“Did you just get us the parking lot of our school?” Becky asks.
“To me it’s a waste of time and useless for you to go house to house to sell ribbons. This way, we can hold a car wash, and have the community come to us.”
“Man,” I whisper in a small tone. “You’re fierce, Nicki.”
“She’s like a dog with a bone,” Mike chuckles. “You know you’ve got an ally in my wife.”
“Now, how many ribbons have you got?” Nicki asks Becky and me.
“None, yet. We were hoping to sell five hundred at five dollars each.”
“That’s small fry. The town has a population of three thousand, and that’s how many we’re going to sell. Now for the car wash . . .”
I look to Becky and smile. Her own happiness is shining through.
“I’m proud of you,” I hear Mike say.
“Excuse me?” I ask looking at him. Nicki and Becky are talking about ways they can make the car wash more successful and are completely engaged with each other.
“I said I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I say with no conviction in my voice. It’s not that I don’t believe him, but more like I have no idea why he’s saying that.
“You don’t sound like you believe me.” He chuckles as he keeps eating.
Jesus, am I really so transparent? “I’m just not sure what I’ve done to make you proud of me.”
“You don’t?” His fork stills as he looks over to me. Silently I shake my head and lift my shoulders. “Since the moment my daughter brought you home, I knew you were a good kid. And then when she got sick, you didn’t decide it was too hard to stick around. Instead you did everything you could to make sure you were always close. You were brave enough to step out of your comfort zone and approach her ballet teacher, and let’s not even mention her white Christmas. And not once did you ever complain.”
“Thank you,” I say but the wall of embarrassment cracks and I can feel myself fidgeting because he’s paying me a compliment.
“Now, you and Becky are going to do something for someone you don’t even know.”
“We know him,” I say.
“You may know Travis, but you don’t know him like you did my daughter,” Mike’s voice croaks when he says ‘my daughter’ again. This memory of Alice is hitting him hard, like it does me, and everyone else who was lucky enough to be part of her life.
“Honestly, we’re doing this for a number of reasons. But the biggest reason is because of Alice,” I reply.
Nicki and Becky stop talking, and they both look to me. Hearing her name has caused a hush to fall over the table. But it doesn’t stop the birds from chirping in her tree, or the leaves rustling as a small wind picks up. “How so?” her dad asks.
“Because of her bucket list.” I take my phone out of my pocket, get the picture up and slide it over to Mike.
One side of Mike’s mouth lifts in a small smile. “Her bucket list.” He nods his head. “Of course.”
“That’s not the only reason we want to help Travis,” Becky says, gaining all our attention. “We want to help because we can, and because we know how hard it is to hold onto the hope of everything being okay, when in the back of your mind, there’s a persistent voice telling you everything isn’t.” Her eyes focus on her plate, and she picks her fork up, pushing the potato salad from one side to the other. “And because we know Alice would’ve told Travis to be brave and to fight it head-on.” She smiles at no one, at everyone.
“She’d be proud of both of you,” Nicki says and leans over to hug Becky.
Tears fall from both Nicki’s and Becky’s eyes and they wipe their faces. The heaviness out here has almost cast a damper on our lunch, until Becky breaks the thickness by saying, “I’m hungry.”
I kick her under the table and when she looks up at me, she tilts her head to the side slightly and smiles at me. I wink at her and return the smile.
I love how Becky can be so vulnerable. I also love how I’m the one she turns to.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nicki look to Becky, then me, then to Becky again. A smirk tugs at her lips, while she glances at her husband and gives him a knowing look.
Elijah and I are at our high school bright and early. And by bright and early, I mean some God-forsaken stupid hour at the crack of dawn. We’ve got to be here early because everyone is going to show up to help us soon. And we have to set up, so when the first car comes in, we’re ready to go.
“I’m hungry,” I complain to Elijah, who’s writing prices on the board for the car wash.
“What’s new?” he yells back.
“It’s too early.”
“It is.”
“I’m tired.”
“Stop your grumbling and get the buckets ready.”
I snarl at him and give Elijah the stink eye. Ass. How is he so freaking chirpy at this ridiculous hour in the morning? “Stop your grumbling and get the buckets ready,” I mimic him in a childish voice. But I’m not dumb. I do it in a low tone, making sure he can’t hear me.
“I heard that,” he hollers at me.
“I heard that,” I mimic again.
“Then come here and write on the board and I’ll do the buckets.” I turn just in time to get hit in the head by the thick black marker. Elijah snickers as he walks away and goes to the buckets.
“That’s it, Turner. You won’t know when, you won’t know how, but I will get you.” Pointing two fingers to my eyes, I turn to point them to him. “I’ve got my eyes on you.” And what a delicious sight he is.
“Whatever, Crest.”
“Hey, do you think we’ll get a good turn out?” I ask as I write the price on several large sheets of cardboard.
“We haven’t had a drop of rain in nearly a year, I think people will appreciate getting their cars washed.”
“Yeah, how weird has this weather been? Dad was talking to Larry down at the hardware store and he said if it keeps going we’ll officially be in a drought; apparently we’re dangerously close to it now.”
“I can’t remember the last time we’ve had rain,” Elijah says.
As he’s filling the buckets, a few of the seniors show up. Elijah gets them ready, showing them what they need to do. As the sun rises higher, more and more people are showing up.
Before we know it, we’re in the full swing of the car wash. “Elijah, got a minute?” I call him over so we can have a quick conversation about what’s happening. We need to make sure we’re both on the same page, so this doesn’t end up becoming a chaotic day.
He finishes talking to Laurie, and jogs over to me. “What’s up, Crest?” He swings his arm over my shoulder as we both walk back to where we’ve got all the ribbons ready for sale.
“There are already a few cars showing up.” I point to seven car line. “This may just work.”
Elijah looks at the cars and smiles. As we’re talking about the cars, a food truck appears, followed quite closely by our local news truck. “What’s going on?” Elijah asks as we both head toward where they’re parking.
“I think whatever it is, it’s going to rock!” I say as I excitedly jump toward the trucks. “Hi,” I say to the lady climbing out of the news truck.
“Hi, are you Rebecca?” I nod. “And you must be Elijah.”
“Um, yeah I am.”
“I’m Sandra Collings, reporter from . . .”
“We know who you are,” I say to her.
“Excellent. We’re here because we’d like to interview you both, have you on the newscasts this morning and tonight.”
“Wait, what?” Elijah asks and scrubs his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Why?”
“It was brought to our attention that what you’re doing here, is helping a local high school boy who has leukemia fulfill his dream of going to Hawaii to learn to surf.” She looks at us proudly, and smiles. “It’s not often we hear about teenagers trying to do something for others, and this is a good story I thought needs to be told.”
/> I turn to Elijah, grab onto his hand and jump up and down. “Oh my God, can you imagine if more people came to get their car washed?” I ask him, so excited at the prospect of what this could do to boost our efforts.
Suddenly, three more food trucks show up, all offering something different. There’s the coffee truck which came in first, now there’s a popsicle truck, a donut truck and even a sandwich truck. “Wait, are they here to sell stuff and make money? I don’t think so, buddy.” I storm over to the first truck setting up. “Hey, what’s going on?” I ask reserving the wrath of Becky until I need to draw on it.
There’s a young guy writing some stuff on his board. He turns to look at me, and stops writing. “Hey, are you the chick organizing this event?”
“I am.” I place my hands on my hips and puff out my chest.
My obviously aggressive stance has the guy throw his hands up in defense. “A bunch of us heard about what you’re doing here.”
“And you thought you’d come down and try to make money off us?”
“Crest, let him talk.” Elijah places his warm palm to my back and gently rubs circles.
“We heard about what you’re trying to do, so we thought we’d donate our time, and trucks to feed everyone who comes through. All the money we make will be donated to your cause. Regardless of how much it is.” He smiles broadly at us.
“What?” I manage to say.
“We think what you’re doing is a great thing, and we want to help.”
My hands drop from my hips, and I look around, to now see we’re surrounded by all the food truck operators, as well as Sandra Collings. She’s holding up a microphone toward me, and there’s a camera guy recording us. “Are you saying you’re all here for us?” I ask. Holy shit.
“We’re here because sometimes even big-hearted people need help. We wanted to help you help Travis Clark. And this way, we can give back.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and my body starts to shake as I look at all these people who are selflessly donating their time and food to help a boy they don’t even know. “I don’t know what to say,” I say through a huge lump in my throat.
“We heard you’re selling ribbons for teen cancer,” another one of the food operators says.
“Yes, we are,” Elijah replies.
“We’ll help sell them too. To start, I’ll take four, one for each of us,” he says as he points to his crew.
I’m overwhelmed and beyond speechless. I don’t know what to say to these amazing people. “Thank you,” I say, stunned and overwhelmed. Elijah slides his arm around my shoulders, and hugs me tight to him.
They all return to their trucks, with only the news reporter left behind. The camera isn’t running now, and nor is the microphone. “This is unbelievable, Crest,” Elijah says as we watch the scurry of people starting to come through. He leans down and kisses my head, then hugs me tighter. “We’ve got work to do.” He kisses me again, and jogs over to the front of the car wash.
“You must be proud of yourself and your boyfriend,” Sandra asks me.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“He’s not? I thought the way you two were looking at each and holding on to each other, that you’re together.”
Looking at each other? How were we looking at each other? “No, nothing like that. Actually, we’re best friends.”
“Oh, that must be the connection I picked up on. You’re very close.”
“Yeah, we are. But we weren’t for a long time, then last year, something happened and we kind of bonded.”
“Wanna grab a drink?” she asks.
“Sure.” We head over to one of the food trucks and grab two bottles of water.
“What happened that changed how you guys were?” Sandra asks once we’ve both had some water.
“Wow, where to start . . .” I smile at her, and spend the next half hour telling her about Alice and why Elijah means so much to me, and why we’re so close.
“Hey, are you going to come and help?” Elijah calls out to me.
“I’m the treasury,” I call back.
“The treasury still needs to earn her keep.” He dunks his sponge into a bucket of water and washes the top of the car which is next in line.
“I’m socializing, making sure everyone’s happy.”
Sandra chuckles. “You two are cute.”
I keep my eyes on Elijah, whose t-shirt is drenched in water. He rips it off over his head and throws it toward the sidelines where we’ve stashed our stuff. “Whoa,” I mumble to myself as I check out his sexy as hell chest. My eyes travel the length of his torso, and land on the beautifully sculptured V that disappears inside his shorts. My eyes are glued to him, and he has no idea I’m shamelessly checking him out.
“The only truck we don’t have, and desperately need, is a fire truck,” Sandra quips cheekily.
“Oh shit.” I turn to look at her and realize just how much I was perving on him. My face floods with embarrassment, and I quickly try to recover from it. But Sandra laughs and flicks her hand at me dismissively. “I was so not checking him out.” I try and swallow, but the humiliation is sitting at the base of my throat.
“No, because that would be bad . . . right?” she teases me.
“So bad.”
“Aha. Well, you better get over there and help them out, it looks like there are more cars coming.”
“Ahh, yeah.” Damn it, how embarrassing. I grab the hose and start rinsing the car.
“Nice of you to join us, Crest.”
I turn to look at Elijah, who’s chuckling at me. “Watch it, Mister. I’m the one holding the hose.” I teasingly spray a small amount of water at him.
“You wouldn’t dare.” He ducks down to wet his sponge again.
Did he just challenge me? I think he did. Swinging around, I turn the hose on full and manage to get him soaked. “You sure I wouldn’t, Turner?” I sassily call.
Elijah drops the sponge in the bucket, and runs toward me. Squealing I let go of the hose, and run in the opposite direction. He picks the hose up and chases me. I squat down behind a car in line, and try to look in the mirror so I can see where Elijah is.
As I look to my left, I’m hit with the spray of water on the back of my head. Standing, Elijah wets my entire body.
A few of the seniors are laughing, and one of the food trucks honks his horn at us. When I’m completely drenched, Elijah turns the spray off. “Now, are you going to help?”
The sun is beaming down on us now, and the queue of cars keeps getting longer and longer. “I may as well.” I head over and start washing.
Before long, Travis and his parents show up. “Travis,” I say as I step away from the production line of cars.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me,” he says as he looks around in awe.
“For you, buddy,” Elijah says as he comes over to us. “All these people are here to support you.”
Travis has a plastic tube going up into his nose, and his skin looks patchy and white. He’s lost all his hair, or maybe he shaved off what was left. I’m not going to ask him, because I don’t want to remind him of the illness he has. Though my stupid mouth doesn’t get the memo from my brain. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” I ask.
His mom is standing beside him, looking around at the number of people here. “This is amazing.” Although she has a smile on her face, the happiness doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Don’t get me wrong, she’s happy about what she sees us doing. But the worry and sadness about her son’s illness is evident.
“Dad told me what you guys were doing today, and I had to come see for myself.”
“We’re hoping we can send you to Hawaii so you learn to surf, and get out on those waves.” Elijah pretends he’s on a surfboard, surfing.
“Thanks,” he says and I hear his breath become short. “And when I beat this cancer, I’ll be on the first flight out to Hawaii, thanks to you guys.”
I can tell by his shortness of breath, he’s getting tired. “Ho
w about you go sit over there and just watch?” I say pointing to where there’s some shelter from the sun.
“Okay.” He and his mom head over to the shelter and I go to each of the food trucks.
I gather the owner of each and we go to where Travis and his parents are now sitting. “Mr. and Mrs. Clark, Travis, I’d like to introduce you to these amazing guys, who are donating all their time and products today.”
I step back and watch as they all ask Travis questions. Mrs. Clark breaks down and cries, though her tears aren’t sad ones, they come from a place of love.
“It’s okay,” I say to her as I put my arm around her.
“I wasn’t expecting this. None of it.” She wipes at her face, then opens her small purse to get a tissue.
“We’ve got the best community in the country. All of this . . .” I sweep my hand over the endless line, “ . . . is for you.”
“Thank you, Rebecca.”
“You’re welcome, but I have to get back to work.”
“Go, sweet girl, go.”
Travis and his parents stay for as long as they can, talking to Sandra. But when Travis starts heating up and feeling ill, they leave. It’s early afternoon, and the line of cars is beginning to dwindle. What surprises me is the food trucks are still here, as is the local news.
Mike and Nicki arrive, and jump straight in to help wash cars. They don’t shy away from manual labor, and are happy to do whatever we assign to them. They seriously kick ass.
A van promoting a well-known soda company pulls into the parking lot and waits in the small queue. The guy driving gets out and heads over toward us. “Busy day?” he asks Elijah.
“Crazy is more like it. But we’re really happy with everything we’ve been able to achieve.”
Dying Wish Page 37