Chapter 5 - The Last Set of Keys
The rental car concourse looked like a trading floor during a stock market crash.
Desperate business travelers were waving corporate black cards at stone-faced agents, while exhausted mothers pleaded for minivans. Red electronic signs flashed above the Hertz, Enterprise, and Budget desks: *ALL VEHICLES SOLD OUT.*
Brianna and I stood at the end of the National Car Rental counter. A tired-looking agent named Dale was rubbing his temples, surrounded by discarded computer printouts.
“I’m sorry, ladies,” Dale sighed, not even looking up. “Every sedan, SUV, and pickup truck within a hundred-mile radius has been claimed. People are renting U-Hauls just to drive to Omaha.”
Brianna leaned over the counter. Gone was the petulant girl who had thrown her hair in my coffee. In her place was a razor-sharp, determined young woman fighting for her survival.
“Dale,” she said, her voice dropping into a warm, utterly persuasive cadence. “Look at me for five seconds, please.”
Dale blinked, looking up from his monitor.
“My grandmother and I are trying to get to Portland,” Brianna said, gesturing toward me with absolute conviction. “Her granddaughter is graduating tomorrow morning, and she is the only family member the girl has left who remembers her late father. Look at her knee, Dale. She’s seventy-three years old. She can’t sleep on this airport floor for three days.”
Dale’s eyes flicked to me. I immediately leaned slightly harder on my cane, offering him the most fragile, heartbreaking grandmotherly smile I could muster. Arthur always said I was a terrible poker player, but when the stakes were high, I could play the part of a saintly matriarch better than an Oscar winner.
“Look, miss,” Dale stammered, his resolve visibly crumbling. “I really don't have anything on the lot. Everything is spoken for.”
“What about cancellations?” Brianna pressed, leaning in closer. “What about the maintenance bay? There’s always one car that was returned with a minor issue, or an executive hold that never checked in. Please, Dale. Check the manifest one more time.”
Dale hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He typed a rapid sequence of keystrokes. He frowned, tilted his head, and stared at the glowing green screen.
“Well… there is one,” Dale muttered under his breath.
“What is it?” Brianna asked eagerly.
“It was reserved by a corporate client who missed his connecting flight from Dallas,” Dale said, glancing around nervously as if other passengers might overhear. “It’s not a sedan. It’s… well, it’s a full-sized 2024 Ford F-250 Super Duty Crew Cab. Turbo diesel. Four-wheel drive.”
Brianna blinked. “A pickup truck?”
“It’s not just a truck, miss. It’s an eight-thousand-pound tank with a six-foot bed and wheels the size of beer kegs. The client rented it to tow a horse trailer to Cheyenne, but he isn't coming.” Dale looked at Brianna, then at me. “Can either of you even climb into something that big?”
“I grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin, young man,” I said crisply, slapping Arthur’s emergency credit card onto the counter. “I was driving John Deere tractors before your parents were born. Hand over the keys.”
Ten minutes later, the automatic glass doors of the terminal slid open, hitting us with a wall of cold, damp Midwestern air.
Sitting in stall number forty-two was an absolute behemoth of a vehicle. It was painted metallic midnight blue, standing nearly seven feet tall, with chrome grilles that looked capable of plowing through a brick wall.
Brianna stood before it, holding the key fob, her jaw practically resting on her chest. “Eleanor… this thing is bigger than my first apartment.”
“It has four-wheel drive, excellent ground clearance, and an engine that could pull a locomotive,” I said, tossing my small floral suitcase into the massive back seat. “Which means neither snow nor mountain passes will stop us. Climb in, dear. You’re driving the first leg.”
“Me?” Brianna squeaked, looking terrified. “I drive a Honda Civic!”
“Then consider this an upgrade,” I replied, hoisting myself up using the heavy-duty running board and settling into the heated leather passenger seat. “We have fifteen hundred and forty miles of Interstate 80 and Interstate 84 ahead of us. If we average seventy-five miles per hour and only stop for fuel, we will reach the University of Portland campus at precisely nine-fifteen tomorrow morning.”
Brianna climbed up into the driver's seat, gripping the thick, leather-wrapped steering wheel like a captain taking command of an ocean liner. She adjusted the mirrors, pushed the glowing engine start button, and the enormous turbo-diesel engine roared to life with a deep, authoritative rumble that vibrated right through the floorboards.
She looked over at me, her eyes shining with nervous adrenaline.
“Eleanor?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I’m really sorry about your chicken sandwich.”
May you like
I chuckled, buckling my seatbelt with a satisfying *click*. “Forget the sandwich, Brianna. Put this monstrosity in reverse, get us onto the highway, and let’s go win your career back.”
***
