It seemed like we were the only people on the road, passing a car only every few miles or so. Nick kept switching the channels on the radio but it was hard to pick up a station. He finally just turned it off.
“Tell me about the people who live out there, the ones who can help you,” I said.
He sat up straighter in his seat, like he’d been waiting for an invitation to talk about them. “There are people who’ve lived out there their whole lives. Some of them have never been off the mountain. Hank told me and John that he’s known some of them forever. I mean, he knew them.”
Nick had done that from time to time since we’d left Creed. He’d talk about Hank like he was still alive and then he’d remember he wasn’t.
He told me about the people. He described them like a network of families. A lot of them were actually related, generations of families who’d never left the mountain. They made their own rules and had their own traditions. Others were like Hank, people who stepped out of their lives and walked into the woods and never came back. They were completely self-sufficient.
“So they never have to leave,” he said. He was excited, his speech animated. “They take care of each other. There was one guy who’d come by every summer to check in with Hank, to see if he needed anything. He had a list and it was his job to make sure people had what they needed. If they didn’t, he tried to help them get it.”
He emphasized the word need. There would be no frills.
“So there’s no electricity?”
“Where I’m going, there’s no grid,” he said. “Some people, like Hank, have solar panels, but you have to be somewhere with cleared land for that to work. Otherwise the trees are too tall and too close together.”
“So what do you do?”
He shrugged. “Electricity is not really something you need.”
“What about water?”
“Hank has a well, a lot of them do, but others live near fresh water. There’s a stream near where me and John camp.”
The place where he wanted to make his home.
He explained the water purification system he’d have, like he’d paid attention in science class. I knew he hadn’t, so he must’ve learned this from Hank or John.
“You have it all figured out,” I said.
“Not really. I’ve just been thinking about it for a long time.”
I tried not to let the hurt show on my face. All this time, I’d been trying to figure out how he would fit into my future, and he’d been planning one without me.
“I always wanted you to be a part of it,” he said, reading my mind. “I just didn’t know how it would work. I don’t know how your dreams and mine fit together.”
I didn’t either. I didn’t even know what my dreams were anymore, or how my illness affected them.
“Won’t it take a long time to build a cabin?” I asked.
He nodded. “Something like that could take years.” He said it like it wasn’t a bad thing, like he hoped it might.
“What will you do in the meantime?”
“Hank has a couple of tents that are heavy-duty and huge. They have rooms. Hank knew people who lived in tents like that full-time, so they could move around when they wanted to.”
“But you don’t want to do that?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I want something permanent.”
Ever since I’d known Nick, that was what he’d been looking for, something that was permanent.
“But you’re not buying the land. Doesn’t somebody own it? What if they tell you to move?”
“Nobody goes out there, not in the five years I’ve been camping out there, not in the almost forty that Hank lived there.”
“What will you do for food?”
He shrugged. “Hunt, fish, forage.”
He made it all seem possible, almost easy. The missing parts of him were beginning to fill in, those parts of him that lived with his uncle in the summers, the parts that he never showed in Creed. I was close to seeing all of him now. It was the information I didn’t have and another reason I’d been looking forward to this summer. I was even more eager to get to the cabin now.
He turned the jeep into the parking lot of Amelia’s Diner. Maybe he’d heard my stomach earlier.
He put the jeep in park. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone in here,” he said. “Don’t look scared either. It’s like what I said in the hospital. Act like you belong in the room and people won’t question it.”
He was a fugitive. I’d forgotten that. I didn’t know what that made me.
Walking into the diner, I felt like my skin was electric. There was no other way to describe the pulsing feeling that was in sync with my heartbeat as we opened the door and the bell above it chimed. I told myself that these were normal feelings to have in this situation. Anyone would feel this way. These weren’t symptoms.
There was only a handful of people inside and I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Nick touched my elbow and I jumped, squeaking out a “What?”
“Let’s take this table,” he said. His voice was extra calm, like he was trying to balance out my nervousness.
We sat and a waitress was at the table in seconds, handing us menus.
“What can I get for y’all?” she asked. Her head pointed down at her ticket pad, her pencil was at the ready. She looked like she’d stepped out of a casting call for diner waitresses.
“I’ll have the burger, well done, with fries,” Nick said.
“And I’ll have the blueberry pancakes.”
It was one of those diners where you could get breakfast all day. Breakfast food was my favorite kind of food.
She scribbled on her pad and took the menus back. “It’ll be out soon,” she said, and walked back to the kitchen.
Reaching into his backpack, Nick pulled out a pen and then grabbed a napkin and started drawing on it. I didn’t give it much thought at first. He finished and presented it to me.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Your driver’s license.”
He’d drawn my face in the center of the napkin and he’d written Arkansas across the top and it had my address, and yes, I was an organ donor.
“Is this valid?” I asked, taking it from him.
“Of course it is. Just sign right here.” He pointed to the bottom of the napkin.
I took the pen from him and signed my name.
“You are officially qualified to drive any car I steal.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I closed my eyes every time a car passed.”
“Let’s not forget when you took your hands off the wheel,” he said, and laughed. “But these are things we can work on.”
I folded it and put it in my pants pocket. It was a Nick original and I’d take very good care of it.
Our food arrived and we became silent. The diner had emptied out even more and now I could hear the sound of the television that hung above the counter.
“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” Nick said. He pulled money out of his bag and put it on the table. “In case she comes back.”
Across from our table was a woman sitting with her baby. She was making all these faces at the baby. The baby looked at the mom like there was nothing better in the world to look at. There were photos in my baby book of me looking at my mom just like that. My stomach hurt, thinking about my mom when she couldn’t find me.
I wondered what my parents were doing right now. They’d probably pulled Bethany from her bed, sure that she’d know where Nick and I were headed, but Bethany wouldn’t have had any clues to give them. They’d be panicked, sick with it. I was a terrible daughter.
There were two older men sitting in the booth next to the mom and baby. One stared at me like he knew me, but he couldn’t know me. I didn’t get out of Creed much and he�
�d never been to Creed. I knew all of Creed’s faces.
The baby was laughing now and I couldn’t stop watching her. The mom noticed. She didn’t like me looking at her baby. I could tell. I didn’t blame her.
There was something wrong with the TV, because it started making this high-pitched sound. I looked around the room to see if it was bothering anyone else, but they didn’t seem to notice.
I didn’t want to look at the mother anymore, because she made me sad. My parents would be okay, because they were parents. Nick needed me more than they did right now. I’d help Nick bury Hank and then I’d go back home. That hurt my stomach, too, though, because I’d be going home alone.
The waitress came by and I stopped her. “Can you change the channel on the TV? There’s something wrong with that station.”
She looked from me to the TV and frowned.
“Please,” I added. The noise hurt my ears now.
“Sure,” she said.
We’d bury Hank and I’d say goodbye to Nick, even though I couldn’t imagine it. Then I’d drive Hank’s truck back home, even though I couldn’t imagine that either.
My hands were sweating again and my throat was tight and dry, like it was filling up with cotton. I raised my hand to get the waitress’s attention. She was at the table in a second. She was good.
“Can I have some more water?”
She filled my glass and I emptied it right away. That was a little better.
I studied the men more closely now. They leaned into each other as they spoke. They had a way about them that was practiced. This diner wasn’t a random destination for them but a plan. They knew what they were going to order before they got here, because it was always the same thing. They’d been coming here forever. I had to look away from them, because they made me sad, too.
Nick and I had never promised each other forever, never promised that we’d be meeting at a diner in thirty years and ordering “the usual,” but I think it was implied. I dug into Nick’s backpack, searching. I’d seen his pocketknife in it earlier. I found it in the front zippered pocket. I picked out a tiny spot in the corner of the table that I didn’t think anyone would notice and I carved my promise to Nick on the tabletop, even though I didn’t know how we would make it come true. It didn’t matter, though. When things didn’t work out like you wanted, it didn’t change how you felt. Forever became something else, nothing promised in real time, but a deal made with your hearts.
Nick came out of the bathroom and motioned for me to meet him at the front door of the diner. I dropped the pocketknife back into the bag and slung it over my shoulder, walking fast now, leaving my words behind.
N + J forever.
June had been hiding her face from me since we’d left the diner, pretending to be interested in whatever was happening out the passenger-side window. She didn’t want me to know that she was crying. It was only a tear or two but I caught her wiping them away. When June was sad, it felt like rocks were in my gut and I didn’t want to do anything but get them out.
“Talk to me,” I said.
Nothing.
I told myself to drive slowly, like there wasn’t anything wrong. I couldn’t drive like we were running from something, and getting to Little Rock faster wouldn’t fix whatever was going on with June.
“What happened when I was in the bathroom?”
Still nothing.
“June, please—”
“I’m fine. I just—” She flinched, her face going pale.
My stomach knotted, because I’d seen her do that a hundred times in the last few months. I knew what it meant. She pulled her notebook from her bag and started writing.
“What time is it?” she asked.
I glanced at the dashboard. “It’s 1:32. Will you tell me what happened?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
But she didn’t stop writing.
We drove into Little Rock, the afternoon sun beating into the jeep. Little Rock was the closest Arkansas got to a big city. The traffic was bad, more so than usual.
The only time I ever came here was when I was on my way to the cabin. Most of Uncle Hank’s art supplies came from here. He had a friend named Charlie who I always came to see before going up the mountain. Charlie lived in downtown Little Rock and was one of those people who could get you anything you needed. I wouldn’t be seeing him this time, though.
The jeep was almost out of gas. Cars lined the streets and people were everywhere.
“It’s the Downtown River Jam,” June said, pointing at a sign as we passed it.
All along the river, tents were set up, selling crafts, jewelry, food. I pulled the jeep into a grocery store parking lot because I was scared it would run out of gas soon.
June seemed to be doing better now. She’d stopped crying and writing in her notebook. She still hadn’t told me what had happened in the diner to upset her. She was on her third bottle of water. I’d have to get more soon.
“Do you have enough money for gas?” she asked.
“Yeah, but it’s a better idea to switch cars. I need to be careful what I spend my money on. Besides, the owners of this one could’ve reported it stolen by now.”
She looked sick to her stomach, like she really wasn’t down with stealing two cars in one day. I didn’t know what other options we had. Everything was out of control and I couldn’t stop it. The only thing I knew to do was keep moving forward.
We got out of the jeep and set out on foot. The festival was in full swing. We passed a vendor selling clothes and there were dresses hanging from the top of the tent. The wind blew them like flags. There was a yellow one and it caught June’s eye.
I wanted this to be the road trip that I’d planned. School would be out and we’d head for Hank’s cabin. We wouldn’t be running and he wouldn’t be dead. I’d buy the yellow dress for June and we’d stop by the river and talk about a future that had both of us in it.
But I was used to not getting what I wanted.
The festival had attracted a lot of people, which was good since there were a lot of vehicles to choose from, but there was also a lot of security. Cops were on every street corner and June jumped every time she saw one.
“We can’t take a car from this area,” I said. “We need to go somewhere more secluded.”
I tried to remember how to get to Charlie’s from there. His neighborhood would be perfect. I knew it was close by.
We had made it a few blocks when June pulled me to a stop.
“Wait,” she said. “I need a minute.” She rubbed her hands across her face like she was trying to rub something away. “I don’t think my meds are working. I don’t think I have the right dosage. I need to talk to Dr. Keels, but I can’t.”
She dropped her head and took deep breaths, her shoulders rising and falling, and when she looked up at me, she looked lost—like even though she was standing right in front of me, she couldn’t remember why. I pulled her to me, her face close to mine, and lowered my mouth to hers. She couldn’t talk to Dr. Keels yet, but I could help her.
This was a reminding kiss. I brought her even closer, reminding her where I fit. Her fingers gripped my hips, telling me she remembered.
“You can do this, June,” I said, pulling away from her. “We’re gonna be okay.” I hoped we would be. “We’ll get another car and we’ll get out of here. Nobody is gonna stop us. Tell me you believe me.”
“I believe you,” she said, but her eyes told a different story.
Someone passed by us too close and brushed against her. She flinched like it hurt, her hands fisting at her sides. We needed to keep moving. We circled back to the tent with the yellow dress. She noticed it again and I wanted her to have it. Maybe it would be the thing that made her feel better.
“Stay here,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
The woman in the tent turned away from me, talking to someone else, and I slid the yellow dress off its hanger. June would love the gift, even though it was stolen, even though I was a thief. But when I turned around, there was no June, only an empty space on the grass where June should have been.
When I was a little girl, Bethany and Becky would come over and we’d play with dolls that my mom had handed down to me. They were the kind with eyes that closed when you leaned them back. We’d dress them up in different outfits, brush their hair, and give them names like Cara and Anna Belle. We’d practice being the best kind of mothers. Becky never wanted to stop playing, always holding her doll a little longer.
Your mind is not your own.
It was a whisper carried on the wind, and I turned my face, trying to catch it. The little girl’s voice was back. She’d been whispering since we left the diner and I was scared she wouldn’t go away this time. Was I taking the wrong dosage? Maybe I should take another pill, but I was scared to do that without Dr. Keels’s permission. It was the stress. Dr. Keels had said stress could make my symptoms harder to manage.
Your mind is not your own, she said again. There was something in her voice that I recognized.
Guilt never really went away; it just lay dormant from time to time, until you were least expecting it. Then it could pop up, reminding you it still existed. Becky had never said what was happening to her out loud. That was my excuse to pretend that she was okay and that I was still a good person and a good friend. She didn’t leave a note, just left us all behind. I knew she was never coming back. And now she was standing there on the street, her back to me.
This time I was sure it was her. This wasn’t like that day when I was walking to school and saw her. Relief flooded me. Becky was okay. Maybe she’d been in Little Rock this whole time.
The street was so crowded. I didn’t know where all the people had come from. Apparently the Downtown River Jam was popular, because there were so many people standing between me and her. I couldn’t get to her.
“Becky,” I called out.
She turned her head like she might’ve heard me but she didn’t stop, only picked up her pace.
Nick and June Were Here Page 17