Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (24 page)

They ended up having to go to Cortez and backtrack to Durango, because instead of a load straight to Vegas, Mitch got one going via Flagstaff, and it was bigger, so they had to dump their Cortez load completely first. Sam was embarrassed when he found out Mitch had done this partly so Sam wouldn’t have to go over the mountains again.

“I would have been able to handle it,” Sam insisted.

“I don’t want you to hate the mountains. Give yourself a few days to recover.” Mitch shrugged. “Anyway, I thought you might want to see the Grand Canyon.”

Sam sat up. “Seriously?”

“Has to be quick,” Mitch warned, “and can’t be at the main viewing areas. But if we come in from Cameron, you can watch it open up, and hop out at one of the smaller points.”

Trying to forget the awkwardness of Vegas, Sam focused on the wonder at hand. The Grand Canyon. He hadn’t even considered that would be an option. Anticipation made him bouncy, distracting him until Mitch angled the rig toward the warehouse drive.

“I’ll help you load.” Sam undid his seat belt.

Mitch put out a hand to stay him. “You can’t.”

“Mitch, I’m a stock boy. I can lift things.”

“It’s regulation. Has to do with insurance and labor laws.” Except Mitch looked guilty as he said it, and in that moment Sam was convinced Mitch kept him inside on purpose.

Hiding him.

Sam wished he hadn’t thought of that. “Well—can I do anything to help in here?”

“Hang loose. I promise I won’t be long.”

Sam fell back in his seat, watching as Mitch climbed out and started talking to the manager or whatever you called the guy who ran the warehouse. Sam picked up his phone and scrolled through the archaically paced Internet awhile before giving up and tossing his phone aside. He put some new coffee on. He ate a peanut butter sandwich. He picked up his phone again, sent a text to Em. He poked his head out, saw they were ready to load and decided to take a shower. Mitch had refilled it in Cortez and drained the toilet. Sam had tried to help with this too, but Mitch had sent him with a list and a wad of twenties to the grocery store.

I’m the little woman.
Sam shut his eyes beneath the spray.

Keep an open mind.

Sam attempted to avoid thinking about what that might mean, but as he toweled his hair and slipped into his now not-very-clean jeans and his last clean shirt, it was difficult to think of anything else. Dramatic scenarios crept up like dandelions no matter what he did, and the more he tried to mow them down, the thicker they came back. It wasn’t just this Randy guy. By the time Mitch finally came into the rig, Sam was a small and quiet wreck. He helped Mitch tidy things up and put the coffeepot away, but once they were on the road, he only lasted about twenty miles before his dark thoughts returned.

“Are you married?” Sam held his breath as he waited for the answer.

Mitch startled so bad he spilled his coffee. “What the fuck?” He replaced the cup in the holder and shook the liquid off his hand. “No, I’m not married.”

Sam nodded tersely. That was the worst one. “Drug runner?”

Mitch gave him a long, strange look. “Sam?”

“I want to know what it is I’m supposed to keep an open mind about.”

Mitch’s posture eased at once, but not completely. “Jesus. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sunshine. And you watch too damn much TV.”

“Then
what is it
? I’m going crazy.”

Mitch didn’t answer for almost a minute, opening and closing his mouth. He looked terrified. “Give me a little bit to figure out how to word it?”

“Okay.” Sam settled into his seat to wait, but several miles went by, and Mitch didn’t say anything.
He isn’t planning to,
Sam realized, and felt frustrated, then angry, and then simply tired.

The landscape changed rapidly. They were still in the mountains, though the terrain was a lot more rugged, and the vegetation was starting to thin. Mitch pointed out some mountains in the distance and told Sam they hid the ruins of cliff-dwelling houses, and that there were in fact a lot of Native American artifacts in this area. “You can hike in a lot of the preserves.”

“Have you ever?” Sam asked, but Mitch shook his head.

“Wouldn’t mind, someday.”

After this they lapsed back into silence.

They drove through the backside of some city—Sam lost track of where they were—and into road construction which made Mitch swear under his breath as he had to balance Old Blue on a narrow shoulder near a drop that wasn’t very big, but still significant enough to make Sam feel a bit sick, and after a few miles when Mitch suggested he go lie down, Sam did. Though he didn’t mean to, he slept, and when he woke, he came back to the front of the cab, looked out at the landscape and stopped short.

“What—what is this?”

“Desert. We’ve entered the Navajo Nation. You missed Four Corners while you napped, I hate to tell you.”

“But there aren’t any cactus, or anything. There’s
nothing
here.” Sam sank into his seat, wide-eyed and shaking his head. “It looks like a wasteland.”

“Now you know why the government didn’t mind giving it to the Navajo.”

Sam couldn’t stop staring. There was
nothing
around them. Nothing at all. Occasionally a sad, solitary trailer appeared far off near a crop of rock, no road from the highway leading to it, and often no car visible either. Even fueling stations were rare. All Sam saw was miles and miles of desert with the occasional rock formation. Sam almost wished for Wolf Creek Pass, which while terrifying, was at least beautiful and less lonely. He wondered if he had cell service out here, but he was afraid to check.

It was a two-lane road only, which meant they sometimes got caught behind slow vehicles. However, they were often the vehicle people backed up behind before passing on a straight, flat stretch.

“This isn’t Arizona jurisdiction,” Mitch said when Sam commented on it. “If we get picked up for speeding, it will be by Res cops. While I don’t begrudge them their attitude, I don’t want to feel the brunt of it. It’ll add some time, but we won’t find any trouble, either, if we go the limit.”

Sam could hardly argue with that, but it did make for a long, barely bearable ride. Mitch only stopped once, and that was to use the bathroom and take a walk around the outside of the rig. He’d had a cigarette while he was out there, and he had another one back inside the truck. Once he put it out, he turned down the music.

Mitch kept his eyes on the road even though it was nothing but a straight line all the way to the horizon. “The thing is, I used to be a different kind of person. You saw a little of it in Denver, especially when we were at the bar.”

Sam almost grinned. “Is this the sex stuff? Because—”

“Let me get this out.” He reached for another cigarette and took his time to light it and inhale. “You don’t seem to care so much that I’m older than you. But it matters, because in the years between when I was your age and now, I did a lot of stupid shit.” He took another drag. “And I did a lot of it in Vegas.”

With Randy,
Sam added silently.

“If we don’t run into anybody,” Mitch went on, “it won’t matter. But if we do—” He flattened his lips and tapped out some ash. “Hell. I knew I couldn’t do this right.”

“Mitch, I don’t care—”

“Well, you should. Even if you don’t, I do. I see how you look at me, Sam, and I know what you’re doing, and it makes me feel like hell. Maybe that’s why I’m different with you.” Mitch took another drag, and his hand wasn’t entirely steady. “You can’t understand because you’re so young. And don’t tell me you’re not that young. You are. I was pissy too when I was twenty and people told me I had a lot to learn. Then I hit twenty-seven and knew what they were talking about.”

“I’m twenty-one.” What was he doing that made Mitch feel like hell?

“Yeah. That’s worse, because now you’re legal in every way, so you think it’s over: all you have to do now is crack the nut of the world, and it’s yours.”

How the hell did all this become about him, Sam wanted to know? He tried not to be angry, because that seemed to be what Mitch expected. It wasn’t easy. “So tell me how I look at you that makes you so upset, and I’ll stop.”

“Like I hung the moon,” Mitch said bitterly.

“How rude of me.” Sam turned his face away. It was all too close to the bone, and it hurt, puncturing the perfect moment when Mitch had held him after the pass. He picked at his sleeve. “I suppose now you’ll tell me I’ve made you into some fucked-up father image.”

“Shit,” Mitch murmured. “I knew I’d screw this up, which was why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, if you’re going to think of me as some stupid kid, I wish you would have let me off in Denver, or never picked me up at all.” Sam’s chest hurt more with every beat of the conversation. “Though since you kept fucking me,
you’re
the sick bastard.” Unless he thought Sam was throwing himself at him. Sam drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in them.

“I don’t think of you as some stupid kid.” Mitch spoke more harshly than Sam had ever heard him speak. “But yeah, I am a sick bastard.”

Sam was too overcome by his own emotions to know what to say. He felt guilty, and angry, and mostly confused. Nothing Mitch said made sense. It explained nothing whatsoever about why he was supposed to keep an open mind in Vegas, and it didn’t tell him anything about this Randy.

The desert felt even wider, empty and more desolate.

They stopped at a place that called itself a trading post, and Mitch fueled the rig again. He encouraged Sam to get out and walk around, and the place did seem interesting in a horribly kitschy tourist sort of way. But Sam only shook his head and stayed where he was.

“I’m not going to leave you here,” Mitch said quietly.

“I know that,” Sam shot back.

“Go on,” Mitch urged him. “We got another hour before we get to the canyon. I’ll meet you inside. I want to check things over, but I wouldn’t mind poking around a bit too.”

Sam went, but he didn’t enjoy himself, even though it was the wonder of the truck stop mall on crack. He’d never seen so many souvenirs in one place, some of them tacky, some of them beautiful. There was a restaurant too, and somewhere apparently a hotel. They sold hats, mugs, Native American dolls, fudge, stuffed animals, magnetic rocks and jewelry. It was wild, weird and wonderful. Sam didn’t care, because all he could think about was how things had gone so wrong with Mitch.

It was right about then Sam found a selection of beautiful blue-glass items. They were so delicate, so intricate. They were full of rainbows—little pots and vases and plates fashioned out of glass. He picked up a tiny chest, inspecting it more closely.
Mom would have loved this.

Despair shafted him so fast Sam almost dropped the glass trinket on the floor. Replacing the chest with blurry vision, Sam went outside and sat on a bench to wait.

He startled when someone sat beside him, and his chest hurt as he realized he was almost upset it was Mitch.

“Here.” Mitch handed him a package of foil. “It’s a Navajo taco.”

Sam started to say he wasn’t hungry, but he smelled the meat and was immediately starving. He opened the foil and frowned. “It doesn’t look anything like a taco.”

“No,” Mitch agreed, opening one of his own. “But it’s good.”

It was, Sam conceded, as he ate. It was also huge. He barely finished half of it. Even Mitch couldn’t finish all of his.

“You can save it if you want,” Mitch said, “but I’ll warn you, they’re not so great the second go-round. Bread gets all mushy.”

Sam tossed the remainder of his away.

Mitch held out a small white box. “I got some fudge. You should try it.”

“Not hungry.” Sam headed to the truck. Mitch followed, and they walked in silence, Sam more miserable than ever. As he stepped onto the running board, a sharp wave of regret hit him, and he stopped.

“I need to go back inside.” Without waiting for Mitch to respond, Sam all but ran to the trading post, heading toward the rainbow glass.

The chest was expensive, almost so much he had to forget it, but when he looked at it, all he could see was his mom. When he touched it, he swore he could feel her. It was probably his fancy, because after all these years of wishing, this was the closest he’d ever come to an after-death connection, and he knew he was emotional now and likely to invent things to comfort himself. Still, he would take what he could get. He kept the tears that threatened at bay, letting her wash over him, so grateful for it now. He knew even if it were twice as expensive, he’d be purchasing it. He picked it up, cradled it carefully and headed to the register.

Mitch caught up with him on the way, and Sam stiffened when Mitch reached for his wallet.

“No,” Sam said sharply, then forced himself to soften. “I’m getting this myself.” And he did, using his credit card, consoling himself by pointing out he hadn’t spent so much as a dime of his own money so far. Of course, if he left Mitch, that would soon change. He shut the thought down, watched the brilliant rainbow-filled blue glass disappear beneath the protective wrapping the clerk put it in, then carried it as if it were the most fragile of eggs all the way to the cab.