Desert Crossing (21 page)

Kit ran his hands through his hair, looking annoyed. “Fine, do what you want. I'm getting a soda.” He opened the car door.

Inside the small gas-station office, a heavy man in an undershirt was organizing a rack of sunglasses. He looked up when we walked in.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I saw the sign,” I said, gesturing.

“Oh, sure. Jinjee. I'll get her for you.” He opened a door at the back and yelled. A woman shuffled out, wearing a purple silk robe that was tied at the waist. She had lank jet-black hair hanging on either side of a face that was creased but not wrinkled. I couldn't tell how old she was. She didn't look Indian, more like she might be Chinese.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly. “Um, I wanted to have a dream interpreted.”

“Okay,” she said in choppy English. “Ten dollar.”

“Oh.” I turned to Kit. “My money's in my backpack. Can you? I'll pay you back.” He rolled his eyes and opened his wallet.

“This way,” the woman said, opening the back door into a hallway.

I tugged Kit's arm. “You come, too,” I said softly.

“Oh, great,” Kit muttered.

*   *   *

We walked down the hallway to another door, and when she opened it, we were outside again, in the yard behind the building. There was a makeshift tent a few yards away, with the a cleaned patch of red-brown dirt all around. She strode toward it. Kit and I followed.

“She doesn't even look Indian,” Kit whispered. “She's probably just some New Age freak.”

“You think it's a scam?” I asked.

He snorted. “Of course it's a scam.” He made his voice somber. “You are going on a long journey. Stay away from the fish.”

“Stop,” I said. “She's not a fortune-teller.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.
Dream interpreter.
That's totally different. That's, like, a science.”

I frowned at him. “Look, I want to be able to sleep again. I'm so tired. Maybe she can help.”

The tent looked completely fake on the outside, decorated with drawings of stars and flames. But it felt real on the inside. It was dark and stuffy, acrid with the smell of sweat. The woman squatted in the middle, leaving Kit and me to crowd together by the flap.

Kit coughed. “Can I leave this open?” he asked.

“No,” the woman said. “No light.”

“No air,” Kit whispered to me. “It reeks in here.”

The woman untied a leather pouch and emptied its contents on the ground in front of her. She sorted feathers, dry flower stalks, a small pile of sand.

“Maybe I should interpret a dream for
her,
” Kit whispered. “I'll tell her I'm having a vision of deodorant.”

I elbowed him. “Cut it out,” I whispered.

“What's all that junk for?” Kit asked her.

She didn't answer. She started passing her hands back and forth over the piles.

Kit leaned close to my ear. “Oh, God. Here we go.”

The woman began to chant, something that was almost a song, off-key. But Kit was right. It didn't sound Indian. Finally she handed me another small pouch. “Shake,” she said. I shook it. “More,” she said. I shook it again, listening to the dull clatter of whatever was inside. “Now,” she gestured for me to dump it out. A bunch of small colored pebbles scattered over the other things she'd arranged.

She studied them without expression and said, “Tell me the dream.”

So I told her about the car in the storm, the girl rising out of the road, her arms outstretched, wanting my help. I could see all of it while I talked, as if it were right in front of me: her pale pleading face in the rain.

The woman stared at me. She seemed bored. “She not asking for help. She helping you. She give you something.”

“What?” I asked. “What is she giving me?”

The woman shrugged indifferently. “It your dream,” she said.

“Well, that was worth the ten bucks,” Kit said as we walked back to the car. “Now it's all clear.”

I sighed. “Maybe she's right.”

Kit shook his head in disbelief. “You're buying that?”

“This whole time, I thought the girl was asking for my help. But maybe she was helping me.”

“Oh, yeah? How? By waking you up every night?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Helping me see, really see things.”

“Like what?”

You,
I was thinking.
Jamie. Myself.
But I didn't say anything.

“Oh, come on. That was total b.s. She just threw in the chanting to make it seem spooky. Plus, I hate to break it to you, but she seemed completely bored by your dream.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know. That was bad. I mean, it's like having a therapist be bored by your problems.”

Kit laughed. “You should have made something up. Something more interesting. You could have told her a dream about me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don't dream about you.”

He slid his hand under my hair, squeezing my shoulder. “Maybe you should. You'd sleep better.”

I pulled away, but I couldn't help laughing at him.

Near where we'd parked, I saw a pile of old car parts next to a Dumpster: some shredded tires, a bent muffler, a white-crusted battery. “Hey, look,” I said. “Let's take something for Beth.”

“Go wild,” Kit said, climbing into the car. I thought of the metal pieces in Beth's sculpture. I picked up the rusted muffler and tossed it on the floor of the back seat.

“Kind of like a housewarming gift,” I told Kit.

“Freak,” he said.

37

It was early afternoon when we pulled off the highway onto Beth's road. The car bumped into the yard, and the dogs came running from the shaded patch by the shed, barking crazily. They stopped, foolishly grinning, when we got out, and circled us, tails lashing our legs. Oscar shoved his head under my hand.

I felt shy suddenly, not wanting to see Beth, thinking of what I'd said to her that night in the kitchen. But it was too late. She and Jamie came out together, hurrying down the porch steps, and their faces seemed to show everything: not just what had happened to them but what had happened to us, and the resulting mix of wonder and panic and worry. When I looked at Jamie, I felt like I was seeing him as a person, separate from me and from our family, for the first time.

“Hey,” I said quietly.

“Hey,” Jamie said. “You're finally back.”

“Are you okay?” Beth was looking at me closely.

“Yeah, we're fine,” Kit said. “Just thirsty.” He pushed past them into the house, and I ran up the steps after him.

We ended up in the living room, with Kit pacing around, telling what happened, me sitting on the floor interjecting details, and Jamie and Beth on the couch, comfortably part of each other's space. It was hard to explain everything. So much of it had seemed like the only thing to do at the time, but now it seemed like a random bunch of accidents and missteps. It was hard to believe we'd even done these things.

“You broke into his house?” Beth asked in surprise.

“You
took
one of the pills?” Jamie demanded.

And I could only nod, trying to remember our reasons. We were telling them about the knife when the phone rang. I knew from Beth's voice that it was Sheriff Durrell.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, Stan, they're here.” She moved slightly away from us, toward the kitchen, but we could hear the murmur from the phone and her concerned “Oh!” and “Really?” in response. Kit looked at me.

“He did?” Beth said. “Wow. Yeah, exactly.” There was a long pause, and I could see her back stiffen. “No. No, Stan, please don't. I understand, but…” Now she turned to us, rubbing her forehead, her face pinched. “Stan, you can't do that,” she said. “I know. Yes, I know. But they did call you. They told you everything. They're the reason you've got him in custody.”

What was he saying? What was he going to do to us? Beth waited for a minute more, tense and serious, and then her eyes flickered toward Jamie. “Stan,” she said slowly. “Listen to me. They're just kids.”

She stared at Jamie and I saw a scrim of sadness fall over her face. She looked older, resigned. “They're just kids,” she repeated, gazing at Jamie.

She moved away from us, down the hallway, still talking. After a while, she came back into the room. “Okay. Right. That seems fair. Thanks, Stan. Yes, here she is.”

Beth motioned to me, and I stood up slowly, taking the phone, my stomach tight. “Hello?”

“Miss Martinez.” The sheriff's voice was brisk. “I'm going to speak to your parents about these latest … developments. Tell Mr. Kitson I'll be contacting his parents as well.”

“Okay,” I said unhappily. “But please don't scare my mom.”

“Miss Martinez, it's not my intention to scare anyone. I'd like to inform your parents of what you've been up to the last few days.” He sounded irritated. “Especially since the department is not inclined to bring charges.”

I wasn't sure I understood. “You mean you don't have to talk to us again?”

“We have a confession,” he said.

“You do?” I felt my knees weakening. I leaned against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. “From Wicker?”

“That's correct.”

“What did he say? Please … what happened to the girl?”

“I can't discuss that with you, Miss Martinez.”

“But what did he do to her? Did he drug her? Was that how she died?”

“Miss Martinez,” he said curtly. “I can't discuss it.”

“Please,” I said again.

He sighed. “The full toxicology screen will take a few more weeks, but we're pretty confident about what we'll find.”

“Do you know who she is?”

There was a pause. “We have a positive ID. Now I'd like you to put Mr. Kitson on the phone.”

I felt a wave of relief. Suddenly, I didn't need to know who she was. It didn't matter. All I'd wanted was to make sure that she wouldn't vanish out here all alone, without anyone knowing, without a name or a home or a family. And now she wouldn't.

Sometimes I'd felt alone like that—like I could disappear and no one would notice. But it wasn't true. There were tiny connections everywhere you looked, ways that lives crossed into each other and changed: me taking the bracelet, Jamie kissing Beth's hand.

I walked slowly across the room and handed the phone to Kit.

Maybe we would never know what happened to her, and maybe that was all right. Not knowing could be a kind of knowing.

When Kit hung up the phone, it was Jamie who spoke, shattering the stillness of the room. “Is it over?” he said, his dark eyes fixed steadily on Beth.

“It's over,” she said.

Jamie didn't say anything.

“They have a confession from Wicker,” Beth said quietly. “And they're investigating his connection to several other young women.”

I looked at Kit, thinking of Elena.

“What happened to the girl?” Kit asked. “Did he tell you?”

She shook her head. “Not much, but a little. They're still waiting on the drug screen, but it sounds like Wicker picked her up at the diner, took her back to his house, and gave her the ecstasy. I guess it causes an increase in heart rate and blood pressure, and she had a reaction immediately because of the defect in her heart. A massive heart attack.”

Jamie shook his head. “And then he put her in the truck and just dumped her? On the road like that?”

Nobody answered. We sat in silence, thinking about it.

“So who was she?” Kit asked finally. “Where was she from?”

“He didn't tell me,” Beth said. “They haven't reached her family yet.” She hesitated. “But you can leave now. You're lucky. They're not pressing charges.”

“Yeah, lucky,” Kit said, shaking his head. “We can finally start our spring break. Five days late. Jeez.” He looked at Beth and Jamie. “Hey, Luce, want to go for a walk? Before we have to get back in the car?”

I knew what he was thinking. To give them time alone.

“Okay,” I said. But I was secretly thinking that it gave us time alone, too, and I wasn't sure I wanted that.

*   *   *

I grabbed a bottle of water, and we stepped into the yard. A lizard skittered across the dry ground and under the porch steps, its tail making one final, lateral swish in the dirt. Oscar charged after it, barking and barking, but it was gone.

“Stupid dog,” Kit said.

“He's not stupid,” I said, snapping my fingers at Oscar. “That's just instinct.”

I followed Kit through the brush, hanging behind him, not sure what to talk about. But he wasn't talking. We walked single file through the desert, the mountains like a mirage in the distance. I watched the muscles of his back under his shirt.

After a while he called to me, “Do you think we'll ever find out who she was?”

“I don't know. Maybe when the police finish the investigation.”

“We'll be long gone by then.”

“Yeah, we'll be home.” It felt good to say it. Wandering over this hard, hot land, I thought of Kansas, of the prairie grasses waving in the spring winds.

Kit pointed to the mountains. “Do you think we could walk there? In a day, I mean?”

I shook my head. “They're too far.”

“Yeah, you're probably right.” He waited for me to catch up, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Man, it's hot.”

I unscrewed the cap on the bottle and handed the water to him, watching him take a long swig and then drizzle it over his forehead. “Here,” he said, splashing it at me.

“Oooh, it's cold,” I cried. I took the bottle and drank, aware that my lips were touching the place where his had been. He watched me.

We were standing in a sandy patch, with tawny clumps of grass scattered around us, little thickets of yellow flowers. “Let's stop for a while,” Kit said. He flopped on the ground, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at the sky. It was a dazzling blue, with thick white banks of clouds, like the ones in old European paintings.