Rodeo shook his head.
“No,” he said. Then again, “No.”
He stood up and his hands were in fists, but his eyes weren’t fighting eyes, they were begging eyes.
“You don’t got it. It’s gone, Coyote. Gone. And you don’t need it. There ain’t no living to be done in the past. This is our living, Coyote, right here. This is our life. This is our home. It’s all we have and that’s just fine, ’cause it’s all we need. We ain’t going back. Not ever. We go forward.”
Rodeo said that whole sorry speech like it meant something, he said it like it was the end of the conversation, but there weren’t one single cell of my body or soul that moved a millimeter.
“I know you don’t want to,” I said, and my voice didn’t have an ounce of give in it. It wasn’t mean, but it wasn’t holding hands and blowing kisses, either. “But we’re going. We are, Rodeo. I don’t care what you say. I ain’t leaving that box to get lost forever. And if you won’t take me, then I’ll hitchhike. I swear I will.”
“Let’s call your grandma,” Rodeo said. “Have her go get the box, keep it safe until—”
“No. No. It’s not her box. It’s not her memories. It’s not her mom, and it’s not her sisters, and it’s not her promise. It’s mine. Mine, Rodeo. I need that box. And I want to get it. I want to get that box like I promised I would. Like I promised Mom I would. And I’m gonna.”
Rodeo shook his head hard and started to say something, but I didn’t even let him get a word out.
“You don’t have to come with me into town if you don’t want to. You can stop at the city limits and I’ll walk in. I don’t care. But you are getting behind that wheel,” I said, pointing at the driver’s seat, “and you are driving me home. Or I’ll stick my thumb out and make my own way there. But I’m going. And I hope you’ll take me.”
Lester cleared his throat. Lester, who was driving across the country to get what his heart wanted.
“Listen, man. I could stay with you. Get to Boise later. We could leave you one town away or whatever and I could take her in. This is important, brother.”
Rodeo looked at him.
“You knew?”
Lester shrugged.
Then Salvador spoke up. Salvador, who was trying to keep his mom safe while she was trying to keep him safe.
“Come on. Sir. She needs this.”
Rodeo looked at him, his eyes wet and blinking.
“Yeah,” Val jumped in. “You gotta let her do this.” Val, whose parents didn’t want her to be who she was but was fighting for it anyway.
“Rodeo,” Esperanza Vega said—Esperanza Vega, who knew a lot about the good and the bad in life and was doing everything she could to give her son more of the good and less of the bad—“you are a good man. So be a good man. For your daughter.”
Those voices rang out, one by one. It was something. It was crazy. For a second, I felt like I had a family.
I stood up and stepped toward Rodeo. I stepped right up to him, so we were almost touching. He was just standing there, not looking at me.
“What are you always saying about people, about all these other people we see? That they’re just passengers in life. That they’re just coasting by, along for the ride. That people got to wake up and take their own destiny into their hands. Well, aren’t I a person? You’ve made all these lists of no-goes, Rodeo, and I’ve respected them. Now, it’s my turn. Not going back? Losing that box? That’s a no-go, Rodeo. I’m calling it.”
I leaned closer, bent my neck so I could look up into his eyes. His eyes were wounded, but he didn’t look away. He held my eyes in his.
“Please, Rodeo,” I said in the softest whisper I could manage that would still be heard.
We stood there, eye to eye, for a heartbeat or two.
“I don’t know,” he said at last, his voice scratchy. “I don’t know if I can make it all the way. I don’t know if I got this, little bird.”
“That’s okay, Rodeo. I got it. I got enough for both of us. Don’t worry about getting me all the way there. Not yet. For now, you just gotta keep going. One mile at a time, right? You can do that, can’t you, Rodeo? You can just keep going? For me? You love me, don’t ya? Well, then, do this for me. Take me home. One last time. Because you love me.”
Rodeo, he let out a breath, shaky and soft. He swallowed and stepped back, put his hand on the back of the seat. His eyes were down again, his eyebrows wrinkled in thought. I could see it, could see him wrestling with it in his heart.
He closed his eyes, then opened them again and looked up and into mine, even managed the ghost of a little smile, and he nodded. He nodded a yes at me and my heart started to sing, but I wanted more.
“I wanna hear you say it,” I said soft, though I felt mean saying it. Like I was kicking a beat dog. But I wasn’t taking any chances.
He blinked, but he nodded again.
“I’ll take you,” he said, his voice scratchy and faint. “I’ll take you back.”
“Say you promise,” I insisted, leery of loopholes even though Rodeo wasn’t really the loophole type.
He raised his chin and looked at me straight on, head up and eyes clear.
“I promise you, Coyote. I’m taking you back.”
I couldn’t help it. A big ol’ smile broke across my face, even though it wasn’t exactly a happy sort of moment, really. It wasn’t a gloating smile, just a glad one. I really didn’t wanna hitchhike. There are some total weirdos out there.
Rodeo nodded once more, then rubbed his eyes and turned around and sat down in the driver’s seat and brought Yager to life with a rumble.
I settled into the seat. Ivan jumped up beside me and I gave him a happy squeeze.
“Oh,” I said, remembering. “And we gotta make it by tomorrow morning, so keep it moving.”
His head snapped to me.
“Tomorrow morning? Honeybear, we’re in Montana. I don’t think we can—”
“It is about a seventeen-hour drive from Billings, Montana, to Poplin Springs, Washington, via Boise, Idaho,” I said, looking at the clock above the windshield. If Rodeo didn’t think I’d done my homework, he was sorely mistaken. “We have twenty-four hours to get there, give or take. We got this. But we better get rolling. Hit the gas, old man.”
Rodeo gave me a long look. He shook his head, once.
And then he hit the gas.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
I would’ve guessed that Rodeo deciding to break five years’ worth of stubbornness and take me back home would be the only major life-changing decision made on our bus that day, but I would’ve guessed wrong. Because about three hours down the road, Lester Washington had his own momentous, buckle-your-seat-belt change of heart.
Lester was driving. We were still in Montana. I was sitting in the seat behind him, reading and sweating and trying to take my mind off what I was gonna do the next day.
We’d stopped for gas and just barely gotten rolling again when he flicked on the turn signal and pulled Yager onto an exit ramp. No big deal—I knew that it was about time for our left turn toward Boise.
We pulled up to the top of the exit ramp, where there was a stoplight. A road went to the left, a road went to the right, and straight ahead was the on-ramp to get back onto the highway. The light was red, and Yager shuddered to a stop.
I looked back at my book, found my spot, kept on reading.
And reading. And reading.
At some point, I kinda realized that we’d been stopped at that red light for an awful long time.
Just as that was dawning on me, I heard the honking start.
I looked up. We were sitting there. Lester had his hands on the wheel. The light was green. And we weren’t moving.
“It’s green,” I said, and looked back at my book. But there was no lurch, no rev.
“Lester! Light’s green!” I said, and snapped my fingers.
Nothing. Well, almost nothing. His shoulders rose up and then dropped down i
n a big sigh.
The honking from behind us doubled.
I dropped my book and leaned forward on my knees so I could see his face.
He looked okay. I mean, he didn’t look like he was having a stroke or a heart attack or anything, and he was breathing and awake. He looked serious, though. Jaw clenched. Eyes narrowed. Lips pursed.
“Hey,” I said. “Lester. The light’s green, man. I think the folks behind us are, uh, hoping you’ll go. Soon.”
“That way,” Lester said, still looking straight ahead but pointing with one hand to the left, “is the way to Boise.”
“Um … perfect,” I said. Since, you know, that’s where we were going and all.
We didn’t move. Lester didn’t twitch or add any other relevant details or anything.
“So … that’s where we’re going, right?”
Then Lester sighed again. And he dropped his hands off the steering wheel, which was not a great step forward. And he turned to look at me.
“I don’t know, kid,” he said.
“But that’s where Tammy is,” I said, and he said, “Exactly,” and his eyes filled up with tears, and I said, “Oh,” and then at that moment Rodeo came on up, roused from his bed pile by all the honking at our taillights and he said, “Hey, brother, what’s going on?”
Lester didn’t answer Rodeo, though. He was still looking me in the eyes.
“You got Salvador a stage so he could play that violin for his mom,” he said.
“Um. Yeah.”
“Because it was important to him,” Lester went on, “so it was important to you.”
“I guess so,” I said, looking back toward the honking folks.
“That’s what a friend does,” Lester said.
“Um, okay. But … uh, do you wanna talk about this while we drive? Or, maybe, like, pulled over on the shoulder?”
“That’s what she should do” is all he answered.
“Who?” I said, and Rodeo answered quiet, “Tammy,” and I said, “Oh. Oh.”
“That’s what love is, right? Caring about what the other person cares about, because you care about them. And wanting them to be happy. Right?” Lester asked.
“I guess?”
“She should be helping me bust open double doors. Or she should be turning on the mic. Or, at least, she should be sitting in the front row.” He looked away, shook his head, and looked back. “She shouldn’t be the security guard, though. She shouldn’t be the one kicking me out. In that whole crazy thing we did, that’s the one part she shouldn’t play.”
He nodded. Sniffed. Put his hands back on the wheel.
I blew a breath out in relief. But then he dropped his hands again. Drat. I chewed my lip. The light went red again, but the honking didn’t let up.
“But you know what? If Tammy is the security guard, if that’s who she is, that’s cool. That dude was just doing his job. Feeding his family. Keeping that joint safe. If she’s the guard, then I shouldn’t be breaking in. Right?”
“That’s right,” Rodeo murmured beside me.
Lester blew out a long, deep breath from the bottoms of his lungs. He looked back and forth between me and Rodeo.
“Salvador can’t marry the guard,” he whispered. “And the guard can’t marry Salvador.”
Rodeo was nodding and he said, “Totally, man,” but I pulled my head back and said, “Wait … what?”
The light turned green. Lester nodded at me, his lips set firm with decision. He hit the gas, and Yager took off.
Straight forward. Across the road, right back toward the highway we’d just left. Not the one going to Boise.
“Wow, man,” Rodeo said. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” The first “yeah” he said quiet and kinda doubtful, the second he said still quiet but with some sureness to it.
He pulled his phone out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me.
“Call Tammy. She’s there in the Contacts.”
I scrolled down through the names until I got to her. I pressed the little green phone icon and it started ringing, and I held it back out to Lester, but he shook his head and said, “No. I can’t. I want you to talk to her.”
“Excuse me?” I said, but I didn’t say it mean like Val had, so it didn’t work.
“I can’t, girl. I need you to do it.”
“You want me to break up with your girlfriend? Uh, no way.”
“All you gotta do is—”
But whatever Lester was about to say was interrupted by Tammy’s voice, coming out thin and scratchy from the phone in my hand between us.
“Hey, baby, what’s up? You almost here?”
I looked at the phone. I looked at Lester.
He gave me begging eyes and mouthed the word “please.”
I gave him how-dare-you eyes right back, but I held the phone up to my ear.
“Baby?” Tammy said.
I sighed.
“This isn’t baby. It’s, uh, Coyote.”
“Who?”
“Not important. But Lester wanted me to call you.”
“Okay. Everything all right?”
“Yeah. Well, kind of. I mean, for now. But maybe not in a minute?”
I wasn’t, like, totally nailing my side of the conversation. In my defense, I’d never broken up with anyone before.
“What’s going on? Is Lester there?”
“Yeah, yeah, but he’s driving, so he can’t talk.”
“Hey,” Lester mercifully cut in at a whisper, “tell her I love her.”
I shot him a side-eye because it seemed like an odd place to start a breakup, but I was grateful to finally have some direction, so I went with it.
“He says he loves you.”
“Okay. I love him, too.”
“She loves you, too,” I whispered to Lester.
“I’m not coming to Boise,” he whispered back.
“But … he’s not coming to Boise.”
“What? Why not?”
“What? Why not?”
“Because I love you.”
“Because he loves you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Excuse her?”
“I love her. And we won’t be happy together. We just won’t be. So I’m not coming.”
“He loves you. But you won’t be happy together. So. He’s not coming.”
There was a pause at the other end that I would have to describe as long-ish and tense-ish.
“No.” That’s what she said, eventually. I opened my mouth. Shut it. I wasn’t sure how to handle that. “No. He does not get to do this. Break up with me. Over the phone. Through some kid. No.”
Lester looked over at me, waiting to hear her response.
I shrugged.
“She says no.”
He twisted his lips.
“Tell her I love her.”
I shook my head. “You already said that. Give me something else.”
“Uh. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“He’s sorry.”
“And I want her to be happy.”
“And he wants you to be happy.”
“Because I love her.”
“Because he loves you.”
“But I won’t be happy without music. And she won’t be happy with a musician.”
“But he won’t be happy without his music. And you won’t be happy with a musician.”
I heard heavy breathing through the phone. The crying kind of breathing.
“I know that. I know. But I love him. So much. For real.” Her voice was broken and hurting and I felt guilty for all the bad things I’d thought about her.
“But she loves you. For reals. A lot.”
Lester’s eyes got all full of tears again, and I saw his lip shaking. I wasn’t super sure he should be driving.
“I love her, too. That’s why we gotta do this. We gotta love each other enough to say goodbye.”
“He loves you, too. That’s why you have to do this. You guys have to love each other enough to say goo
dbye.”
Tammy sniffed.
“God. That’s such a stupid line.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Sort of.”
“But maybe kind of true, too.”
“Yeah.”
There was a long, shaky breath.
“God, this sucks.”
“I know, Tammy. I’m sorry.”
“I mean, I guess I knew it was coming. I just wouldn’t admit it. ’Cause I love him so much. But, it’s like … like sometimes you can love someone so much that you can look right past all the stuff that’s not working, you know?”
I thought of Rodeo sitting in the seat across from me.
“Yeah. I totally do.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Lester cut in, but I gave him a mind-your-own-business scowl and held a finger to my lips.
“Is he okay, though? Is he gonna be all right?”
“I think so. I mean, he’s having a hard time with this. But he’s doing okay, I think.”
“Good.”
“What are you talking about?” Lester spat out, his voice rising a bit.
“Quiet!” I hissed. “I’m on the phone!”
“Will you watch out for him? Make sure he’s okay?”
“Of course. Are you gonna be okay, Tammy?”
“Oh, I guess. I’ll do some crying, that’s for sure. But, yeah. I got friends around. I just want him to be happy.”
“He wants you to be happy, too.”
“I know. He always did. Maybe he was too worried about me being happy all this time, and not worried enough about himself.”
“Yeah.”
“You gotta look out for your own happiness, you know,” Tammy said. “We all do. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“What. Is. Going. On?” Lester’s voice was getting loud to the point of being rude. I covered my ear with my other hand and turned away from him.
“You’re right. You’re so right, Tammy,” I said with a sigh. “I’m just starting to figure that out for myself, actually.”
“Good. It’s important. Especially for us girls.”
“Totally.”
Tammy sighed, a big ol’ heavy, lung-emptying sigh.
“Well. You tell him he can call me whenever he wants. I’ll always be here for him.”
The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise Page 17