Survival Strategies of the Almost Brave (18 page)

And then everything got quiet.

Like the world took a deep breath. A breath so long and so soft that for what felt like a long time, everything was still. Like we were at the bottom of the sea. Billie and me floating along, invincible in our turtle shells where nothing could hurt us, not ever.

I reached for Billie. But I forgot, she wasn't there. And all I could think about was Mr. Sprinkles and his stupid meowing. And how if it hadn't been for him and his rats, then Billie wouldn't be sick.

And then it came.

The tectonics. Everything shaking inside me, mixed with an ache inside my heart that might not ever end.

 

Survival Strategy #39:

SOMETIMES THEY COME BACK

And through the dust, before I could even question it, I saw him. He was there.

Dad.

I didn't believe it at first. But it was him. He'd found us. Just like the sea turtle swimming thousands of miles, because why would she ever leave her eggs so helpless? Sometimes even nature didn't seem natural, because parents and babies should always be together.

“Are you okay?” he asked, opening the car door.

Nothing hurt except my head. But it didn't matter because he was here at last. And that meant we could go home. We were safe. We were a family.

“Can you hear me?”

I nodded and smiled. At least I hope I smiled, because I was really happy. And you should always smile when you're happy. Smiling is the one thing animals can't do. Well, except for monkeys. But if you didn't count monkeys, and I'm not saying you shouldn't, that's one trait only we humans have. When you feel something, you should show it. None of that faking stuff, because really it didn't get you anywhere good. I was through with faking it. I was happy.

“Billie,” I said.

“I see her. Don't worry.” And he pulled me out of the car and laid me on the dirt, which now felt kind of soft and nice. And then I wasn't in the ocean, because there was the sky. Bluish. With little sheep clouds in it. And it felt wrong and familiar all at the same time.

And then, I saw it.

The dragon with the sword through its heart, and a key, and part of a beautiful lady's face. His arm, from wrist until I didn't know where, covered in tattoos. And that was the worst part.

Because now the dream was ruined. I knew the truth.

It wasn't Dad.

He hadn't come. And it made me mad that, for a second, I had wanted him to.

 

Survival Strategy #40:

SOMETIMES HELP COMES FROM A TATTOOED GUY

Tattoo Guy laid out a blanket for us outside the semitruck. He said it was too hot in there and that Billie needed some air. The wind had gone down, but occasionally little dust tornados would start up here and there. I looked at my watch. It was 6:42. Sharlee had gone back inside because she said we were disrupting her babies.

It had only been ten minutes, and Tattoo Guy still looked like he had seen Bigfoot.

Or maybe a mermaid. Or a UFO (which really wasn't that crazy, since there probably was life on other planets). He kept staring at me like I might disappear if he looked away. And he kept talking about how that fence rail was falling down anyway. And how one more dent in Sharlee's car wouldn't make a difference. He was just trying to be nice.

“Sorry,” I said.

He shrugged.

“This hurts,” I said, pulling the ice pack away from my forehead. I held it out to him.

“No, you'll be glad you iced it. You've got quite a bump on your head. Just a little longer,” he said.

Tattoo Guy had said he'd completed a class in CPR and emergency training because, as a truck driver, sometimes he was the first one on the scene of a road accident. And he liked to know what to do. He said he was prepared for anything. Even still, I didn't think he was too prepared for Billie and me.

I had already told Tattoo Guy mostly everything, about Dad leaving, and calling Julie, and why we had stowed away in his semi.

Right now, Billie was acting normal, except I couldn't be sure. I kept giving her sideways glances, waiting to see if the rat poison would come. But except for the bite, she seemed fine. Her finger looked like it needed stitches, like the time Mom did when she sliced her hand cutting a watermelon.

And anyway, Billie probably had rabies by now, I bet.

At first Billie had been lying on the ground near the semi. Now she was awake and asking for water. She had drunk three bottles. I had drunk one. And Tattoo Guy said he thought she passed out because she was dehydrated, not because of the rat bite. But he did think she needed stitches. And to see a real doctor.

Tattoo Guy picked up the empty water bottles and tossed them into the semi. “It's about time we hit the road.” He turned to Billie. “Are you feeling up to it? You're not going to yak in my truck, are you?”

Billie shook her head.

Tattoo Guy didn't know how close he was to the truth.

And now, he didn't seem as scary.

“Are you going to call an ambulance?” I asked.

“No. You girls don't need an ambulance, just a good old-fashioned doctor. Since we're out in the middle of nowhere, it would take an ambulance twice the time to get you to a hospital. I'll drive you.”

Tattoo Guy pinched the skin in the middle of his forehead like if he didn't, it might split in two.

“So, when did your dad leave you?” he asked, trying to hide the surprise in his voice, but I heard it sitting there, accusing me—like he was thinking,
What kind of kid gets left in the desert by her dad?

I watched Billie out of the corner of my eye; she still seemed fine, except kind of out of it. I pretended to pay attention to Tattoo Guy's question. Usually I was really good at answering questions, like in school. But my head hurt.

“What?” I asked.

“When did your dad leave?”

His question hung between us like a fragile spider web. I wanted to wave my hands through it and destroy every tiny thread.

“Yesterday.”

Finally he asked, “And where were you when—uh—when he didn't come back?”

Billie interrupted. “He left us at the gas station. Liberty said he went to get ice cream. And Mom can't come and get us because she's in the ocean.”

“Billie, stop,” I said. I turned back to Tattoo Guy. “We were somewhere near Four Corners, I think.”

He got a little pale. “Four Corners is hours and hours from here.”

I swallowed hard. For a second I wished we were back in the Lavender Lady's car, still huddled on the floor, hidden from everything.

“How far are we from San Diego?” I asked.

“I'd say, with traffic, four or five hours.”

I cleared my throat. Still five hours away. I didn't want Tattoo Guy to think he was stuck with us. “Don't worry, Julie will come. We should call her. But I don't think our dad's coming back,” I said, my throat suddenly sore and scratchy. I picked at some sticky stuff shaped like a flower on the bottom of my bare foot.

Billie's eyes filled with tears. “I guess I kind of thought that, too.”

Finally Tattoo Guy said, “What I want to do right now is get you guys to a doctor.” Then he turned toward his sister's house. “I can't vouch for the health of the rat that bit her. My sister doesn't keep her pets in the best of conditions.”

“Pets?” I asked.

“She said they were her babies,” Billie said. She wiped tears and snot on her arm. It glistened like snail tracks.

“Yeah, something like that,” Tattoo Guy said.

He picked me up and put me in the front seat of the semi, and then he lifted Billie up after me. She tried to scoot into my seat as well.

“You can't sit here,” I said. “It's not safe. You need to be twelve.”

She shook her head. “He already said I could.”

Tattoo Guy climbed into the other side of the semi. He held Mr. Sprinkles in one arm like he was holding a baby. He winked, grabbed on to the steering wheel, and dumped the cat onto the floor. Then he tossed me his cell phone. “Call that Julie of yours. Let her know where you're at.”

Now the rocks in my stomach returned. Another message for Julie. Where could she be?

“Is your sister coming?” Billie asked, pointing to the little house.

He shook his head. “No. There's not much I can do for her. She refuses to leave. I wish she would change her mind, but she is who she is.”

Mr. Sprinkles jumped onto Billie's lap and curled up like he was going to sleep all day.

Tattoo Guy smiled at Billie. “You watch that hand, now. Just keep it up and away from Mr. Sprinkles. What happened to the napkin I gave you?”

“It blew away.”

“Wait a second, I think I have something.” He bent over, fumbling around under his seat. He pulled out a first aid kit. He flipped the lid open and dug through until he found what he wanted. “Here, let me see your finger.”

Billie got up and held out her finger.

Tattoo Guy opened the wrapper to reveal a Band-Aid with four long ends that looked like wings. It reminded me of a butterfly I saw once in a magazine: the leopard lacewing, which lives in Singapore. When the lacewing is a caterpillar, it has huge spiky thorns all over its body, but after it molts, it transforms into one of the most beautiful butterflies I have ever seen. I'd really like to go to Singapore someday just so I could see a leopard lacewing in person.

Tattoo Guy wrapped the Band-Aid wings around Billie's finger, pulling the skin back together. “Does that hurt?”

Billie shook her head.

“Nothing a few stitches won't fix.”

The little S shape in between Billie's eyes scrunched tighter. Was Billie going to freak? I waited for the rat demon to come.

“You're not scared of stitches, are you?” asked Tattoo Guy, starting the truck.

Billie nodded.

“Little tiny stitches? That's nothing; look at this.” He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal an ugly, knotted scar. It cascaded over his shoulder like boiling hot lava. “Motorcycle accident. Two years ago,” he said, pulling the truck forward. “My right leg looks the same. Let's just say I was pretty lucky that day, and I know it.”

Billie nodded, sucking in every word.

“Not everyone is lucky,” I said. “We aren't.” It just slipped out. I wanted to slurp it back in, but it was too late. I cringed, waiting for the kind of stupidness people say when they are trying to make you not feel sorry for yourself. When Mom died, I heard all sorts of
I'm sorry
s, stuff that sounds completely like faking it.

Tattoo Guy sighed. “Maybe you're right. You girls don't look so lucky right now, do you?”

Surprised, I pointed to Billie. “I don't think she should sit up here with me. It isn't safe.”

He smiled and then winked at Billie. “Oh, I think she'll be all right, just this one time. You girls put that seat belt on. We've got to test that luck theory of yours.”

The semi headed down the dirt road.

“Knock, knock,” said Billie.

I looked over at her, but she was talking to Tattoo Guy.

“Who's there?” he asked.

“Barbie.”

“Barbie who?”

“Barbie Q. Chicken!” Billie laughed.

So did Tattoo Guy. “Now, that's a good one.” He smiled as he maneuvered the semi over a small hole in the road. He crinkled his brow. “I don't think I know any age-appropriate jokes.”

“Do you have kids?” Billie asked.

I pretended like I didn't care, but really I wanted to know the answer. Did Tattoo Guy have some kid somewhere who he ignored and never talked to, just like our dad?

“Me?” Tattoo Guy laughed. “Nope. Not that I know of. I don't think I'm a kid kind of guy.”

Billie shrugged her shoulders. “You'd probably be pretty good.”

“You think so?” he asked.

Billie nodded.

I pulled my notebook out of my back pocket and flipped through the pages. There it was: the gentoo penguin picture my dad took. I picked at the edge of it and pulled. It tore down the center, giving a satisfying rip. Now all that was left of the penguin were parts of its back, beak, and foot. I ripped off the other side, taking some of the notebook paper with it. How many times had I stared at it, trying to imagine what Dad was doing right at that moment? I scrunched the picture up into a little ball.

“I'm hungry,” yelled Billie. She had rolled down the window.

It was dinnertime.

I stuck the crumpled picture into my pocket. “I'm not.”

Billie turned and stared at me. “Yes, you are. We haven't eaten anything good all day.”

I glared.

The dirt road turned into a gravel one. We passed a beat-up old house, and I saw a flash of orange near the porch. A life vest, the same color as penguin feet, was hooked over the gate, swimming against the breeze.

I leaned over Billie and stuck my head out of the window. The wind whipped my hair into my face.

“What are you doing? You're squishing me,” she said, poking me in the side with skinny twig fingers.

I pulled the penguin photo pieces out of my pocket and held them out the window, my heart beating as fast as the semi's wheels were spinning. Then I set them free. They bounced away from each other like an explosion and then disappeared, like they had never existed.

 

Survival Strategy #41:

DR PEPPER CAN RUIN EVERYTHING

I had tried Dr Pepper once before when Billie and me were with Dad. Dad had a whole bunch of Dr Peppers in his camper. A
whole
bunch. Like, thirty maybe. After a couple of weeks, we were parked at a rest stop near Lake Mead in Nevada and Dad was looking between a trail map and his computer and grumbling to himself.

“Dad, can I have a Dr Pepper?” I asked. Billie and me were playing Go Fish for the thousandth time. Go Fish is, like, only fun for the first five times you play. But when we were with Dad, she always wanted to play because I let her win.