Page 59 of Once Upon a Fall

“No,” I say. “We’re not doing that.”

“Okay,” he says.

It’s silent again.

I let out a breath. It’s not a terrible idea. If we move the truck onto the street, it’ll make it easier for Hal to come get it. I’d be doing him a favor. Sort of.

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine?”

I sit up too fast, and my head spins for a second.

“Let’s move the truck,” I say.

His lips pull up at the corners, giving me his signature smile. The one without teeth. Dean really does smile a lot; I just never gave him credit for them.

But this one is tinged with something else. Something like mischief. Like if Dean had a tiny little mustache, he’d be twirling the ends of it with his finger.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me off the bed.

“Dean, we shouldn’t be doing this,” I say as we get ready to push the old blue truck out of the garage, running shoes and jackets on.

“Probably not,” he says.

The plan is to put the truck in neutral, roll it down the driveway, and park it somewhere along Main Street. I’ll steer while Dean pushes.

It’s a stupid plan. But the truth is it really would be a pain to have those tables in my front entry. However, that’s not stopping me from feeling bad about doing this.

I climb into the driver’s seat while Dean goes around to the back of the truck. The cab smells like sunbaked vinyl, stale air, and whatever old trucks collect after sitting untouched for years.

The keys were sitting on the seat when we first checked it out, but apparently we don’t even need them. The truck shifts into neutral easily enough.

“Keep your foot on the brake until I tell you,” he calls from behind me.

“I don’t like this,” I loud-whisper through the open window, which I had to manually roll down. I feel like I need to voice it one more time before we go through with it.

“I know,” he says. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Rosie.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Take your foot off the brake.”

I do, and he starts pushing. It takes some effort, but the truck begins to roll. The steering wheel barely wants to move beneath my hands. Either this thing doesn’t have power steering, or it only works when the engine does.

But once we get going, it seems pretty easy. When we reach the curb, I hit the brake, stopping the truck.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks, and I gesture for him to come up to the window.

“Do you think we could push this thing to Hal’s house? It’s only two streets over. Flat all the way.”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, we could do that if you want.”

“I’ll feel better if we just bring it to his house.”