‘So are we moving on to Texas?’ Felix says.
‘Texas?’ Portia says.
‘Not yet. We’re going north,’ I say.
Felix starts to protest and I put up my hand, stopping him.
‘North,’ I say. ‘We’re going to Arkansas.’
Grandpa called Arkansas the most underrated state because there were so many weird things to see: the place where Elvis got his hair cut before going into the army, the birthplace of Walmart, multiple historical sites devoted to Bill Clinton, not to mention a monument marking the state’s first legal human dissection. All of these are in Arkansas, along with the Henry Humphrey memorial.
We don’t tell Felix and Krista about it.
‘It’s a surprise,’ I say. ‘Just wait.’
‘Is there blood?’ Krista says.
‘Probably not.’
‘I don’t how you guys remember everywhere we stopped,’ Portia says. ‘Most of it’s a blur.’
I think of the book in my bag. It’s the only one I brought with me.
‘You were too young,’ Eddie says.
Portia sticks out her tongue like she’s six years old. When we get back into the car, she puts on her headphones and disappears, lying down in the back seat.
Felix takes out his phone and I know he’s going to look up tourist attractions in Arkansas. He can’t stand not knowing.
I grab it. ‘No googling.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You were.’
We all retreat to our corners, metaphorically, and the car goes silent.
The same thing happened when we were kids. Grandpa didn’t ever tell us where we were going next and it drove us crazy. We whined, begged, and pleaded, finally all three in unison. Grandpa laughed until he didn’t.
‘Shut up,’ he said.
It was the first sign of his temper.
We ignored it and we kept right on going. The Grandpa we knew wasn’t an angry man. He was nice and funny and he loved to play games. Most of the time, he wasn’t even a bad sport if he lost.
Plus, we were on a road trip, a grand adventure, a quest! Who got mad when they’re adventuring?
Grandpa did.
I had never seen his temper before the road trip, and I wasn’t prepared when it got even worse. He lowered his voice, speaking each word as if it were his last.
‘Shut. The. Hell. Up!’
He banged his fist against the dashboard, making all of us jump. That’s what really got me. The fist. None of us wanted that flying in our direction. Grandpa sounded like something right out of the TV, almost like Mom when she got mad, except Grandpa was a lot bigger.
Even Eddie looked scared, and that didn’t happen often. Somehow Portia managed to keep her mouth shut for a while. Not easy for a six-year-old. Not easy for any of us.
When Grandpa spoke again, his voice was normal.
‘You guys must be getting hungry. Who wants McDonald’s?’
We were. We did. And when we were alone, we vowed not to pester him like that again.
That’s always the way, isn’t it? The threat of physical violence eclipses everything. As a child, you know it, and as a woman, it’s always in the back of your mind. The slam of a fist can change everything.
It even changed me. I didn’t know it then, when I was twelve. Later, as I started dating in high school and having relationships in college, it became clear. Men who raised their voices, who showed any kind of violence, repulsed me. I wanted the quiet guy in the corner, the one on his laptop or reading a book, or just standing around being awkward.
Felix is like that. Doesn’t scream, doesn’t yell. He either walks out or goes for a drive and he’s never slammed his fist into anything. That’s part of why I married him. I’m never afraid when I’m with Felix.
And he’s so easy to manipulate. He still doesn’t know the real reason we moved from Miami to Central Florida.
Arkansas
State Motto: The people rule
We arrive after dark. Small town, quiet streets, and one very special monument. The Henry Humphrey memorial stands in front of the Alma, Arkansas, police department.
‘This is it,’ Eddie says. He takes out his cell phone and turns on the flashlight. The rest of us do the same, lighting up the etched memorial on the lawn.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Felix says. ‘More Bonnie and Clyde?’
True. Henry Humphrey was an unfortunate victim of the gang. They forced him into the local bank and stole the safe. Henry was left alive, which seems like a lucky thing, but it turned out he wasn’t lucky at all. The next day, he got into a shootout with the gang and lost.
I still remember standing here with Grandpa, listening to him tell the story of yet another Bonnie and Clyde victim.
‘Don’t be so quick to think something’s good,’ he said.
‘Because you might get shot the next day?’ I said.
Grandpa smiled. ‘Hopefully it won’t be that dramatic.’
‘You’re so stupid,’ Eddie whispered in my ear.
When Krista hears the story of Henry Humphrey, she covers her face with both hands. Her voice is muffled when she speaks. ‘Please tell me this whole trip isn’t about Bonnie and Clyde.’
‘I thought you said they were romantic,’ Eddie says.
‘Only in the movie.’
Felix nudges my arm. In the dark, his pale eyes stand out like headlights. ‘It’s not, right? This isn’t a Bonnie and Clyde road trip?’
Eddie faces us, holding up both arms. ‘Relax. This is the last Bonnie and Clyde stop on the road trip. I promise. Cross my cold black heart and hope to die.’
Krista smacks him on the arm. This marks the end of our visit to Henry Humphrey’s memorial.
Less than twenty minutes later, we’re settling into our crappy motel for the night. The Red Barn Inn is neither a barn, nor is it red, but there is a picture of one on the sign. The rooms are the same as the previous nights, right down to the scratchy towels. Tomorrow we’ll need to pick up more insta-dry disinfectant.
Felix is in the shower when I get a text from Eddie.
Meet me outside in five?
I answer:
Vending machines.
Not for the first time, I imagine how different the first trip would’ve been if we had cell phones.
I yell to Felix that I need to get some snacks, then slip out the door with cash in my pocket. The machines are at the end of the motel, past all fifteen or so rooms. A quiet walk, just like the other night, and if someone is watching I can’t see them.
The only one I see is Eddie, he’s pacing and staring at his phone. The glow from the screen lights up his face.
He looks up as I approach and says ‘Hey’ in a low voice.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Are you whispering?’
‘Almost.’
‘Why?’
He opens his mouth and shuts it. The vending machines are on the left, one for drinks and another for snacks. I walk over and try to decide between Doritos and Ho Hos. Both, it has to be both.
‘So what’s up?’ I say, dropping coins in the machine. The plinking sound is hollow, like they’re the only coins inside.
‘How are you doing?’ he says.
I shrug. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Krista doesn’t know any details. Nothing important, at least.’
‘So I gathered.’ The Ho Hos hit the bin, followed by the Doritos. I move on to the soda machine. ‘Neither does Felix.’
‘At all?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
‘Maybe that’s better,’ he says. ‘It’s weird enough as it is.’
I turn to face him. ‘You’re the one who insisted we bring them.’
‘I know. Not my best decision.’
It’s been forever since I’ve spent this much time with Eddie, but I can still read him. He doesn’t want to admit how bothered he is by the road trip. Neither do I.
‘Why do you think Grandpa wanted us to do this again?’ I say.
‘He was a
n old man. This is one last sick game,’ he says. ‘He probably wants us to be paranoid. To think there’s more to it.’ He pauses. ‘Portia thinks there is.’
‘She does?’ I answer too quick, unable to hide my shock.
He sighs and leans against a wooden post. ‘She was just too young. She hated the first trip.’
More than anyone else, she did. At six, she didn’t understand half of what we saw or what happened, and she never understood why Grandpa would get so upset. Most of the time she thought it was something she did.
‘I talked to the lawyer about getting out of this,’ Eddie says.
I did, too. ‘And?’
‘And he said this is the only way. It’s in the will.’
Same answer I got. ‘Felix and I could really use that money.’
‘So could we. Over a million each is a lot.’
It is. I already spoke to an accountant and figured out exactly how much we’d get. The answer: Quite a bit. Yes, we’d have to pay income taxes on it, but federal inheritance taxes don’t kick in unless it’s over $5 million. We could pay off our house, keep the rest for retirement. Maybe take a real vacation. Or create a college fund for our future child. If we have one.
Those were my first thoughts. The next ones were not quite as practical. That kind of money meant I could look for a new job, maybe take a new career path – one that doesn’t put me in the same office building as my husband. It would mean a pay cut. Worth it.
My last idea was the least practical. The inheritance would give me more than enough money to divorce Felix and get settled somewhere else. By then everything will be different anyway. The road trip will be over and everything will be back the way it should be. The way it always should’ve been.
Sometimes it feels terrible to think about life without Felix. It’s wrong, and I know that.
It also felt wrong to cheat on him.
Even worse, I knew it would and did it anyway.
But that’s the thing about being handed a small fortune: You start to rethink everything. Money gives you options, and the more options you have, the freer you feel.
‘We have to keep going,’ I say to Eddie. ‘We don’t have a choice.’
He nods and starts to walk away, but I have one more question. ‘Did you tell Krista about our parents?’
‘I told her they’re both dead,’ he says.
Good. I told Felix the same thing.
AUGUST 14, 1999
What’s your ideal day?
No school, that’s the first thing. The second would be a text or even a call from Cooper, but that may be asking too much. Depends on his mood, because he can be a real asshole. That’s why we aren’t together right now.
I’d spend the day out of the house, away from my family. I’d rather be with my best friends, Meghan and Sara, maybe out at Crater Lake, as long as it’s not too humid and the mosquitos aren’t out yet, because who wants those ugly bites all over their legs? Not me.
We’d spend the day swimming and gossiping and then go back to Meghan’s, because she’s rich and her house is so big her parents barely know when I’m over there. We’d do our makeup and then go down to the mall and buy some new clothes. Well, Meghan would buy hers because she can. I’d steal mine because I can.
I wouldn’t go home until dinner. That’s when I’d find out Cooper did call because he realized – finally – that we’re obviously meant to be together forever. But I wouldn’t call him back right away. I’d make him wait.
Dinner would be my favorite, chicken parmesan, and I wouldn’t even scrape the cheese off the top. I’d eat it all, plus dessert, even if it meant not eating for a week.
Mom and Dad wouldn’t fight at all. They wouldn’t even give each other dirty looks. We’d all have a great time and after dinner we’d play Risk. Of course I’d win, because this is MY ideal day and not someone else’s.
Oh, and Grandma would be there. I miss her so much. Maybe I’d even let her win Risk.
12 Days Left
If you’ve ever been on a long road trip, you know how it goes. On the first day, everyone is excited to get going, happy about leaving their everyday life behind. Everyone is nice to one another, even family members. That excitement flows into the second day. Not as intense, but still there.
The third day, fatigue sets in. There’s a happiness hangover from the first day, plus the realization that you’re stuck with these people for a while. You’re too tired to pretend anymore, so you become who you really are because you can only hide it for so long.
Even Krista.
You know her. She’s the one who’s happy to organize the office Christmas party, the one who circulates the get-well cards for signatures, and when homemade goodies show up in the break room, you know she brought them because she does it once a week.
In Arkansas, we meet the other Krista. The one who is late to breakfast and looks like she’s only slept for an hour. No makeup, under-eye circles darker than her eyebrows, and her sleek hair now looks dull, like she used a dry shampoo.
She plops down next to Eddie, who has already ordered the Southern special and is piling butter on top of his grits. Krista snarls at his food. Literally. Snarls. ‘I guess you don’t plan on living long enough to see your kids graduate from high school,’ she says.
I freeze. My fork hangs in midair, and Portia’s stops cutting the crust off her bread. Not sure what to think about the bomb Krista just threw on the table. Eddie doesn’t have kids. He’s smart enough to not point that out.
‘I don’t think a few weeks of bad food will kill me,’ Eddie says.
‘Maybe tonight we can eat at a healthier place,’ Felix says.
‘I’m in,’ Portia says. ‘Thank God.’
Krista lifts her hands, waving at the waitress until the woman comes over. She’s in her forties and has the varicose veins of someone who has worked on her feet for a while.
‘Fruit,’ Krista says. ‘Whatever you have that looks good, I don’t care what kind. One slice of wheat toast, no butter.’
The woman nods. Waits. ‘Anything else?’
Krista glances at our coffee cups. Plain coffee, nothing fancy at this place. ‘Coffee. I guess.’
‘Thank you,’ Eddie says to the waitress. He adds a wink.
The waitress smiles at him as she walks away. Krista goes back to her snarling.
I try to remember what we were talking about before Krista walked in. Something about where we’re headed next.
‘So,’ I say. ‘Oklahoma.’
Eddie nods and starts to speak. Krista doesn’t let him. ‘We’re not going to see another Bonnie and Clyde thing, right?’
‘I told you we weren’t,’ Eddie says.
‘But sometimes you lie.’
Boom.
Bomb number two releases a lot more information, and it tells me Krista is not just tired from a lack of sleep and bad food. Eddie has been an asshole again.
‘The first stop is actually the Three Corners, so we’re sort of going into Missouri first,’ I say.
‘The Three Corners,’ Krista says.
‘It’s where Kansas, Missouri, and Oklahoma meet. You can stand in three states at one time.’
Krista looks like she wants to say something about that, but the waitress appears and saves all of us.
The fruit is melon and pineapple, the toast is plain, and it all looks edible enough. Even the coffee is hot enough for me to see the steam. Still, Krista turns up her nose as soon as the waitress turns her back. She spears a piece of fruit with a fork with a bit too much force.
‘Anyone see the game last night?’ Eddie said, nudging Felix’s elbow. ‘The Cowboys aren’t half bad this year.’
Krista stabs another piece of fruit.
Portia, never one for unsaid bullshit, rolls her eyes so hard I can almost hear them rotate in their sockets. ‘I’m done. I’m going to go outside and get some air.’
She gets up and walks out, not mentioning the fact that this is her turn to pay. No
one else mentions it, either. I nudge Felix, who I know is keeping track of these things, and he barely nods.
‘So what’s after the corners thing?’ Krista says. ‘The Oklahoma bombing site?’
‘No,’ Eddie says.
I’m done eating and get up to use the restroom. I stay long enough to check Instagram and see what he’s up to, but he hasn’t posted yet today. Still too early for anything interesting to happen, I suppose.
When I return to the table, everyone has cleared out and the table is empty. Felix waves to me from the cash register.
‘We have a flat,’ he says.
A flat tire doesn’t describe the whole situation. What we have is a flat new tire, the one we just bought yesterday. Several thoughts run through my mind, none of them good.
‘Defective,’ Eddie says. ‘Must’ve been defective.’
Felix nods.
Krista sulks.
Portia stares at her phone. ‘There’s a place two miles down,’ she says. ‘Says they’re open.’
Two miles. We’ll have to change the tire again to drive it. Or Felix will have to, since he’s the fastest. He knows this, is proud of it, and goes to the back of the car to dig out the spare again.
‘Hey.’
Portia. She’s next to me, walking, leading me back toward the diner and away from everyone else.
‘Let’s see if they have coffee to go,’ she says.
‘Sure.’
The cashier helps us this time. He’s an older man who is wearing a button-up shirt and khakis instead of a uniform. His name tag says ‘Manager’ and nothing else. We get coffee for everyone, even Krista. Today, we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t with her.
As soon as we’re alone, Portia says, ‘I saw that truck. The black one.’
The third bomb this morning.
‘Where?’ I say. ‘Here? This morning?’
‘No, on the road. Not all the time, just on and off.’
‘You’re sure it was the same one? There’s a lot of pickups around here.’
‘I’m sure,’ she says. ‘I saw the driver.’
‘So you think they’re following us to slash our tire every day or so? Why would anyone do that?’
He Started It Page 4
