmed eyes glistening with tears.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say again.

They were both silent then—Jenny lost in her thoughts, and Hugh concentrating on his driving.

He steered the truck back onto the highway, where it was just a short hop to Carson City. Once through the town, and headed south on 395 again, Hugh chanced a glance over in Jenny’s direction. He could see that she had composed herself.

“Alright, Jenny. Let’s talk about what happened,” Hugh said in a calmer, softer voice than he had done before.

Jenny didn’t say anything.

“Jenny?” Hugh prodded.

“You called me honey,” Jenny said.

“No, I don’t think so. There was a lot of excitement. You probably heard me wrong.”

“I didn’t hear you wrong, Hugh. You said, ‘No, honey, you can do it.’ You might not remember, but I sure do.”

Who can figure women, Hugh thought. They don’t miss a thing.

Then he said, “Look, Jenny. I don’t know what I said, or why I said it. But, it’s not important right now. OK?”

“Sure. No problem,” Jenny replied icily, as she crossed her arms and stared out the passenger-side window. It was a pose very reminiscent of when she had first climbed into his truck as a “male” hitchhiker.

 “Jenny. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m just all worked up over this whole hijacking thing.”

Jenny nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Well,” Hugh said, trying to keep a conversation going. “That, for what it’s worth, was a hot seat swap.”

“I kinda figured,” Jenny replied. “But why did we have to do that? Couldn’t you have just stopped the truck to fight that guy off?”

“No,” Hugh replied. “If I had stopped, those other guys would have been all over my truck, pulling my airlines, and keeping me from being able to drive away. We would have been sitting ducks then.”

“OK, I understand.” Jenny said.

“But you did real good,” Hugh told her. “Nobody could have done it any better. In fact, I was quite nervous the first time James sprung that on me. I can tell you about it if you like.”

“Sure,” Jenny said.

“It was my first day on the truck with James after he had picked me up as a hitchhiker. We’d already been on the road for awhile that day, so I needed to find a restroom.”

“What’s that got to do with a hot seat swap?” Jenny asked.

“You’ll see,” Hugh replied.

Chapter Thirteen

15 years ago – Shortly after getting the ride with James.

“Um, James,” Hugh said. “You got any plans for a restroom break anytime soon?” Hugh had been in the truck for awhile already, and he had not had use of a facility for a couple of hours before getting picked up.

“You’ve got a couple of options,” James said. “We can pull over at a truck stop or rest area, or you can use a jug while I keep driving.”

“Jug?” Hugh enquired.

“Yeah, it’s something I keep handy for impromptu breaks when it isn’t convenient to pull over at a truck stop or rest area. I won’t let you use mine ... trucker rules ... but I always keep a spare in case mine gets full and I need to go before I get a chance to empty it.”

“When are you figuring on the next stop?” Hugh asked.

“That’ll be the big truck stop at Wheeler Ridge just over the Grapevine,” James answered, “about three hours from now, assuming we don’t get stuck in commute traffic,” he finished, anticipating Hugh’s next question.

Hugh thought about it, and then opted for the jug, since he had the feeling that James didn’t want to stop anytime soon.

“How’s it work?” Hugh asked.

“Look in the bottom cabinet directly behind your seat,” James said. “You’ll find an empty Clorox bottle there. You just unscrew the cap and do what comes natural. Make sure you screw the cap back on real tight afterward. Lesson learned, believe me.”

Hugh did as James said. Standing up in the sleeper, he unscrewed the cap and, while holding the jug with one hand, got ready to do his business. Just as he was ready to relieve himself James tapped