In Honor

by Jessi Kirby

  “I don’t know. Check my phone. I can’t reach my purse.” I motioned at it down by his feet, and he grabbed it, rummaging through roughly until he held my phone.

  “Almost six, and you got eight missed calls,” he said, dropping it back in. He looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Somewhere in New Mexico.” I grabbed the map from beneath the seat and did my best to ignore the guilt creeping over me about lying to Gina and not returning Lilah’s calls. “Here,” I said, shoving the map at him.

  He looked at it blankly. “That’s not gonna help us if you don’t know where we are.”

  “I know where we are.” I paused, looked around for some point of reference to avoid looking stupid. “We’re on Highway 40, headed west . . .” Lucky for me, the outline of a sign came into view, just up the road. “. . . coming into . . . Santa Rosa, the City of Natural Lakes. Eight miles. See? Look it up.” I pushed the map at him, but he didn’t open it.

  “So let’s stop in Santa Rosa. Bet they got a place to eat.”

  I didn’t want to stop now that he’d been the one to suggest it, but my stomach felt hollow, and stretching my legs outside the car would feel like heaven, so I put my foot down hard on the gas, and we covered the eight miles in less than five minutes. The Pala was practically older than me and Finn and Rusty combined, but it was fast. Finn had made sure of that.

  We pulled into the Comet II Drive-In, which looked like it had probably been around since the old Route 66 days. Though it was styled like an old-fashioned burger joint, it boasted “The Best Mexican Food in Town,” which was good enough for me. After I’d ordered half the menu, the girl at the pickup window seemed surprised to see only two of us in the car. I motioned at Rusty and fake whispered. “He’s hungover. Needs the grease.” She bent down so she could see in the car, and Rusty gave her a nod, sending a flush up her neck that bloomed in her cheeks.

  “Y’all have a good night. And good luck with that hangover.” She winked at Rusty, who smiled back, knowing exactly the effect he’d had on her. Gag. I pulled out of the drive-thru before he could say anything back, and plunged my hand into the grease-dotted bag of tortilla chips.

  He watched me, amused. “You never were one to eat ladylike.”

  I crunched a too-hot, perfectly salty chip in my mouth and glanced over. “I’ve been driving for half the day without anything to eat.” I swallowed and reached for my soda. “You were passed out, remember?” I took a long gulp before I said anything worse.

  Rusty reached in for a few chips. “Yeah, I know. I feel like crap.”

  I swallowed another mouthful of chips and looked around for a good spot. We were rolling slowly down the main street of the town, and I took in what I could in the dimming light. It was a modern little desert city with bits of fifties-era nostalgia all over the place. We passed the city hall, the Route 66 Auto Museum, and more than one Mexican cantina.

  Rusty motioned out the window with his head. “Sign says there’s a campground that way. We could pull into a spot to eat.”

  I made the turn, and we followed the carved wooden signs that eventually ended at an empty kiosk with sign-in instructions. Since we wouldn’t be staying the night, I didn’t bother with any of it, but I hoped there’d be an empty spot to rest in for a little while.

  Once I rounded the first turn, I realized we were gonna be lucky if we found one. The campground was full with the last of the summer’s campers spilling from one spot into the next. The unmistakable smell of campfire and barbecue drifted on the evening breeze, along with the sounds of laughter and kids running wild. I let the car coast down the camp road. Three boys, probably eight or so, zoomed by on their bikes, yelling after each other. Just before they ducked down a dirt path, one of them turned around and yelled, “Nice car!” I smiled. The whole place had that summer evening calm, the kind where no one’s worried about anything except enjoying it.

  Rusty pointed. “Looks empty over there.” I saw the spot he meant, and when I pulled up to it, he leaned out to check the wooden post. “Must be your lucky day.”

  “Yeah, right.” I pulled in and shut off the car, listening for a second to the bubbling of the radiator water mingle with the other sounds of the evening. Together, they gave off the feeling that everything was winding down for the night. I was, and I figured maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay after all. We could sleep in the Pala and leave first thing in the morning.

  Rusty was already out of the car stretching and, from the looks of it, feeling a little better. He grabbed our food and set it on the wooden picnic table, then sat next to it with his signature wide grin spread out across his face. “Sure as hell didn’t see myself ending up here today.”

  I pushed the door open with my shoulder and got out, arms and legs stretching almost like a reflex. “I didn’t see you ending up here either.” He nodded but didn’t say anything. I sat on the other side of the table and picked up a burrito. “You were kind of an ass earlier.”

  He put his elbows on his knees. “Yeah,” he said, nodding at the ground. “I was.”

  We were silent, which could have been awkward except that just at that moment, a guy in board shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops tromped through the shrubs separating our campsite from his. He walked to the back corner of our site, completely oblivious that we were sitting ten feet from him. He started to untie his shorts, and I wasn’t sure what he was doing until he turned his back to us, planted his feet apart, and started to pee. Rusty cleared his throat.

  The kid turned casually over his shoulder, midstream, and smiled apologetically. “Oh, dude, sorry, guys. Thought it was empty over here still.” He craned his neck a bit more, and his eyes caught mine. “Oh.” He smiled. “Hi there.”

  He turned back to the job at hand, and Rusty nudged me. “He’s hittin’ on you while he’s taking a piss.”

  Still relieving himself, the guy yelled over his shoulder. “I’m MULTITASKING!” He finished up, swayed a little, and tied his shorts before turning toward the bushes he’d come from.

  “Hey! We gotta find a new place to piss!”

  Muffled laughter drifted over. “Why? You flood it or somethin’? You’ve been pissin’ every five minutes since you opened your first beer!”

  He looked over at us. Grinned at me so big, his eyes closed. “Nah. There’s . . . a girl over here.” Rusty nudged me again, this time stifling a laugh.

  Another yell came from the other side. “Is she hot?”

  The kid put his hands to his mouth and yelled up to the sky. “Superhot!” Then he turned and gave me a whaddyagonna-do shrug. “It’s true. You are.” I felt my cheeks flush and sipped on my Coke. He was close to my age, maybe a little younger, and a little part of me liked that he was hitting on me in front of Rusty.

  He sauntered over to us and stuck out his hand, swaying a bit. “Name’s Wyatt.”

  Rusty just looked at him for a second before he spoke. “You were just pissing two seconds ago. I’m eating. I’m not gonna shake your hand.”

  Both were quiet a minute before I cracked up. I’d been thinking it but didn’t want to be rude. Rusty didn’t seem to mind about that, and judging by the smile of understanding that now crossed Wyatt’s face, he didn’t either.

  “Aw, geez. My bad. Sorry about pissin’ in your campsite.” His eyes flicked to me, and I thought I saw a hint of embarrassment. Which was cute. He was cute, in a funny, earnest kind of way. “We got a lot of beers. Come have some. We’ll find a new campsite to piss in.”

  Before I could answer, Rusty cut in. “Yeah, sure. I could use a cold one, just as soon as we finish eatin’.”

  Wyatt smiled and put a heavy hand on Rusty’s shoulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Rusty nodded, mouth full of burrito. “Shoot.”

  Wyatt leaned in to him and pointed at me, like he was being secretive, then whispered loud enough for me to hear. “She’s, like, your sister or something, right?”

  Rusty took a drink from his soda and sm
iled. “Nope. Not my sister. Thanks for askin’, though.” I rolled my eyes. He was enjoying this.

  Wyatt’s shoulders slumped a bit, and I tried to hide my smile. “Just checkin’, bro.” He turned to go. “Well. You guys cruise on over when you’re done, anyway. We got beers. Lots of ’em.”

  “Will do.” Rusty patted him on the shoulder. “And hey. She’s not my girl either—just my friend’s little sister.”

  Wyatt’s smile returned, and he fixed his brown eyes on me. “In that case, what’s your name?” He smiled lazily, waiting for me to finish chewing, and I decided he was cute enough to humor him. I swallowed, then looked right at him. “Honor.”

  He rested against the picnic table next to me and made no effort to keep from leaning into me. “Honor . . .” He said it with great reverence, then pursed his lips together a second. I figured he was about to ask me where the name came from, or make a guess at it, because that’s what most people did when I first met them. Instead, he looked me over, beginning with my face, made it all the way down to my feet, and paused, almost imperceptibly, at my chest on his way back up to my eyes. And then he said, with complete seriousness, “I like your boots.”

  A mouthful of soda erupted from Rusty’s mouth. I looked at Wyatt, completely speechless, not knowing whether to laugh or slap him. It was a good line, especially because they did happen to be my favorite boots.

  Wyatt was unfazed when he pushed off the table and looked to Rusty. “Beer’s over there. Come when you’re done.” Then he pointed to me with a grin. “You too, boots.” With that he turned and did his swagger-stagger back to his pass-through. Just before he ducked through the bushes, he looked back at us and grinned another drunken grin. “Superhot.”

  Then he was gone.

  I looked over at Rusty, who had composed himself and was now wiping the soda off his jeans. After a second, we both burst out laughing. And we kept going, probably for longer than it warranted, but it felt good to laugh. It was the first time I really had in the two weeks since I’d heard about Finn. And it was the first point in the day that felt like, just maybe, life could find a new normal.

  After a minute I leaned back, elbows on the table, and looked up for the twinkle of the first star in the evening sky. When we were little, it was a ritual Finn and I did on the front porch. He’d make his wish silently, and I would too, but I never could keep a secret; and I’d tell him what I wished every time. He’d always tell me it wouldn’t come true if I told, but I didn’t believe him. I’d had plenty of them come true, from a new box of crayons showing up out of nowhere to a bag of candy left on my bed. It had been a while, though, and the only thing I’d wish for now was impossible. I found the first star in a patch of burnt-orange sky, above the crinkly purple mountains in the distance, and then I wished my brother back anyway.

  Rusty leaned back next to me and sighed. “I’m sorry, H, about earlier. I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. Finn probably would have wanted you along anyway. . . .” I let my words drift off. I didn’t want to talk about him right now, and I got the feeling Rusty didn’t either, so I sat up. “So. You think that guy was drunk?”

  “Hope so.” Rusty sat back up. “Good line about the boots, though. Too bad he has no idea how bad your feet stink under those things.”

  I smacked him on the thigh. “You really are an ass.” But it was true, and I had to laugh. “Just don’t tell him, or it’ll ruin my superhotness.”

  We finished up our fast-food Mexican feast, crumpled the greasy yellow papers, and stretched our legs again. By the time we headed to the trail between the campsites, the sky had deepened to indigo dotted with glittering stars. A thin layer of campfire smoke hung above us, creating just enough haze to soften the night sky, and I paused a moment to soak in the serenity of it all before I ducked my head through the bushes.

  Wyatt was the first one I saw standing beside the crackling campfire. His face lit up, and he stumbled a few steps toward me. “It’s my dream girl.” He offered his hand again, and this time I obliged with my own. He took it lightly and led me toward his friends, smiling back at me instead of looking where he was going. I opened my mouth to warn him about the rocks bordering the fire, but he tripped over them and pitched backward. I yanked hard on his hand, and at the last second he caught himself. Then he looked at me with another wry grin. “For you I would burn.”

  I couldn’t not laugh. Even if his lines were cheesy, his eyes were warm and sincere, and it was nice to be flirted with. As Rusty ducked through the bushes behind me, Wyatt raised an eyebrow at him. Then he turned to the guy and girl sitting in lawn chairs around the fire and said, “So you all know, she’s just his friend’s little sister.” He winked at me, then sat-fell back into his own chair by the fire and picked up a beer.

  The girl stood and came over to me, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about Wyatt. He’s kind of a lightweight. Two beers and he becomes the world’s biggest dumbass.” She stuck out her hand and I shook it. “I’m Corrie.” She gestured at the guy who was still sitting by the fire. “And that’s Sam, Wyatt’s older brother.”

  I nodded at them, well aware of the clench of my jaw at the word “brother.” Rusty stepped up next to me and shook Corrie’s hand, smiling his good ol’ boy smile. “Rusty. And this is Honor.” I watched her for the little flutter effect he had on most girls when he put in any effort. She wasn’t his usual type, but she was definitely good looking. Wavy brown hair, tan skin, and sleepy hazel eyes like you see on lingerie models. She smiled in a friendly way, but not overly so, and I guessed Sam was probably her boyfriend.

  As if on cue, Sam stood and smiled a more-sober version of Wyatt’s smile. “Nice to meet you guys.” He put a relaxed arm around Corrie’s shoulders and nodded at the cooler. “You want a beer?”

  Rusty didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Sam looked to me. I didn’t particularly like beer, but I learned in my brief high school party career that a girl who would drink a beer was a heck of a lot cooler than one who wouldn’t. “Sure.” I smiled. “Thanks.”

  While he went to get them, Corrie pulled two more lawn chairs out of the truck, and Rusty and I brought them over to the fire ring. Sam returned with an armful of dripping-cold beers, tossed one to Rusty, and handed Corrie and me each one but didn’t bother with Wyatt, who was leaning back in his chair, humming softly to himself. When I set my chair next to him, he winked at me. Corrie walked around behind him to her chair, ruffling his hair. “Keep tryin’, Don Juan.”

  She sat on the other side of me and twisted the cap off her beer. “Ignore him. He’s got a thing for girls in boots and dresses. Spent the entire trip trying to convince us to drive all the way down to Texas for that.” She nodded at my feet and smiled. “Those are cute, by the way. I like the red.”

  I took a drink and was surprised at how not-bad the beer tasted. The iciness of it was a good complement to the stillhot evening, and it put me a little more at ease. “Thanks.” I laughed a little. “Guess I fit the stereotype, then. That’s where we’re from.”

  “Hear that, Wyatt? Your dream girl’s from Texas.” She reached around and poked him.

  He sat forward in his chair and smiled, then leaned across me and wagged a finger at Corrie. “I told you they know how to dress there.” He turned to me, forearms resting on my legs, and I sat back slightly, all too conscious of our close proximity. Wyatt didn’t notice. He smiled so big, his eyes closed, then pushed himself back up and raised his beer. “So. To girls from Texas, who wear boots with dresses.” Nobody else heard the toast, but I clinked my bottle with his and took a sip, surprised at how good it felt to be just a girl in a dress, instead of one wrapped up tight in grief.

  6

  “So, what’re you guys doin’ over this way?”

  Sam had no way to know that when he turned to Rusty, his question snapped me out of my slight buzz and sent me into silent panic. It was a normal enough question.

  I watched Rusty. Please, d
on’t say it. Don’t tell him about Finn or Kyra Kelley or anything. He glanced at me and casually drank from his beer, allowing me to answer. I silently thanked him. You never knew what might come out of his mouth, but at least he realized the last thing I wanted was to explain what we were doing there.

  I kept it vague and casual. “Just a road trip.” When I said it, its unspoken meaning tugged at the edges of my composure. Really, it was hard to believe what I was doing—that the day after my brother’s funeral, I was on my way to California for a concert, sitting around a campfire drinking with strangers. And Rusty. From the moment I’d found out about Finn, nothing felt real. This didn’t either, which made me wonder if that’s how it would be from here on out—if I’d always feel so lost. But Finn’s letter had given me something to hold on to in the midst of it all, and I wasn’t about to let go now.

  Since Rusty had told Wyatt I was his friend’s little sister, the next logical question would be to ask where my brother was, so I steered us away from that one quick. “How ’bout y’all? What are you here for?” Nobody else seemed to notice the change in my tone of voice, but Rusty’s eyes flicked over to me, and I wondered what he thought of my not mentioning Finn. It felt wrong to me, but I didn’t want to hear it. Especially from him.

  Wyatt laughed like I’d said something funny, and Sam chuckled before he answered. “We’re here for the scuba diving, of course.”

  I didn’t know if he was kidding, and my expression must’ve said so, because Wyatt turned to me, once again mock serious. “You think he’s joking. He’s not. Corrie here dragged us all the way down here to scuba dive in the middle of the desert. We live in California, for cryin’ out loud. At the beach.”

  Corrie nodded like she’d been hearing it all the way from California, then smiled good naturedly. “Yes, but we don’t have a blue hole in California that you can see the stars from the bottom of, through eighty feet of water.” She shrugged. “Besides. It’s an adventure, and you guys are always talking about how you need to have more of those.” She turned to me. “I read about it in a magazine. It’s called a cenote, which is like an underground cave but filled with water. There’s a spring at the bottom of it that keeps it filled with the clearest water you’ve ever seen. And it’s warm all year round.”