by Gaby Triana
Where’s the highway patrol when you need them?
It doesn’t seem like he’s going to harass Lolita any further. The man starts his truck and pulls out of his space. Then he drives away slowly without his lights on, braking every few seconds.
“Leave. There you go.” I watch as he makes a left out of the parking lot and drives down the street, turning into a residential area. Please don’t come back. My legs feel like they’re going to buckle, but I can’t stay here. I have to keep walking. I dial 911 and have my thumb ready on CALL just in case I need it. Across the street, the houses sit dark. It’s late. I’ll head down the street, find a Circle K or something.
I don’t know what else to do. It’s almost midnight. It’s been a long day, and it’s not over yet. I’m drained. The urge to lie down in my own bed in my own house suddenly washes over me like a tsunami. I’m lost, so far from my life. I know my own stubbornness is what got me here, but right now, I just want to go back.
I think of Papi, probably staring into darkness, unable to sleep, wondering where I am. He must be feeling tortured. He didn’t want me to know about Seth, and now I do. He probably thinks I’m going to love him less. He probably thinks I won’t regard him as my dad anymore, but that’s impossible. If anything, I have two dads, just like one can have two aunts or two uncles, even though I’m sure he didn’t want that either. Exclusivity is a beautiful thing.
I sit against a locked-up beach rental hut and call Papi. He answers right away. “Are you okay?” he asks without even saying hello.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I’m not really, but help is on the way, and I don’t want to alarm him. I watch as a scruffy gray cat crosses the street and stops right in front of me. Its eyes flash at me then it scurries off. It takes a minute, but I realize the silence on the other line is my dad breaking down. “Papi?”
Sniffling noises. His voice is broken. “I’m here.”
“I just wanted to tell you…” I think about the real reason I called. I don’t know that I’ll ever find the right words, but I do my best. “That as much as I loved Seth, I love you more. You chose to love me even though I wasn’t yours, which I think is harder than having no choice but to love me. Does that make any sense?”
More sniffling, then he clears his throat. “Yeah.”
“You raised me, so…you’re my dad.”
“I get it. Thanks, linda.” I know he’s wiping his eyes with his arm. I saw him do it at the funeral. “Augh,” he says through a stuffy nose.
“I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“You’d better be home soon,” he grunts, and my heart soars.
Thirty
The lost drunk guy doesn’t return. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. What does make me feel a whole lot better is a sound I hear less than two hours later. I sit up from leaning against the beach rental hut and listen in the windy dead of night.
From behind the sound of the crashing waves comes the rumble of a car engine. It could be anyone driving down the beach, except it’s not. It’s a deep guttural sound I know all too well. A moment later, bright headlights round the corner, and the high beams flash. I stand and walk over to the road.
He’s here.
I wave my arms.
The ’68 black Ford Mustang stops where Lolita is parked. I run over to meet him. I want to jump and cry at the same time, but I just stop and watch as he gets out of the car. “What the hell happened to your hair?” Rock asks, staring at me.
I shrug.
“And where’s your helmet?” Rock looks around. When I shrug again, he shakes his head and shuts his door. Nothing like someone you love showing up at two in the morning to chastise you for being stupid.
Rock goes to his trunk and starts pulling out an assortment of things—synthetic Amsoil oil, a portable oil extractor vacuum chamber, spark plugs, and a dirty rag. “We should have fixed that leak a long time ago,” he mumbles, patiently kneeling by my bike. His arms strain and flex with each pump. Seeing him in his white tank and shorts, I feel guilty for getting him out of bed. Guilty, but glad. “Right now, I’m just gonna change your oil and get her good enough to drive home. Then we can fix the problem when we get back.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’m sorry for making you drive all the way here.”
He lets out a gushy breath, his cheeks inflating on both sides of his mouth. “You still don’t get what I’d do for you.”
Pump, pump, pump.
“I have a vague idea.”
He glances up, and though he’s not exactly smiling, he’s not entirely mad at me either. He inserts the vacuum tube into the oil tank and opens up the valve. In seconds, the vacuum begins sucking black sludge out of poor Lolita.
“I can’t believe I neglected her this long.” I lean on the Mustang and rub my eyes. This has been the weirdest night of my life.
Rock snorts, eyes me sideways. “Maybe you had to neglect her a bit to appreciate her.”
Yes, okay, I get it.
He stands and checks out his handiwork. In ten minutes, we’ll have a nice clean oil tank to replenish. If she still doesn’t start, then we’ll have to call a tow truck. Rock comes over to lean next to me on his car. He folds his arms, looking out at the beach. “The Russian dude dumped you, didn’t he?”
“He didn’t dump me,” I say, even though he did so dump me. “But let’s just say I should’ve seen it coming.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rock mutters.
I bump him with my hip. “Yes, I know, I know. No need to say anything.”
A minute goes by, and I think he’s going to ask more questions about Gordon, but instead he says, “You still think I’m a lecherous Neanderthal?”
I look down at my nails. They’re black and the tips are jagged. “Honestly? Sometimes.”
“That hurts, you know.”
“I know, Rock. But there’s a certain degree of truth to it, and it scares me.”
“Then I guess I’ll be taking off now.” He pretends like he’s leaving.
“No.” I pull his arm toward me, lean my head on it. “Don’t.” I pout like a baby. After all, I acted like one by not talking to him for almost a month. Even though he’s still a lecherous Neanderthal.
“Oh, no? And why not?”
If I say it, the floodgates will open. But I think it’s okay now. “Because I need you.” There, I said it.
“Oh, now you need me? But I’m a Neanderthal, and you need culture…arts…” He raises his other arm high in a grand sweeping gesture. “Academia!”
I punch his stomach. “Stop.”
His eyelids fall flat. “I thought I wasn’t your soul mate. I thought getting together would mean Armageddon for you.”
I mumble low into his shoulder. “I don’t know what to feel right now. But I do know that true love isn’t convenient.”
“Huh? I can’t hear you.”
“I said…true love isn’t convenient. It happens whether you want it to or not.” I stare up at his perfectly formed lips. From now on, I’ll try not to think about who else they have kissed. I’ll just be glad he wants to kiss me now and no one else.
“What changed, Chloé? I don’t want to be second in line just because it didn’t work out with that freaky dude.”
I ignore that last part. “You’re not second in line. But I was. To Gordon. And I never want to be someone’s side project.”
He twists my hair into a tight coil. “You don’t deserve that.”
“I want someone who would stop everything he’s doing to come and be with me,” I go on, very obviously describing someone we both know. “Someone who thinks the world of me the way I think the world of him. But I don’t want to lose him either.” I look at him, making sure he gets what I’m saying.
He lets go of my hair and stays quiet for a while. Unusual for Rock, but I like it. The wind has picked up in the last half hour, and the waves crash stronger now.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know what you’re thinking.” That I can’t ha
ve it both ways. That I have to take a risk, and if it works, it works. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I lean into him. His body accepts it. He’s not too mad at me.
“I missed you,” he whispers, putting his arms around me. “I’m sorry I was stupid.”
“I’m the one who was stupid this time.” Stupendicularly stupid. “You, you’re always stupid.”
I can feel him smiling even though my face is pressed against his neck. I pull back and look at him. “Promise me something.”
He holds his hands up. “Sorry, Chlo, I can’t not rag on the Russian dude.”
I grin. “No, not that. Something else. Please don’t move away or die anytime soon. I don’t think I can deal with more bad news.”
“Haven’t I always told you, you can’t kill a bad weed?”
My smile gives in to a quiet laugh. I feel happier and worse than I have in a long time.
“I’ll be around.” He takes my hand and puts it to his chest. His hand is wider than Gordon’s. I’ve held it before, but it’s been a while. My stomach jumps around nervously. I can’t believe I’m thinking of taking this risk with Rock.
All at once, I’m hit with exhaustion, overwhelmed by the day, feeling like I’ve been awake for an eternity, and I start losing the grip on my tears. They well up and spill over, as I think about Seth and about Papi and what he was feeling tonight when I called him. I probably love him more now than I ever did before. He took a risk. He was brave.
I can do the same.
“I need to know that you won’t want anyone else, Rock, that you won’t have eyes for anyone else. If you can promise me that, then I’m game.” I have to know I’m the end of the road. No more flavors of the week, no more Amber. If he can’t handle that, this is over before it even begins.
“Chloé…” He takes my hand, traces the outline of my fingers. “Did I ever tell you this? One time after I came home from playing at your house, my dad looked me right in the eye—I’ll never forget it—and told me that I was going to end up marrying you one day?”
“You never told me that.” I smile. “What did you say?”
He wraps his arms around me. “Ew,” he says softly by my ear. “I said, ‘Ew.’”
My sobs catch a burst of laughter, turning it into a hiccup. His laugh quietly vibrates against my body. With his arms wrapped around me, I feel safe, secure. He lifts my chin and kisses me, soft at first, but then hot, yet reassuring at the same time. I never should’ve thought of losing my stupid V-status with anyone but Rock.
After a minute, he pulls back to get a good look at me. “You know I don’t make promises. Except for you. You hear me?” His face is solid. No smiles. No laugh lines.
I nod, believing him but also knowing it’s not going to be easy. Rock is Rock, and people don’t change overnight. However, I know that he will try his hardest for me. I’m more sure about this than anything else right now.
“So now…” he says. “Tell me again why I’ve come to rescue your sorry ass all the way down here at the end of the freakin’ world?”
“I had to get away for a while.”
“And you couldn’t have gone to the dock, or to Ricardo’s?”
I shake my head against his chest. “No. This required a much longer ride. My mother just told me who my birth parents were.”
If my parents decided it was okay to put Loving Son and Father on Seth’s stone at the cemetery, then I guess it’s no longer a secret. I can’t believe I’m about to say this to another soul.
He waits, eyes expectant.
“It was Seth.”
I saw Rock’s face in the playground the day after his mother announced she was leaving to live with her boyfriend. I saw it when I told him that Seth had slipped into a coma. And I saw it when I told him that Seth’s body had finally given up. And nothing, repeat—nothing, has ever made his mouth drop right open like this.
“I freakin’ knew it!”
I give him the low-down on Seth, informing him there was no way he could have freakin’ known it. Then, we load up Lolita with some fresh motor oil, cross our fingers, and wait. Rock turns the key, presses the starter, and a few guttural explosions burst from the exhaust. He twists the accelerator to get her going. Vroom…vroom. Seth’s voice explodes in my head. Yeah, baby!
“You’re up and running.”
“Yes!” I hiss, hugging him so hard, it hurts my arms. “Rock, you don’t understand…I thought I was going to die out here.”
He reaches into his trunk and pulls out his big blue comforter. “But we’re not driving home now. We’re going to sleep. Come on.” He slams the trunk shut. Comforter under one arm, he grabs my hand with the other. We stop at Lolita’s side to cut her engine and take the key.
“I’m not sleeping on that thing. Who knows where it’s been?” Our feet hit the sand.
“It’s either this or the sand up your butt.”
“I’ll take the sand up my butt.”
He makes a scandalous face. We flip through the sand until we’re close to the water’s edge. Then we spread out the comforter. I’ve spent the night with Rock before, but always as friends—him in a sleeping bag in my room. Never like this, together under a starry sky. Things will be different from this point on. The light is so green now.
Epilogue
I pull on my shades, open the garage door, and let in the morning sunshine. Rock is there, asleep on my front porch swing. “Do you ever sleep at home?”
He opens one eye, then sits up straight. “Ready to get your butt whupped today?”
I fasten my helmet and ease Lolita outside. “Why are you answering my question with a question?”
“Does a girl on a bike stand a chance against this superior piece of machinery?”
“What’s wrong, scared to lose?”
He humphs quietly, opening his car door. “Let’s roll, then.”
I lead the way, Rock following me close behind. When the road opens to two lanes, he passes me and slides to the right, I pass him, then he passes me again. Our little ballet. But then I remember what day it is. I gesture for him to follow me down a different route from the one we usually take.
He turns up his palm outside his window, like, Where are we going?
I lead him past the Turnpike entrance, strawberry and onion fields blurring by. This won’t be easy, but I said goodbye to Seth and I said good-bye to Gordon, so I know I can do this. A mile later, I turn onto the Murphys’ street, gun it down the road, and thrill at the dip. Rock punches it right behind me, and we careen right into the property, kicking up a huge gravel dust cloud.
Take that, demolition people.
The trucks are already there, evil bulldozer poised and rumbling. The men are at their machines, annoyed at our entrance, sipping coffee, waiting for a signal. A few of them look at us curiously, but I just wave at them and ride around to the dock. What are they going to tell us? That we can’t watch? I have seniority here.
Rock follows suit and steps out of his car, his feet crunching over the gravel. I’ll miss that sound. “What are they going to build here?” He squints against the sun.
“Probably some ridiculously big house with no love in it.”
“Maybe it’ll be a perfectly modest house with a nice family in it.”
“Whatever,” I grunt.
“Maybe,” he says, sitting down and pulling me with him, “we’ll live in it one day.” The wooden planks are already warm this early in the day. It’s going to be a hot summer.
“Don’t even say that. It’ll never happen, and you’re making me sad.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him.
“They’re kicking me out of my place, Rock. No likey.”
“I know. But you’ll find a new place,” he says, just as a man in a hard hat gives the others a signal.
I bury my face in Rock’s neck and brace myself. I could never have done this by myself. Even with my constants around me—sun, moon, hundred billion stars in this galaxy alone�
��I need Rock in my universe.
He gives my cheek a few feathery kisses in an attempt to distract me. It’s okay, I tell myself. I’m ready to let go. Two seconds later, the evil bulldozer lunges into action, miserably rolls forward, and chomps right down into the Murphys’ living room.
Acknowledgments
With unwavering gratitude and love, I thank the following people for their support during this unpredictable ride—Noah and Murphy, for being good babies who let me write Riding the Universe in five-minute spurts during their first year; Michael, for the interest to always ask which scene I wrote that day; my stepdaughter, Devin, for her intelligent suggestions; my colleagues, Danielle Joseph, Adrienne Sylver, Linda Rodriguez Bernfeld, and Marjetta Geerling, for reading early drafts and providing excellent feedback; my amazing agent, Steven Chudney, for going along with my ideas and being the best agent ever—period; my editor, Sarah Sevier, for her incredible insight and patience; and finally my husband, Chris Nuñez, for coaxing Motor Girl out of me and onto the page, for believing in me always, and for telling me to write, baby, write, because that’s what writers do. I love you.
About the Author
Gaby Triana is the author of three other novels, THE TEMPTRESS FOUR, CUBANITA, and BACKSTAGE PASS. She lives in Miami, Florida, with her husband and their four children. You can visit her online at www.gabytriana.com.
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Credits
Jacket photograph © 2009 by Ali Smith
T-shirt art © 2009 by Darren Brass
Jacket design by Joel Tippie
Copyright
RIDING THE UNIVERSE. Copyright © 2009 by Gaby Triana. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
