One Week (15 page)

Jess nods.

“Well, when I found out, I was so angry. I didn’t speak to him for a week. I couldn’t believe he’d been lying to me like that. I still can’t.”

Jess is quiet for a moment. “You know, when you told me that, I thought it was kind of sweet, actually.”

I turn and lean away from him so I can see his face. “Seriously? Lying to your daughter is
sweet?”

“I’m just saying I get it, is all. You were his little girl—he wants to protect you from all the bad stuff in the world. Including having a mother who left you. I mean, don’t you think maybe the person you should be maddest at here is her?”

I wave that away. “Yeah, of course I was—I
am
—pissed at her too, but I barely even remember her. She’s not the point. He shouldn’t have lied to me. And he shouldn’t keep on doing what he thinks is best for me without listening to what I have to say, without trying to see who I am and what my life really is, not what he wants it to be. He keeps doing the exact same thing—the photographers are like those cards. They’re not real, and they’re not for me, they’re for him.”

I wait for Jess to say something else defending my father, but he doesn’t. He just nods and pulls me back so that I’m leaning against his shoulder again. We sit quietly for a while, and it feels like maybe he wants to say something else, and I tense myself for an argument. But all he says is, “I spy a cow.”

I giggle. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. “Like you said. Not much to do.”

And so we play I Spy and it’s way more fun than I remember it being even when I was three, until we pull off the highway into a rest stop. It’s weird—but definitely nice—to be with someone who can talk about things that are important. It’s not something I’m used to. But I have to say, it’s even nicer to be with someone who knows when to stop talking about them, too.

Jess hops out of the truck. He goes around to offer up some of his thirty dollars for gas money, which thank God the driver waves off, and then calls to me that he’s going to run to the bathroom. I fish around in Martha’s bag of snacks and come up with a granola bar. I make a note to remind Jess to eat something when he gets back. He’s been snacking periodically, but I’m not taking any chances.

The passenger comes around the side of the truck, and I offer him some nuts.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says. “So how are y’all planning to get to Chicago? It’s a long way. I’m Joey, by the way, and that’s Sean.” Sean gives a manly wave from over by the gas pump.

“Bee,” I say, and lean over to shake his hand. “I’m not sure. More of this, I guess. We really appreciate the ride.”

“Oh sure,” Joey shrugs. “No problem.”

I check my phone. It’s two o’clock already. We’ve been driving for two and a half hours. “How much longer until we get to Des Moines?”

“Another couple of hours.” Joey stands there expectantly, and I realize he’s waiting for me to be chatty. It occurs to me that this is why people pick up hitchhikers—to have someone to talk to.

“What are you guys going to be doing there?” I ask.

“The cast of
Glee
is touring and we’re going to go see them.” Joey explains.

I laugh before I can stop myself. “Seriously? You’re going all the way to Des Moines for
Glee?”

“Not exactly,” Sean says as he finishes up at the pump. “Joey’s girlfriend is driving all the way to Des Moines for
Glee
, and Joey is driving there for her. Why
I
am driving all that way is a mystery to me.”

“Because you’re a good friend,” Joey says. “And because I don’t have a car.”

“So how is your girlfriend getting there?” I ask, still laughing.

“She’s getting a ride with her friend. Who might want to hook up with Sean.”

“Emphasis on the ‘might,’” Sean scowls.

“Well, she probably will. I mean, look how much you’re willing to go out of your way for her,” I offer. “And sit through the concert? That’s really going the extra mile. She’s got to appreciate that.”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Joey says.

Sean leans on the side of the truck. “Sure you don’t want to come with us? Joey here says they’ll be singing selections from Journey, Madonna, and the works of Barbra Streisand.”

“Tempting, but I think not,” I say. I squint over at the gas station. “I’m sorry Jess is taking so long.”

Sean shrugs. “I don’t care if we’re late.”

I chat with the three of them for another ten minutes or so, wondering where on earth Jess is. I’m about to go in after him—maybe he’s having another episode or something—when he comes jogging over to the truck.

“Sorry,” he says breathlessly, and heaves himself over the side. “There was, uh, there was a line.”

“No problem.” Sean looks like he’d happily stand and talk for a while longer, but Joey drags him around to the driver’s seat, assuring him again that it would all be worth it. Jess and I huddle together for warmth as the truck pulls onto the highway, and eventually I rest my head on his lap and go to sleep. Your body stays warmer that way.

I wake up to Jess gently shaking my shoulder. “We’re here,” he says.

Sean has pulled off I-80 and over to the shoulder just off the exit. I rub my eyes and look around. Des Moines looks just like any other city from out here. Jess helps me out of
the truck and we go around to thank Sean and Joey.

“Are you guys going to be okay from here?” Joey asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Jess assures him. “Thanks so much for the lift—we really appreciate it.”

“And enjoy the concert,” I add.

“Yeah, right,” Sean says, rolling his eyes. He puts the truck in gear and drives off, tooting the horn once as he goes.

“Well,” Jess says.

“Yeah,” I reply. We both stand in silence watching the truck drive through the intersection up ahead and out of sight.

“Well,” Jess says again. “They got us halfway. That’s pretty good.”

I try to perk up. “Right. And we still have all of our thirty dollars in case the next person wants gas money.”

“Or in case we want to eat something besides granola and nuts.”

I give Jess a look. “Do you need something besides granola and nuts? Is that going to be enough to keep your blood sugar where it’s supposed to be? Maybe we should go get a decent meal someplace.”

“I’ll be okay.” Jess grins and gives me a hug.
“Martha’s eggs and bacon set me up just fine. Thanks for looking out for me though.” He takes my hand and we start walking back along the exit ramp and onto the highway to find our next ride.

I have no idea what’s gotten into Jess. He kissed me this morning, which, obviously, was a big step for him, but then he backed off. And since then he’s been… unusually affectionate. We haven’t fought once. No kissing or anything, nothing that could be interpreted as Officially Interested, but it doesn’t exactly feel like he thinks he’s my big brother or something either.

It’s all incredibly frustrating.

Jess squeezes my hand and pulls me off to the side as a car drives past us, putting himself between me and possible harm. I have to say, it may be frustrating, but I’m not exactly complaining.

On the other hand, if we thought we waited for a long time for a ride in Hastings, it feels like nothing now. We’ve walked at least two miles and no one is slowing down. I can’t even tell if they see us. The shoulder is smaller here too. I tap Jess on the shoulder and give him another granola bar to eat. I haven’t exactly been keeping track of how long it’s been since he ate anything, but it seems like it’s been a while and I’d rather not risk it, especially out here.

Jess gives the package a grimace, but he opens it and takes a bite. “After this is over, I’m never eating granola again.”

“After this is over, I’m never setting foot anywhere without my bag. Which, in the future, will be much more portable.”

Jess snorts. “Yeah, right. From now on you’ll carry a backpack and wear sensible shoes and always bring a jacket. The new responsible Bee.”

“I am responsible,” I say, slightly wounded. “This isn’t
all
my fault. And my shoes are sensible,” I say, kicking up a sneakered foot.

“Oh, I don’t think this is your fault,” Jess says quickly. “And although I wouldn’t mind a ride,” he says, glaring at the passing cars, “I’m actually having a pretty good day. It’s kind of restful, this hitchhiking business. And,” he adds, giving me a quick look, “I like you irresponsible. You wouldn’t be you if you wore sneakers all the time and planned ahead.”

Hmm. “Okay,” I say. “And I guess you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t go along with every dumb idea anybody has, even though you know better. Like taking pot for your friends or following me around.”

“I thought you were following me?” Jess says, grinning.

“I guess it’s hard to tell who’s following who at this point,” I chuckle.

“Whom,” Jess corrects, as if he can’t quite help himself.

“Dork.” I grab a bite of Jess’s granola bar even though I can barely stand to eat them myself at this point, and take a swig of water. I frown at the bottle. We’re getting a little low. I wish I’d thought to refill it before we got back on the road.

We continue walking in silence, neither of us even bothering to stick a thumb out or anything at this point. Nobody seems to care anyway. And so I’m shocked when a beat-up old mustang pulls over.

The driver is a man in his late sixties, and he cranes his head out the window. “Where you folks headed?” he asks.

Jess and I look at each other. Potential axe-murderer he may be, but there are two of us and we’re tired of walking. “We’re going to Chicago,” Jess calls as we jog up to the car.

The driver scratches his head. “Well now, I’m headed that way. Going to Tiffin, you know it?”

Jess and I shake our heads.

“Small town outside of Iowa City. I got a pal who’s a mechanic out there, and he offered to fix up the body work on this here beauty if I could get her out there. So, I’d be going your way, but I’ll be getting off of 80 and onto the blue highways. That all right with you?”

Jess and I look at each other and shrug. Neither of us has any idea what he’s talking about, but he said he’s going our way. That’s good enough.

“That’s perfect,” I say. “Thanks a lot for stopping.”

“Not a problem. Did a lot of hitchhiking in my day, and I always feel like it’s the right thing to do, karmically speaking. I’m Bob Mackey, by the way.”

Jess introduces me as Bee Silver, which strikes me as funny and I have to stifle a giggle. Jess also graciously gives me the window seat and we squeeze together to give Mr. Mackey room to shift gears and, you know, steer. It’s a tight fit.

But the car does fly. I’ve never been in a car like this, and while it’s a little eerie hearing the wind whistling up from the floor, and while it is hard to hear over the not-very-muffling muffler, it feels like riding in an actual car, not just a comfortable room that happens to move. It smells a little bit like pot though.

Mr. Mackey tells us about hitching through the Badlands in the middle of August, and how even under those conditions he never had to wait more than twenty
minutes for a ride. “Folks were more trusting then,” he says.

“Also they probably figured you’d share whatever it was you were smoking,” Jess whispers. I’m sitting half on his lap, and his breath tickles my ear. I look out the window at the blue highway, which seems to just mean a road with less traffic and nicer scenery. And no tolls. You have to wonder why everyone doesn’t go this way.

Mr. Mackey never stops talking. It’s hard to hear him over the roar of the engine, but the gist seems to be the good old days of driving around the country in VW buses—it’s unclear whether he ever actually did that or whether he just knew it would have been a good time—and how he wishes he’d never sold out and bought a house and got a job. Jess and I make appropriate noises in the few pauses for breath. He’s very nice, really; it’s just that I’ve gotten used to not having to talk all the time. Although I guess I’m not actually talking all that much now, either.

“I bet you kids are wondering how it is a guy like me ended up driving one of these babies,” Mr. Mackey says, patting the steering wheel.

I nudge Jess. It’s his turn to chat. “Uh, yes,” Jess says. “I did wonder that.”

“I got into drag racing about fifteen years back,” Mr. Mackey explains. “Just small-time stuff. Now there’s a
thrill—biggest natural high you’ll ever have. The moment you take off,
pow!
The speed hits you like a sledgehammer. You want to take a turn at the wheel, kid?
See how it feels?”

Jess shakes his head. “I don’t have a driver’s license,” he says.

“What?” Mr. Mackey is scandalized. “What about you, Bee?”

“I don’t have one either,” I say, somewhat regretfully. It does sound like fun.

“Where y’all from, you don’t drive? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Well, I’m from New York City, and Bee…” Jess trails off. People drive in Los Angeles; they have no choice. Most people, anyway. “Bee is too,” he finishes.

“Well, you ever get out of the city to a place where you can move around, take a spin in a Mustang,” Mr. Mackey says. “It’ll be the ride of your life.”

Mr. Mackey is silent for a moment, then without warning he pulls over. Jess and I look at each other in consternation. The last town we drove through was over fifteen minutes ago, and there’s nothing around except corn and more corn.  Why are we stopping?

Mr. Mackey checks the rearview mirror. I turn around and look—there’s nobody coming. Mr. Mackey’s got a manic look in his eyes, and suddenly Jess clutches my arm. I turn to look at him, and he’s turned pale. I remember how freaked out Jess was about riding in the back of Joey and Sean’s truck, and I try to head this off. “Uh, Mr. Mackey, I don’t think—” I start.

He ignores me. He guns the engine, but keeps the brakes on. “I’m going to show you kids what driving’s really all about,” he says.

“Mr. Mackey, honestly, you don’t need to—”