A Song For the Road

by Rayne Lacko

  Soon Piper led the music, calling the playlist on a whim, song by song. Their set lasted just over an hour. Carter had been raised to stake his claim as a solo act, but performing as a duo gave him a sense of belonging. He liked how their individual offerings fell together in harmony. Performing the Ma Joad’s jingle duet with his dad seemed only natural now.

  Every passing minute multiplied the flush of red climbing up Willard’s neck from the collar of his T-shirt. He didn’t look so good. Pushing past other customers and shoving against chairs, Willard stumbled toward the stage. “You already spend the better part of the day running that hippie dive. If you think you’re going to start singing at night when you should be home with me,” he said through gritted teeth, his words staggered and blurred, “you better believe I got something to say about it.” Carter glanced with worry at Piper, but she didn’t falter. An empty bottle sailed across the stage, nearly whacking Carter on the forehead. Surprised, Willard turned and squinted into the darkness to see who’d pitched it.

  “I knew I’d find you, little man.”

  Carter silenced his strings, the cold terror he’d felt behind the steering wheel of Darren Bartles’s truck flushing over him like a full-body brain freeze. With the spotlight in his eyes, he couldn’t make out faces in the crowd.

  A wiry body burst from the shadows, pushing Willard aside and barreling toward the stage. Carter caught hold of Piper’s hand, pulling her out of harm’s way. Darren Bartles leaped onto the stage, grabbed Carter by his shirt and yanked him forward, choking him with his free hand. “Thought you could run away? You still owe me that guitar for the ride,” he said, squeezing Carter’s neck. “It’s a beauty. Should cover the cost of those tools I lost, and for the fines I had to pay.” Darren pulled the boy close enough for Carter to get a whiff of Darren’s whiskey stink.

  Bet summoned the bouncers. A tight crowd surrounded the stage. Darren grabbed for Carter’s guitar, but Carter swung his arm up and around, elbowing Darren square in his nose. Willard toppled a chair to the floor in his hurry to get to Piper. He marched up the steps to the stage, taking hold of her by the arm and dragging her toward the back exit. She must not have been too keen on going, because her knee came up hard to his groin. When Willard yelped and covered his hands over his crotch, Piper punched him in the neck and kicked at his knees, knocking him to the floor. Mitch would be proud of her.

  Darren came at Carter again. He swung his guitar over his back and flicked his fingers in Darren’s eyes. His fingertips sprang lightning fast after plucking at the strings for the past hour and the effect sure made an impression. Darren fell back, pawing at his eyes. Two bouncers broke through the cheering crowd. One hooked Darren around the arms and the other tackled Willard. They escorted the skunk pig and the tool thief out to the sidewalk in front of The Crusty Maiden, accompanied by a round of cheers.

  Carter packed up his guitar quickly and Piper grabbed her tote bag. Bet ushered them out the back door. “Best you get yourself somewhere safe, now. We’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Sorry for the brawling and carrying on,” Carter said, looking away. Tomorrow he’d be in California and he didn’t much care for good-byes. His bigger worry was what to do about Piper.

  “You didn’t start that fight,” Bet pointed out. “But you sure finished it.”

  Carter turned to her and threw his arms around her in a hug. “I owe you a world of thanks.”

  “You’re a decent kid, Jailbait.”

  Piper grabbed Carter by the hand and they raced up the sidewalk to her restaurant. “LA. Tonight,” she panted with shining eyes. “You and me?”

  Carter broke out in a grin. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Piper pulled a spare key for Willard’s motorcycle and turned the ignition. “I make the payments on it,” she said with a shrug. “I should get to ride it.”

  “For real,” Carter agreed.

  She handed him Willard’s helmet. Piper strapped hers on and jumped on the bike, flipping the Run/Stop switch to Run. Nothing happened. She flipped it again, pitching her body forward, as though the motorcycle might take off on its own.

  “You got to squeeze the clutch with the bike in neutral,” Carter told her. “You ever ridden this thing before?”

  “I watched him plenty,” she said, a threat in her tone. Nice Piper was fading quickly.

  She glanced back over her shoulder toward The Crusty Maiden, her face wrung with worry. “You think you can handle it?” she asked.

  “I can get us out of town, then teach you once we’re safe.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  PIPER DIRECTED HIM TO HEAD WEST ON Interstate 10 toward Los Angeles. They had a seven-hour drive ahead of them, but Carter was so pumped with excitement, he felt as if they could nearly make it in two.

  The lights of Tucson faded behind them as they sailed across the desert. For a long while Carter stared ahead to the endless dark highway, his thighs hugging the bike. He found having a passenger to counterbalance made the ride seem more stable. Scenes from The Crusty Maiden played out in his mind. They’d only been onstage an hour, but time sure had stood still. It was one of those one-with-the-universe moments, and it had come out of nowhere. Over his shoulder, Piper broke into a raucous laugh of freedom. Wild freedom and abandon.

  “I just sang in front of one of the toughest crowds in Tucson. And they liked it!” She let out a long howl, the kind that might attract a coyote in spring. “And I left him.” She smacked Carter’s back good-naturedly. “I didn’t just leave. I fought that big, dumb javelina. And I won.”

  Carter started laughing, too, happy to see her happy. Piper squeezed his shoulder with one hand. “You’re all right.”

  Over the next three hours, they recalled the high points of the evening. Carter couldn’t believe she’d planned to go to California with him before she even set foot in The Crusty Maiden. He was going to face his father at last, thanks to her. He’d wanted to save her, but she’d saved herself. Piper grew quiet a while. After a spell, she spoke up. “I know it wasn’t easy calling your mother. I’m sorry if I pushed you.” The roadside lampposts illuminated the bike in intervals, dark and then light. He could see her eyes in the rearview mirror before they fell into darkness, and then he met her gaze again.

  “Well, now it’s your turn,” he said.

  “Mitch?”

  “Yup.”

  THEY pulled in to a service station to fill up. Piper didn’t say much when she spoke to Mitch. Turned out, it was enough for her to call. Mitch told her to take her time in LA, sort things out for herself. He promised he’d step in at The Desert Willow, give the assistant manager a task list for the week, keep him accountable.

  “Thanks, Mitch,” she said. “I’d feel better knowing you were there. You got a way of bringing out the best in people.”

  Carter reckoned that right there, on a long scratch of highway under an ink-black sky in the American Southwest far from home, he and Piper were probably the bravest they’d ever been.

  Back on the road, he started singing, beginning with the songs they’d performed earlier that night at The Crusty Maiden. Piper sang along, her voice determined and unwavering.

  Over the miles, Piper’s voice gently faded to quiet. This bike ride was one of the best moments of his life and he planned to remember it in a letter to Kaia.

  They’d left Tucson around nine. Piper said that would put them in Santa Monica at four or five in the morning, depending on LA traffic. Carter didn’t want to show up in the wee hours of the morning and disturb his father’s new family, but he didn’t want to risk missing him before he went to work either. Then there was the tough business of calling his mother again, to let her know he’d made it. Carter sure wished he’d had the chance to tell her all the good that’d come of his travels. If he’d gotten a word in about the yucca petals, she might have been impressed. The real problem was the guitar. The thing that meant the most to him, the promise of his future, and the life breath of his right now,
she could never understand. He’d stolen from her to get it because she’d never have agreed to his having it.

  They still had miles ahead of them before the I-10 reached Los Angeles County, and Piper wanted to say a proper good-bye to the desert. They decided to kill some time at Joshua Tree National Park, just outside Palm Springs. There would be plenty of room for riding lessons.

  Piper hopped off the bike and had a look around. Carter hung back, admiring the gorgeous machine. A ride like that belonged with Piper, he reckoned. He squinted into the darkness to see where she’d gone. The highway buzzed with passing cars, but beyond the shoulder of the road there was no division between the land and the sky at night. It was all one, a great big seamless universe without boundary. A kid could get lost out there.

  A fat moon hung alone in the borderless desert sky. The trees there were unlike anything Carter had ever seen, like an oak tree in a cactus costume, arms raised to the sky to polish the moon. Piper explained that the Joshua tree was actually a type of yucca, the result of the combination of two desert systems, the Mojave and Sonoran. “They call them Joshua because some religious folks thought the ragged bark and bending branches reminded them of an Old Testament prophet,” she said. Carter asked her to repeat that, then wrote it in his notebook. He couldn’t put off his schoolwork any more. It was time to take responsibility. Maybe he’d do his independent research project on the types of yucca native to southwestern deserts. They’d witnessed his journey, they’d fed him, they’d helped him earn his way. He wondered what Caleb and Landon were writing about back home. He felt older than them now. Like he’d seen some things, enough to call himself a man.

  “When we get to my dad’s, we should play ’Walkin’ After Midnight’ for him.” Carter grinned at Piper. “Hey, he may be a pop star now, but he’s still old school in his blood.”

  She’d pulled off her jacket and bundled it into a pillow, stretching out and staring up into the night. Carter joined her, resting his head in his arms. She didn’t move or turn to look at him. “I’ll go with you as far as your father’s. Then you’re on your own.”

  Carter coughed, clearing his throat. “You’re not going back to him, are you?”

  “No, honey. Me and Willard are over. I just need time to myself. You need time, too, to bond with your father and all that.”

  Carter felt able to take on anything with her by his side. But he couldn’t count on her, or anybody, to live his life for him. “What are you going to do?”

  Piper shrugged. “I’m going to get familiar with doing things my way.”

  Carter was quiet for a while, hushed by the enormous expanse of desert sky twinkling over them. Under those same stars, his mother trusted herself to make good with what she had. Under those same stars, his father had a new life, too, and soon he would be part of it. He wondered what Piper was thinking about. She would tell him if she wanted him to know, he figured. He just hoped they would make music together again one day.

  Bright headlights and the crunch of gravel under wheels startled them. Piper jolted to a sitting position and Carter rolled over to find a cube van pulling to a stop next to the motorcycle. Four guys jumped out the back and dropped a ramp. They laid siege on Willard’s motorcycle, wheeling it into the van. Carter took off running toward them, but he felt like he was running in slow motion while they were moving in triple time. Before he could reach the road, the cube van’s doors slammed shut and upturned gravel pelted him from its squealing tires. Willard’s motorcycle was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  THE DESERT’S ENDLESS DARKNESS CREPT close around them. Goosebumps prickled the skin on Carter’s bare arms. Even though the evening was warm, Piper folded her arms tightly across her chest. “I should’ve known that was coming. Can’t be happy for one night, can I?”

  “Where’d they come from anyway?” Carter asked. She wouldn’t look at him; she wouldn’t even answer.

  What Carter was worried about was whether they were alone or if there was someone out there. Training an eye on the sprawling, endless darkness, he watched for any subtle movements or shadowy shapes. The Joshua tree looked a whole lot like a man’s body with two outstretched arms.

  The closest town, Indio, was up ahead another twenty-five or thirty miles. Carter picked up his guitar and began walking the gravel shoulder like he could see it at a hundred paces. He hoped Piper’d get off her sorry behind and follow.

  Along the flat stretch of highway, he kept his head up, shoulders squared, faking confidence to cover how terrified he felt inside. From behind him, he could hear the approach of oncoming traffic. Carter stole a sidelong glance at each passing vehicle. Could be they were all thieves on the prowl. Or maybe one of these drivers was their rescue, the light in the desert that would save them. Like the contradictions in a song, strangers were both a threat and a salvation.

  Piper dragged along behind, the whupped pup he’d witnessed earlier that evening at The Maiden. Piper put on a plenty fierce face in daylight, but when things went catawampus, she was good for all of nothing.

  They could call a taxi, he reckoned. Piper had her phone. He was willing to put up cash for a ride. He was just about to call out to her when he remembered where he’d left his backpack, his notebook, and every dollar he’d made. Sitting on the seat of Willard’s motorcycle.

  He walked faster, a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Carter’s breath caught, his mouth filled with a sour, vinegary liquid. Before he recognized what was happening, he doubled over and threw up on the dusty shoulder of the road, inches from his Converses. He was broke. Again.

  Piper’s narrow figure stood frozen more than a hundred yards back. Carter was alone. Again.

  Another round of vomit followed. He breathed hard, heaving. Bent at the waist, his hands on his knees, he became self-conscious in the flood of headlights as passing cars, trucks, and vans sped by. Music pumped from many of them, as though each vehicle was throwing its own party. Convertibles shot past, filled with twenty-somethings singing along to loud music. Carter felt another bout of vomit coming on and braced himself. His body rocked and pitched, heaving nothing but sharp, stank air. He wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt and squinted into the darkness. Far behind, Piper waited for him. He took off running toward her, one hand holding his sick stomach, his guitar weighing a ton on his back. When he reached her, she was crying. Piper wasn’t so tough after all.

  “It’s too far,” she said, sniffling. “Let’s just hitch a ride or something.” She tried on the sneer she’d worn when he first met her. “I’m not afraid.”

  Carter thought about the run-in he’d just had with Darren Bartles at The Crusty Maiden. “Hitching’s not so easy,” Carter began, but he didn’t have any fight left in him. He’d done the best he could. He’d thought he could get to his dad’s on his own, but he was wrong and his mom was right. He belonged at home.

  “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she said, a tone in her voice sharp enough to imply the word Crater without even having to say it.

  “I never made you—”

  “Promise me you won’t tell Mitch,” she said, like it was a command, not a favor. She marched away from the road and plopped down in the dirt. “I can only imagine the earful he’d give me about making a mess this big.”

  “I won’t tell him. But I’m willing to bet my last breath he’d come and help if we called.”

  “I know it,” she said, irritated. “Even if he left Las Cruces this minute, he couldn’t make it here ’til dawn anyway.” Piper pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, shrinking herself to nothing but a rock. Piedra, Carter thought.

  There wasn’t much he could do. Just the one thing he’d promised he wouldn’t.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  CARTER WALKED OUT TO THE EDGE OF THE FREEWAY and turned to face the oncoming traffic. He wasn’t sure exactly how it was done, but he’d seen it in movies. He raised his right hand to shoulder level, his fist clear across th
e white line, edging toward the traffic. He pointed his thumb toward the stars and stared into the pairs of glowing white headlights.

  Vehicles flew past him. The speed limit on that stretch of the I-10 was seventy miles per hour, but most shot past going eighty or more.

  An older, tricked-out station wagon, painted school-bus yellow and lifted on thirty-five-inch tires, lagged behind the bulk of traffic. Carter watched it signal right to the slow lane. Jumping and flailing his long, lanky arms, he waved the driver over. There were only two guys in the front, with an empty backseat. He called Piper over as it slowed to a stop just ahead of them. Running to catch up, he leaned into the passenger side and chatted up the driver and his friend. Turned out, they were headed to Coachella, an annual music festival held every April right outside Indio. Considering how many passing cars were blasting music, Carter figured that’s where most everyone was headed. The back of the station wagon was loaded down with boxes and crates of various glow sticks, glow jewelry, and glow-in-the-dark commemorative shirts. The guys were vendors, they said. They had a tent space reserved for the weekend, where they could sell gear and take turns checking out the various stages. Carter couldn’t believe his luck.

  Piper refused to get in the back of the car. “No way I’m getting into some beat-up banana car with people I’ve never laid eyes on in my life.”

  “Just how do you expect to make it to Indio? I’m trying to help us both here, Piper. We need a ride, you know? We’re nowhere but nowhere.” If he’d just ditched her that first night, used the plane ticket he’d bought before he left Las Cruces, he’d already be at his dad’s in LA. Instead, he was babysitting a bitter woman in the middle of downtown Nowheresville, population two.