Desert Crossing

by Elise Broach

  He looked over at me. “You can see it from the car.”

  “I know, but I want to get out.”

  “What is it with you?”

  “Please?”

  He sighed. “You are such a pain in the ass.”

  The land was so flat that we saw the yellow police tape from a long way off. It looked urgent in the distance, rib-boning the side of the road. Kit slowed the truck and pulled onto the shoulder.

  Everything seemed ordinary in the daylight. But even so, my chest tightened and my heart started to beat faster. The feeling was there, the same mounting dread from that night. I sat in the truck, unable to move.

  “So? Don’t you want to get out?” Kit asked impatiently.

  I swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, come on, Luce!” He thumped his palm on the steering wheel. “You made me stop. Go take a look.” When I still didn’t move, he reached across my lap and unlatched the door. “Go on. Get it over with.”

  I climbed down from the cab and walked slowly toward the sagging tape. The word POLICE was printed all over it in sharp black letters. Even in the flat glare of the sun, the nothingness of the daytime, I was suddenly scared. It was stupid, I knew it. I kept moving my feet, one after the other, getting closer to the spot. In some deep part of me I believed that she’d still be lying there, dead, waiting to be found.

  The yellow tape stretched over the low bushes to two plastic cones near the highway’s edge. It blocked the shoulder. When I got to it, I stopped. I couldn’t look. I felt the warm sun on my face and closed my eyes, trying to erase the panic from that night.

  But then I heard the gravel crunch behind me, just as it had before, and I knew it was Kit. He stood next to me. I could feel him looking at me. I opened my eyes and saw the white outline of her body on the ground. The crisp boundary of her life.

  “Hey,” Kit said. His voice was gentle, and so unlike him that I was afraid I might cry. “Luce.”

  “Don’t be nice to me,” I said desperately. “I can’t take it.”

  “Okay.” He turned me toward him, away from the bright yellow tape and the silhouette of her body. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  His hand on my shoulder sent a warm ripple through me. And suddenly I wanted to block it all out. I thought of the night on the road, when I was sick to my stomach, how he’d held my hair. I wanted to think about something that wasn’t the girl.

  So I reached up and started kissing him.

  It was different from the first time. Not hot and sudden that way. This time, his mouth was soft, startled. But almost immediately he started kissing me back. And when he kissed me I felt this fluttering, right through my center. I touched his hair, tangling my fingers in the curls at the back. His hands were on my shoulders, then on my face, holding it, tilting it toward him. I kissed and kissed him. I didn’t want to stop. I could taste the sweet saltiness of his lips, feel his chest pressed against me. I couldn’t think about anything else. When he finally pulled away, my mouth felt swollen, and it seemed as if my skin had been peeled back like a petal, leaving behind something raw and tingling and alive.

  Kit stood there staring at me.

  “We can’t do this,” I said. I couldn’t look at him.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “It’s too—”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  I started walking back to the truck.

  “Luce.”

  “Let’s just forget it, okay?” I tried to sound like I didn’t care. “Now we’re even.”

  I didn’t even like Kit. And now I’d kissed him twice. Well, more than twice.

  His mouth twitched. “Okay. Let’s forget it.”

  “Fine.”

  “Great.”

  We swung open the doors to the truck simultaneously. There was no way I could forget it.

  19

  When we finally got back to Beth’s, she was kneeling on the floor of the living room, painting, and Jamie was stretched across the couch watching her. Not just watching her. Riveted. Like he couldn’t see anything else in the room. Kit and I made a lot of noise coming in. It wasn’t deliberate exactly, but we both must have been thinking the same thing—that we didn’t want to surprise them. We pushed the door open with a clatter, jangling keys and calling out, “Hey, we’re back,” in this loud, fake, sitcomish way. The dogs charged up to us, their nails scrabbling across the wooden floor. But Jamie never looked up.

  “You were gone a long time,” Beth said.

  “Yeah. We went east,” Kit said. “That place yesterday was a lot closer.”

  “The police called,” she said after a minute.

  “Oh yeah?” Kit glanced at me. “What did they want?”

  “They’ve got the coroner’s preliminary report. They know the cause of death.” Beth sat back on her heels, looking at both of us, and Jamie suddenly stood, catapulting off the couch.

  “Yeah, listen to this,” he said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “She just died.”

  “Huh?” Kit said. “What do you mean?”

  “Congenital heart disease,” Beth said. “She had a heart attack. Incredibly rare for someone her age, but it happens. She died instantly, the police said.”

  “You mean she wasn’t killed?” Kit asked. “Nobody did anything to her?”

  I turned to him. “Somebody left her there.”

  Beth nodded. “Yes. Somebody did that, and the police still don’t know who. They haven’t been able to find out anything about her.” She hesitated. “But the death itself, it looks like natural causes. So—” She lifted her paintbrush and held it absently in midair, looking at Jamie. “You can go anytime you want.”

  “We can?” Kit said eagerly. “That’s great!” He checked his watch. “If we leave now, we can get to Phoenix by midnight.”

  We could go. It seemed impossible. We could just drive away, leaving all this behind. I thought of the bracelet, hidden in the pocket of my backpack. I thought of Jamie and Beth together last night, and of Kit kissing me.

  Part of me wanted so badly to leave. It had only been two days. We could get back on the road, have everything return to normal. It would be a relief, pure and simple, to sit in the hot back seat and listen to Kit and Jamie talk.

  But part of me didn’t. I felt a pit open in my stomach. It wasn’t finished. Nobody knew who she was, nobody knew what had happened to her. We were the ones who’d found her. We couldn’t just leave.

  “We can’t just leave,” said Jamie.

  “What?” Kit looked at him. “Sure we can.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t want to.”

  Now Jamie looked at me, not understanding, but grateful. Beth didn’t say anything. She was watching him, her paintbrush dripping noiselessly onto the cloth.

  “You two are out of your minds,” Kit said. “What about your dad? What about our spring break?”

  “I’m not going,” Jamie said.

  “Jamie—” Kit shook his head, looking from Jamie to Beth. “What the—?” He turned to me.

  “Me neither,” I said quietly.

  Kit started to say something, then changed his mind. He sank heavily into the couch, exhaling loudly.

  “This is nuts,” he said, looking at the three of us. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Nobody answered him. There was nothing to say.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, I lay across the bed in the blue bedroom, pressing the phone close to my mouth and talking to Ginny. There was too much to tell her, and this time saying it aloud made it seem more absurd, like I was making it up. I started with the girl.

  “Wow,” Ginny said. “But that’s great. I mean, I thought Jamie was going to jail, for sure. I thought we’d be visiting him in, like, a New Mexico prison. Can you imagine? And now it’s just nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” I said. “She’s still dead.”

  “I know, I know,” Ginny said hurriedly. “And it’s so bizar
re. Whoever heard of dying when you’re twenty? That is freaky. I didn’t mean it’s nothing-nothing. I just mean you can go to your dad’s now. You know?”

  “We can’t,” I said. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  I considered all the possible answers to that question, and finally blurted out, “Jamie slept with Beth.”

  I could hear her rustling with interest. “What?”

  “Jamie. He slept with Beth.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The lady who lives here, at the house where we’re staying. I told you about her. The artist.”

  “But I thought you said—”

  “Yeah, she’s old. As old as…” I didn’t want to say my mom.

  Ginny blew out a long, impressed breath. “Wow. He slept with her? Are you sure? Maybe they just made out.”

  I sighed. “No, I don’t think so.” I told her what had happened in the hallway.

  “Wow,” she said again.

  “And Kit kissed me.” I added this quickly, going for broke. I might as well tell her everything.

  “What?” She shrieked into the phone, and I could hear the springs of her mattress squeak as she bounced on the bed.

  “I know.”

  “Kit the zit? You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. And you can’t call him that anymore.”

  “Lucy! No way!”

  I sighed. “It’s true.”

  “Holy shit. What is going on down there? I think you guys need to come back to Kansas pronto.”

  “We do,” I said fervently. “We really do. But we can’t yet.”

  “Wait, stop. Tell me about kissing Kit. What was it like? How did that even happen?”

  “I don’t know. It was just—” I felt shy about it suddenly. “It was nice,” I said finally.

  “Better than Scott Lampere?”

  “Well, of course. Duh.”

  “Okay, okay. But still. I just can’t see it. Kit’s always so mean. He can be horrible. And he never even looks at us. I thought he couldn’t stand us.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  Ginny waited a minute. When I didn’t say anything, she sighed. “Well, I guess he changed his mind. Which is good.” I could hear her reevaluating. Kit was being reborn in her mind. “I mean, he is cute. You have to admit.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He’s really cute, actually.”

  “I know.”

  “With that hair. His girlfriends are always pretty.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So do you think you and Kit—?”

  “No. No, it’s not like that. It was just one kiss.” I could feel myself blushing with the lie, but I couldn’t tell her about the second time. That seemed like something else entirely.

  “But I still don’t get how it started. With you and Kit.”

  “It was dumb,” I said. I explained how I’d told Beth that Jamie and Kit were gay. “So I think he did it just to prove something.”

  “Oh.” Ginny sounded disappointed. “So you don’t think he’ll kiss you again?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “That was it.”

  “Well…” She paused, delicately. “Do you want him to kiss you again?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I could hear her waiting on the other end, breathing into the phone. I hesitated. “I might.”

  She squealed again, dissolving in a fit of giggles. “You kissed Kit! Kit! I can’t believe it. This is so great.” She sighed. “I wish I were there.”

  “I do, too,” I said. I really did.

  20

  All afternoon, I watched Jamie and Beth. Or watched Jamie watching Beth. There was nothing obvious between them—they didn’t kiss or hug, or even touch each other—but at the same time, there was no mistaking what had happened. Jamie had a look on his face that I’d never seen before. His eyes followed Beth’s every movement, like she was something he wanted to study and learn by heart. And Beth seemed as changed as he did. The force of his gaze seemed to be polishing her, right in front of us, making her smooth and graceful, making her skin shine. She looked beautiful.

  Kit saw it, too. When I went into the kitchen to get a drink, he followed me, looking morose. “God, she really is hot,” he said. “Who cares how old she is?”

  I shuddered. “You have to talk to him.”

  “And say what? Congratulations? You scored?”

  “No! You have to stop it.”

  He snorted. “Uh-uh. That’s your department. You’re the prude.”

  “Stop saying that.” He was looking at me, smiling a little, and I could feel my cheeks getting hot. “I’m not a prude,” I said, frustrated.

  “Okay, maybe not,” he said. “But about this, you are.”

  “Come on, he’s my brother! I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

  Kit smirked. “It doesn’t look like trouble to me. But if you’re so worried about it, you talk to him.”

  I sighed, steeling myself. “Tell him to come in here. We need to call our dad.” That was true. He was expecting us in Phoenix tomorrow. But I knew Jamie wouldn’t want to talk to him any more than I did. Neither of us could tell him the real reason we were staying.

  Jamie came through the doorway looking flushed and impatient. “What’s up?”

  I tried to see him, just for a minute, the way Beth must see him, with his dark hair falling over his forehead and the bright warmth in his eyes. Jamie’s eyes were always full of whatever he was feeling, in a way other people’s weren’t.

  But it was too hard to see him as a stranger. Everything about him was familiar. It was hard to even see him as cute. I knew the girls at school thought so, but it wasn’t something I ever considered. It was impossible to imagine him as a person you’d fall in love with.

  “We have to call Dad,” I said. “He still thinks we’re on our way to Phoenix, remember? He’s going to be mad.”

  Jamie rubbed his face, frowning a little. “I talked to him last time.”

  “Yeah, but I was the one who made the phone call.”

  “You just left a message.”

  “Still. It’s your turn.”

  Jamie sighed. “He always asks me a ton of questions. If you call, he won’t bug you as much about why we’re not leaving.”

  That was probably true, but I didn’t want to do it.

  “You call him. You’re the oldest.”

  Jamie bit his lip, looking out the window. “I’ll try the office,” he decided. “He’s probably not even there.”

  So finally he called, pacing back and forth across the kitchen while our dad’s office phone rang loudly enough for me to hear it on the other side of the room. I could tell from the quickness in Jamie’s voice that he had gotten the answering machine. “Hey, Dad. We’re still here in New Mexico, and … and it looks like we’re going to be here awhile longer. There’s no problem with the police or anything, and the car’s fine. But it’s just … it’s taking longer than we thought. So we’ll call you again when we know more. Sorry. Hope this doesn’t, um, mess up your plans. Bye.” Jamie banged the phone down.

  “Did you give him the phone number here?”

  “No.” Jamie looked at me. “Do you really want him to call back?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  He started to go back to the living room, but I caught his arm. “Jamie.”

  “What?”

  “This thing with Beth—”

  “What about it?”

  “You have to stop.”

  His face closed down, immediately.

  “She’s too old for you.”

  He looked at me impassively.

  “It was just, like, a mistake.” I tried again. “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. But you can’t keep it up.”

  “I did mean for it to happen,” Jamie said. “And it’s none of your business.”

  “But, Jamie,” I protested. “Jeez. Think about it. I mean, Mom and Dad would go ballistic over this.”

  “It’s none of
their business either,” he said. “It’s nobody’s business.”

  “But it’s—”

  “Luce,” he said, his voice quiet, but as final as a door slamming shut. “I’m not going to talk about it. Okay?” He left the kitchen, and I stood next to the table, digging my fingernails into the white wood.

  21

  “It didn’t work,” I said to Kit later that evening, as we were cleaning up the dishes. We’d volunteered because Beth had cooked for us—barbecued chicken, corn on the cob—and she and Jamie had husked the corn and mixed the sauce and done the grilling, while Kit and I hung back, not sure how to fit into their easy collaboration. It was like they’d been together for years. I kept expecting to see something in Jamie, some sign that he felt embarrassed or awkward or ashamed. But he didn’t even seem to notice we were there.

  Once, when I was setting the table in the kitchen, I glanced out the window and saw him grab Beth’s waist and kiss the back of her neck—so comfortably that it stopped me short. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, sliding her palm over his face.

  After dinner, as we were stacking the dirty plates next to the sink, Jamie said, “Let’s take a walk.” At first I’d thought he meant all of us, but when I turned and started to answer, he was looking only at Beth.

  So now it was seven o’clock and Kit and I were standing in the kitchen with a sink full of gray, sudsy water, watching Jamie and Beth cross the yard in the blue dusk, their blurred shapes moving closer together as they got farther from the house.

  “What didn’t work?” Kit asked.

  “Talking to Jamie. He won’t listen to me.”

  “You must be used to that.”

  “Yeah.” I wiped my hands on the dish towel. “But this is important. He knows I’m right.”

  “How do you know you’re right?”

  I glared at him. “About this? I just am.”

  “Because you’re always right.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “That’s what you’re thinking.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking that at all.” I dumped the corncobs in the wastebasket and banged the lid closed. “Quit picking on me.” I handed him the scraped plates.