I don’t know what to say. Mostly I don’t want to know.
“I can see it in your face,” she says. “I gross you out. You should leave. Go. I’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“I’m not going to my grandmother’s anyway. When you stopped me yesterday, I was on my way to see my boyfriend. He lives in New Orleans. That’s why I was on I-10, not I-40. Now I’m totally out of my way. So thank you very much, Logan.”
I stare at her in complete disbelief. “I drove all this way. Wasted money on a bus ticket. Almost got us killed. To take you someplace you don’t want to go? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you lie?”
“I didn’t lie about my grandmother. She does live in Oklahoma City. I lied about where I was going because I was afraid you were about to turn me in for shoplifting.” She looks me in the eyes. “Which sounds more sympathetic? Hitching to my grandma, or hitching to my boyfriend?”
I think about it. “I get your point. But you could have said something when we got to San Bueno.” I laugh and shake my head. “You needed the money. From the bus ticket.”
She shrugs.
“Then why did you let me drive you here?”
“Because you were being really pushy.”
“No, it was the guy in the bar. He freaked you out. You’ve never hitchhiked before, have you? And you’re not good at reading people. This whole thing terrifies you.”
“Have a nice life.” She walks to the bathroom. Slams the door.
Now what? Now nothing. I’m going home. Or maybe to San Antonio, like Grandpa suggested. I glance at the clock. Nine fifty-five. I grab my keys. Run down to the lounge.
A worker is clearing the breakfast buffet.
I grab two yogurts. A plastic spoon. Two hardboiled eggs. Muffins. Banana and apple. Coffee. Carry everything back to the pickup. Set it on the hood.
Jethro yips. Scratches at the window. It’s covered with his slobber.
I open the door a crack. “Hey, doggie. Sorry I kept you waiting.” I reach in and attach the leash to his collar. Let him out. He runs to the nearest bush. Pees. Then squats and poops. I hope no one’s watching. I don’t have anything to pick it up with.
I take him back to the pickup. Give him water. Feed him two eggs. He swallows them whole. Gazes at me, asking for more.
I pile the rest of the food on the dashboard. He eyes the muffins.
“That’s not good dog food.” He licks his lips. “Okay, just this once.” I give him a muffin while I dig into a yogurt.
A hotel door slams. Brooke is lugging her backpack and plastic bag down the stairs. She’s wearing her flip-flops. Same shorts as yesterday. Her hair is wet. She’s wearing her new shirt, the one she bought yesterday with my money. It’s yellow. Butterflies on the front. New Mexico written across the bottom.
She doesn’t look at me as she passes the pickup. Walks straight for the lounge.
I start the pickup. Pull up beside her and roll down the passenger window. “If you’re looking for breakfast, you’re too late.” I hold a yogurt out for her.
She tries the door. It rattles. Locked. She looks at the yogurt. “Do you have a spoon?”
“Not a clean one. But I’m done with mine.”
She eyes the dirty spoon with disgust. But takes it along with the yogurt.
“I was just thinking,” I say. “We’re only six hours from Oklahoma City. Do you have any interest in seeing your grandmother?”
She pulls the foil off the yogurt. Licks it. Looks out at the highway for a while. Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. She rounds the front of the pickup.
“Go in the back, Jethro,” I say. “We have company.”
Brooke gets in. Settles her backpack and shopping bag on the floor. Buckles her seat belt. Grabs a muffin from the dashboard.
I drive to the onramp. Pull onto the highway. Head east.
Brooke turns and looks at Jethro. “Your truck stinks like your dog now.”
“Haven’t exactly had a chance to wash him.”
We drive quietly for a while. “So is that why you know so much about therapists?’ I ask.
“What?”
“You know … what you were doing in the motel room.”
She doesn’t answer.
“With the razor,” I add.
“Yeah, I get it!” She slips off her flip-flops. Raises her feet onto the dashboard. “That and other things. So can I ask you a question?”
I shrug.
“Did you want to have sex with me in the motel room?”
My cheeks burn. “No.”
“Why not? Do you think I’m ugly?”
“You’re not ugly.”
“Are you gay? That would explain a lot.”
“Explain what?” I glare at her.
She studies me, like she’s trying to see inside my head. “I had this gay friend in junior high. He treated me like his sister. Real protective.”
“I’m not gay. You’re too young. And I hardly know you. It wouldn’t be right. That’s why I didn’t try anything.”
“So you did want to.”
I roll my eyes. “Criminy.”
She laughs. “Criminy. Do people really say that? I bet you’re a virgin.”
God, I hate this conversation. I feel like dropping her off right here.
“You’re fidgeting,” she’s says. “You are a virgin, aren’t you? How old are you?”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Right. You’re fourteen. Fifteen at the most.”
She’s quiet a moment. “At least I’m not a virgin.”
“And you’re proud of that?”
She shrugs. Lowers her feet. Grabs a caffeine drink out of her bag. Drinks half of it. “Oh. Do you want one?”
The hotel coffee tastes like crap. “Yeah. Especially since I paid for everything in that bag. Including the shirt you’re wearing.”
She pops open a can. Hands it to me. “The shirt’s not really my style. Yellow. Butterflies.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“Better than wearing dirty clothes.”
“You must have left home in a hurry.”
She stares out the passenger window again. I guess we’re back to not talking.
CHAPTER 10
We make a pit stop in Texas near the Oklahoma border. Brooke comes into the store with me. I get in line to pay for gas while trying to keep an eye on her. I don’t know what all of her issues are. One could be shoplifting. I hear people do it for the heck of it. Like an addiction.
She joins me in line with a carton of gooey nachos.
“Those are hard to eat while I’m driving,” I say.
“They’re not for you.”
“Wow! Thanks. Could you maybe grab me an egg salad sandwich? Three waters?”
She sighs and hands me the nachos. Heads to the cooler.
I pay for the gas and food. Brooke sits in the pickup and eats while I pump gas. She licks melted cheese off her fingers. Her selfishness amazes me. At home we’re always helping each other. I could never just watch while someone else does all the work. Or take something without saying thank you.
I tap on the driver’s window. “Hey. Think you could wash the windshield?”
She rolls her eyes. Gets slowly out of the pickup.
The pump clicks off. I take Jethro for a walk. Pour him some water. Brooke is still washing the windshield when we return. Or trying to. She’s short and it’s a long reach. I can’t help smiling. It’s kind of cute.
She gets back in the pickup and picks up her nachos. There are streaks of dirt on the glass.
“I take it you haven’t done a lot of manual labor.”
She shrugs.
I pull out my cell phone. Set it on the console. “We’re a couple hours from Oklahoma City. Might want to call your grandmother, give her a little warning. Do you know how to get to her house?”
“Yeah. I’ve been there a bunch of times.” She takes the phone. Taps i
n a number. A moment later, she says, “Hi, Gram. I’m fine … She did? Yeah, well, I got a ride.” She glances at me. “I’m really okay. I’ll be there in a couple of hours … Right. Bye.” She hands the phone back to me.
“Sounds like she knows you ran away.”
“My mom called. Warned her I might come this way. Can we go now?”
“Seat belt.”
She sighs. Buckles up.
I get the pickup back onto the highway. She plays with the radio. There’s more reception now. She finds a pop station and leaves it there.
“When’s the last time you saw your grandmother?” I ask.
She takes the apple from the dashboard. Bites into it. “Two years exactly. I used to visit her every summer.” “Why did you stop?”
“It got boring. I had other things to do.”
“Do you miss her?”
She stretches her feet out. Takes another bite of apple. “I guess. Yeah.”
“I live next door to my grandma and grandpa,” I say. “Work with them. See them almost every day. They’re really important to me.”
“What about your mom? When’s the last time you saw her?”
“The day she left.”
“That would be okay with me. To never see my mom again.”
“Really? Why?”
She sets the partly eaten apple back on the dashboard. “Because she’s always telling me what to do. She hates my friends. Especially my boyfriend. Hates my clothes. My hair. Hates that I’m getting straight Cs. Hates that I want to be a musician. She doesn’t get me at all.”
“She gets you enough to know you might visit your grandmother. Sounds to me like she worries. Like she just wants what’s best for you.”
Brooke glares at me. “You don’t know anything.”
“I’m just giving you my point of view. From an outsider’s perspective.”
“What about your mom? Does she worry about you? Does she want what’s best for you?”
“My situation’s different. She ran away from me. Not the other way around.”
“But you haven’t seen her in the last three years, right? Did you ever get her side of the story? Do you know for a fact she doesn’t care about you?”
I flash on all of Mom’s unopened letters.
“That’s just my point of view,” Brooke adds. “You know, from an outsider’s perspective.”
“Fine. I get it. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about our families.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
Jethro presses his nose against my arm. I pet him. “So, your boyfriend. Is he a safe topic?”
She smirks.
“What’s his name?”
“Anthrax.”
“Like the poison?”
“That’s his stage name. He’s a drummer with the Bashing Pancakes. We met at a concert last March. My friends and I went backstage.”
“Then what? You started dating?”
“Sort of. I’d meet him at his gigs. You know … hang out.”
“Does he know you were planning to see him?”
“Sure. I texted. Left a few messages.”
“Maybe he’s not even in New Orleans. Did you think about that?”
“He is. I know his schedule. They aren’t going on the road again until the end of July.”
I take a bite from the uneaten side of the apple. Throw the rest away. “Are the Bashing Pancakes famous?”
“Not yet. But they will be once I’m singing vocals. That’s one reason I’m going out there, to audition. Talk him into it.”
“I see.”
“I see. You sound like my dad. Like you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you. I don’t know anything about the music business. I only know what goes on in a highway convenience store.”
“And that’s what you’re going to do for the rest of your life? Clean bathrooms? Sell stuff to grumpy truck drivers? Pick up teenage hitchhikers?”
“There are a lot worse ways to spend a life.”
“God, that is so pathetic.”
I stare at her. “There’s nothing wrong with having a good job. Or helping my family.”
“Dude, whatever you say.”
We drive quietly for over an hour. Which is good. Talking to her makes me twitchy.
We pass under a mileage sign. Forty miles to Oklahoma City.
Ten miles later Brooke starts squirming. She changes the radio station. Downs a caffeine drink in a couple of swallows. Pulls her backpack onto her lap. Rummages around. Throws it on the floor.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I need a restroom.”
“We’re almost there. Can you hold it a few more miles?”
“I need a restroom. Now!”
CHAPTER 11
I take the next off-ramp. See a McDonald’s on the right. Brooke is out of the pickup before I stop. She takes her backpack with her.
Okay.
“Want a burger?” I ask Jethro. “Need to pee?”
He barely raises his head from his paws. Guess I woke him up.
I go inside. Buy a Coke and fries.
Brooke returns to the pickup a little after me. Tosses her backpack on the floor. Buckles her seatbelt without being asked. I hold out the carton of fries.
She takes a few. “Thanks.”
I gape at her.
“What?” she says.
“Of all the things you could thank me for, you choose french fries.”
She sticks the fries back in the carton. “Never mind, I’m not hungry. Let’s go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pulls her feet up under her. Wraps her arms around her stomach. Like she’s trying to make herself small.
I start the engine. Get back on the highway.
“I think it’s pretty brave what you’re doing,” I say. “Must be kind of stressful seeing your grandmother after so long.”
She doesn’t say anything. I glance over. She’s holding her arm away from her stomach and staring down at herself. “Crap,” she says.
“What?”
She quickly unzips her backpack. Pulls out that little plastic box, the one with the razor blade.
“Whoa. Wait a minute.”
“Shut up, okay?” She takes something out of the box. I get a glimpse of her shirt. There’s blood on it.
Traffic is heavy. Four lanes of it. And I’m in the left. I watch behind me. Pull over to the right. Stop on the shoulder. Turn on the hazard lights. Jethro sits up. Whines.
Brooke has pulled her shirt up. She’s pressing something against her stomach. It looks like gauze, and it’s red with blood.
“What did you do?”
“What do you think I did?” Her eyes fill with tears. She looks down at herself. “Crap.”
I reach for the ignition. “I’ll find a hospital.”
“No! I just need a few minutes. I’m a good coagulator. It’ll stop on it’s own. Do you have any tissues? A clean cloth?”
“I don’t know.” I look in the back. Nothing. Open the glove box. Find a paper towel. “Will this do? Not very sanitary. But it’s unused.”
She grabs it from me. Folds it up. Presses it over the gauze. I have the feeling she’s done this before.
I want to ask her why. Why she would do something so stupid. But she doesn’t need my judgment right now. So I ask, “What do you want me to do?”
She hands me the plastic box. “There’s some tape in there. Tear off a couple of pieces. Long enough to hold this in place.”
I do what she asks. “Want me to—”
“I’ll do it.” She takes the tape. Sticks it over the gauze and paper towel. Presses against the dressing with one hand. Goes through her backpack with the other. Pulls out a shirt. The one she wore yesterday. “Help me pull my shirt off.”
“Um, sure.” I tug at it. Try to avert my eyes.
“I could use your help with the other shirt.”
I help her get the shirt on over her head.
It’s hard not to ogle at her body. But the blood. Her scars. They keep my mind from going where it shouldn’t.
She leans back into the passenger seat. Closes her eyes. Keeps her hand under her shirt. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?”
“I said I’m okay. It was just a mistake. No big deal.”
“No big deal? Really?” I start the engine.
“Leave me alone.” Her voice wavers.
I look over my shoulder and pull into traffic. “Sorry. I have no idea what you’re going through.”
At least she’s stopped acting so nervous. She sits quietly with her eyes closed.
“Does it calm you down?” I ask. “Is that it?”
“Partly,” she says softly.
The city skyline comes into view. “You need to tell me where to go.”
She sits up straighter and looks around. “A little farther.”
Ten minutes later we’re off the highway.
I glance at Brooke. She’s not holding her stomach anymore. “Did it stop bleeding?”
“Yeah.”
She directs me to a neighborhood with big trees. Big houses. They’re old but well kept. Neatly mown lawns. Trimmed bushes.
“There.” She points to a house on the left.
I turn around and park in front. The house is two stories. Beige and green with broad steps leading up to a wide porch. I don’t know much about houses, but the word stately comes to mind.
“I’ll wait here,” I say. “Until you know she’s home.”
“You can come in.”
“I should probably get going. I’ve got Jethro and everything.” My dog’s on his feet, wagging his tail. Itching to get out. He could use some water and real dog food. “Is there a park nearby? A grocery store?”
Brooke opens her door. “There’s a park up the next street. East a few blocks.”
“Brooke?” We both look over. A woman’s trotting down the brick walkway toward the pickup. She looks about my grandma’s age, only thinner. Taller. Stately, like her house.
“Gram,” Brooke murmurs. They meet on the sidewalk. Fall into each other’s arms. Hug. Cry.
I grip Jethro’s collar so he doesn’t jump out the open door.
The hugging and crying goes on for a while. Then the woman holds Brooke by her shoulders. Looks into her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” She tucks a strand of blue hair behind Brooke’s ear. That’s when she notices me. “Who’s your friend?”
Roadside Attraction Page 4