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mitskiiiiii · 17 days ago

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langdonmel day 3: road trip

When Mel heard the wet tread of tires roll up outside her window she was already lying awake, restlessly counting the little red flowers on her sheets like she always did those sleepless nights before the first day of school, back when she was still in school. It must have drizzled earlier, she thought, trivially. She fumbled for her glasses. When she peeked outside she had to force herself not to squeal like a little girl at what she saw.

There it was, Langdon’s car idling in her driveway like something straight out of a dream. His beaming brights were the only source of light visible from here; her house, the neighboring field and the only other cottage around were plunged into complete darkness after the sun set at 8:30pm, and it had been four hours since then. It had been nine hours since he'd called that afternoon with the proposition that upended all her plans.

Her eyes caught on the tightly packed suitcase patiently waiting for her across the room. She repeated her new mantra in her mind: This is real, I’m doing this, this is really happening. She jumped out of bed and grabbed the suitcase with shaking hands, barely managing not to fall down the stairs as she took them two at a time.

Becca was staying overnight at the center. Mel had wrung her hands on the phone when she called earlier to let them know she was out of town and wouldn’t be able to take Becca home for a few extra days, and that she’s very sorry for any inconvenience. They didn’t know the half of how sorry she’d be.

But any guilt starting to curdle in her stomach was neutralized by overwhelming, terrible excitement. The screech of the screen door cut through the still summer air. A chorus of cicadas joined in anticipation.

Langdon drove a pretty sexy old car in Mel’s opinion. She didn’t know much about car models, much less which ones were considered sexy, but the one in her driveway was red, muscular, and probably unfit for a married man with two young children. Maybe Frank had realized he was unfit for that lifestyle after all. The car suited him, she thought giddily.

He was scribbling something on a legal pad, dark brow furrowed and pink tongue slightly poking out of his mouth. She wondered what he was writing. God, she had missed him, and they’d only been separated for a week. But that was over now, she assured herself, heart racing with each step she took towards the sexy car, now she’d be surrounded by him every hour, every day. No escape, she thought giddily.

She knocked on his window, and couldn’t help giggling when he startled and almost dropped his notepad. But then he was grinning back at her wider than ever. Hi, he mouthed through the glass.

He popped the lock and jumped up to help with her bag. “Here, Mel, put it in the trunk.”

“Yep,” she said.

But he took it from her anyway and unlocked the passenger side door. “I gotcha. Will you say hi to Crosby back there?”

Mel situated herself in the front and craned her neck to look behind her. There was Langdon’s dog, dozing off in the backseat. When she scratched him around the ears he perked up like he was her favorite person in the world, even though she’d only met him once before: that fateful Tuesday when they’d run into each other at the park.

“Hi, buddy! Such a good boy. Did you miss me?”

“He did.”

The driver's side swung open and Frank climbed in beside her. Two gas station coffees were nestled in the cup holders; Frank took a big swig of the one on the left. The gold ring on his finger gleamed as he drummed an urgent rhythm against the steering wheel with his other hand. Then he turned to look at Mel, his demeanor wild but subdued, probably for her sake.

“How are you, did, did you get any sleep?” Frank asked.

She thought about lying, but felt a yawn coming on its way to betray her. “Well, not really, no.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, evidently in the same boat. “I’ll drive through the night, and you can fall asleep. If it’s not too uncomfortable.”

“I’m not tired,” she protested, and as his electric presence began to sink into her skin, that was becoming more true. “And I’d rather keep you company.”

He sighed gratefully. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He gave her knee a quick squeeze and then put the key in the ignition.

The engine roared to life, and then they were pulling out of her driveway. Mel relaxed, settling into the pleasant hum of the road. They were the only car driving on the one way street she lived on, typical for this hour. Frank’s brights were still on; they illuminated the yellow lines as his car gobbled them up. That was the visual Mel would always imagine when she was a kid: a car with an insatiable mouth perpetually devouring the road before it. They passed hay fields, dilapidated barns, and a few other residential houses. Pittsburgh got rural surprisingly fast after leaving the city, and Mel still lived in the same old two-bedroom farmhouse (farmhouse in style, not in function) she’d grown up in. The air wafting in through the backseat smelled of distant campfire smoke, marking the beginning of summer.

In the silence she suddenly felt shy next to him. A hysterical laugh was bubbling up inside her chest, threatening to explode out. She wished he would put his hand back on her knee, her thigh, anywhere. If she let her imagination run wild, she could almost feel the weight of it, feel the heat that would seep through her pant leg and even deeper down into her bone. She stared out the window and internally willed him to just man up and do it.

Frank cleared his throat. “Can you put some music on if that’s okay?” He asked. “My cassettes are in the glove compartment.”

“Sure thing,” Mel said.

“Anything’s fine,” he added.

That was one thing Mel had already deduced about Frank: he didn’t like silence. In fact, he was hardly ever still, always humming or tapping or bouncing his knee. Restlessness was a quality that made sense for an ER doctor to have, but she was starting to see how deeply the frantic energy of the hospital bled into his day to day life.

She popped open the glove compartment and sifted through his vast collection of cassettes. There were artists she expected to see: Bruce Springsteen, The Smiths, Tom Petty; and some pleasant surprises: Kate Wolf, Jim Croce, and The Man of La Mancha original Broadway cast album.

Mel’s parents had taken her and Becca to see Man of La Mancha at their local community theatre when she was 11. The ending made her cry so hard she almost got physically sick, which her dad found inexplicably funny. Then they played The Impossible Dream at her dad’s funeral four years later, which Mel didn’t find funny at all.

Mel wouldn’t have pegged Langdon as a musical theatre lover, but she supposed she still had a lot to learn about him. After curiously perusing for a little while longer she picked a tape and put it in.

“Oh, nice,” Frank said once the opening piano notes of Ol’ 55 filled the car. He sounded appreciative like he’d forgotten he owned this one and was glad she’d reminded him. “You a Tom Waits fan?”

She flushed with the heat of his approval. “I love this album. My mom used to teach me and Becs how to plunk out some of his songs on the piano, so it’s,” she paused, smiling at the memory, “It’s very nostalgic for me.”

He nodded and started softly humming along. Mel tried not to wring her hands. There were so many questions she needed to ask him that she didn’t really know where to start. She had no idea where they were going or what mess he was leaving behind. Over the phone he’d sounded scattered, like something was hot on his tail. If he was in real trouble, she wanted to help. If he just wanted to do something crazy, well, she was extremely flattered he wanted to do it with her, but she needed a tiny bit more information for her peace of mind. Before she could open her mouth though, he spoke first.

“Can I ask you something?” Frank said.

Mel shook away her thoughts. “Shoot.”

“Why’d you say yes to me?” Frank asked with a slightly pained expression, raking his fingers through his hair. “I probably sounded crazy on the phone. I wouldn’t have said yes to me.”

Mel didn’t know what she expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. “Oh! Um. Good question!” He snorted. “Well, you see,” she continued, “I’ve always wanted to go on a road trip.”

Frank laughed warmly. “Me too.”

“My dad promised he’d take me and Becca to the Grand Canyon when we were kids, but…” Mel trailed off.

“What, he never took you?” Frank said, sounding affronted for her.

Mel shook her head. “No. He, ah, he totaled the car before he could make good on it, and now it’s too late, so,” she pursed her lips, “Keep your eyes on the road please.”

Rudely disobeying, Frank looked her up and down briefly, then grinned and shook his head like she’d just asked him to drive with his elbows.

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed anyway.

Mel became conscious of her hair loose around her shoulders. She wasn’t unaware of the urge she always had to look pretty for him; not made up or even necessarily feminine, but not hidden either. Strangers’ eyes usually felt sort of painful on the rare occasion they fell on her, but his gaze felt more like pressing on a bruise, a little painful but shaky and satisfying too.

She cleared her throat. Maybe it was the intimacy of the car or the late hour that encouraged her to keep talking. “Actually I said yes because I wanted to spend more time with you after they, ah, after you were let go.” She felt Frank go still. “You made an impression on me so quickly. Not many people— Langdon, I hope you know how rare that is.”

He swallowed hard, eyes still fixed on the road. “And afterwards I felt horrible, I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again. And I really, really didn’t want that.” Her voice trembled with emotion and she could feel her cheeks heating up as she remembered the crushing disappointment she felt back then. When it seemed like the one person, who maybe didn’t get her fully yet, but who showed an interest in learning what made her tick, was about to leave her life as quickly as he’d entered it.

Frank’s head sagged like it was full of water. “I— yeah. Christ. Me too, mel. Of course I didn’t want that either.”

“So that’s why I’m here.” Mel said, gaining a determined edge to her voice. If he couldn’t be strong right now, then she would be for him.

He glanced at her for a moment before shying away from the intensity of her gaze. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Everything they’d just spoken hung in the space between them. Tom Waits was still grumbling through the tinny speaker, and Mel’s eyes were stuck on Langdon as he hummed along, Well, the night does funny things inside a man / These old tomcat feelings you don't understand. Mel smiled to herself. She couldn’t help it; she was partial to an outlaw with a deceptively sentimental heart.

Red and blue lights flashed outside the window. As the cop car drove past, Mel noticed Frank tighten back up. It was subtle, just a slight squeeze of the wheel and clench of his jaw, but she got a daunting feeling all the same.

“Frank,” she said, keeping her voice light. Now it was her turn to ask the question she was afraid of. “I’m going to try to put this as delicately as possible. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Frank winced. “Um. Sort of, or I might be if I don’t— listen, Mel, I’ve got it all under control, but, well— y’know what? let’s talk about it in the morning,” he decided, “It’s late, you’re tired, I don’t wanna…”

“In the morning. We’ll talk in the morning,” she cut in. It was only fair, she supposed; she did the talking tonight and he would do the driving. She was happy to put the matter to bed for now.

I can see that you are lonesome just like me.

She seized the opportunity to really get a good look at him. His hair was pushed back from running his hand through it enough times, but a few pieces still fell appealingly in his eyes. He was wearing a soft-looking flannel button-down, rolled up so that she could see every muscle, tendon, and thin dark hair of his forearm as he shifted gears. She shivered. The sharp cut of his jaw could probably slice her to ribbons. Of course he was classically good-looking but he was scrappy too, like he could have been one of The Outsiders if they’d only made the movie ten years ago. Those glow-in-the-dark blue eyes of his were underlined with dark circles. Tears pricked in her own at his handsomeness, at how much she’d missed him, at how grateful she was. He probably wasn’t getting much sleep these days, and he was about to lose even more. She wished she could take over, but it would be no use; watching him drive with such focus and ease was already working on her like a sedative. She rarely ever got to ride in the passenger seat, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t savoring the chance to put her life in his capable hands for a little while.

The song was ending. Hours of pent up adrenaline came crashing down as the day finally caught up with her. The cool breeze from the backseat, the sweet smell of summer jasmine mixed with Frank’s masculine aftershave, and the smooth motion altogether produced the effect of being rocked on a calm ocean, further and further away from his and her separate, complicated lives back on the shore.

In her last hazy waking moment she swore she could feel his blue eyes on her, gentle but piercing through her heavy eyelids.

And I think that I just fell in love with you.

#langdonmel #ok i’m cheating because this is the beginning of my wip #also it’s set in the 80s frank isn’t that pretentious #melfrank

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