In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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The officer's words keep circling in my head. Highway of Tears. That's what this stretch of road is called. Somewhere between twenty and fifty women have gone missing or been murdered along Highway 16. Most of the victims were Indigenous, according to the officer, and many of them were crimes of opportunity.
You serve yourself up on a platter, she said, you're going to be the meal. Not exactly a compassionate stance toward me or those unfortunate women. What about teaching men that women aren't consumables? How about that, Officer Unsympathetic?
At least the male officer had given me his card and said to call him if I found myself in any trouble.
Even without the female officer's lecture, I've been a bit embarrassed that it never even occurred to me to use my bear spray on Blake when he picked me up. If he'd been a real attacker, would I have defended myself? Had anyone asked me on the side of the road, I'd have said definitely, but now I'm not so sure.
"If it had been anyone but you, I'd have fought harder," I say.
"Hmm." Blake grips the steering wheel, and the flex of his big hands draws my gaze.
"Hit you with a blast of bear spray. Bit you. Called the police from my phone. Jumped out of the moving truck."
"Would that have been before or after you managed to sit up?"
"I'm just saying, I wasn't helpless." I slouch into the seat and consider getting a chocolate bar out of my pack. Blake has a bag of M&Ms in the cupholder, and I really want to steal some. "Are you going to eat those?"
"Yes."
"Where are we going?" He's heading in the direction I want to go, but I did enough research to know the next major place is hours away.
"Prince George. Do you have a place booked? A hotel... Or something?" He glances at me, and it's clear from his expression he's assuming that I do not.
He is correct, but I'm loath to admit my carefree approach. The whole point of the trip is to be young and carefree. It's not embarrassing; it's liberating. He doesn't strike me as the type to have a single carefree bone in his body. Whoever he was pretending to be on the boat is gone. This guy is the real Blake. Stoic. Silent. Judgy.
"I heard you mention on the bus that you don't have a data plan for Canada. If you want to use my phone to book something, go ahead."
And then I feel like an asshole for thinking bad things about him. He stopped for me on the side of the road, and he didn't just give up on me and let me get kidnapped by someone else when I dug in my heels. I'm in a foul mood because I want his chocolate and the police officer made me feel like the world's biggest idiot for hitchhiking on this highway.
"If you don't mind," I say, sliding my hand over the top of his phone.
"Book something decent," he says, and then he takes a handful of M&Ms and tosses them into his mouth.
