I picked my way through the woods, shouting Mo’s name, then stopping to listen for him tearing through the undergrowth. I walked on and on until I was nearly lost and my voice was hoarse from shouting. Luckily, I found my way to the lakeshore and followed it back to the empty beach before I became one of those people you read about who live for months in the woods surviving on acorns and raw squirrel.
When I couldn’t shout anymore, I sat on the sand and began to cry. The rest of the world became so muffled that I didn’t hear the patter of feet. Then Mo started licking the tears off my face.
FROM THE RAINBOW Alliance Internet Lounge:
yinyang: Anyone else stuck here over spring break and want to hang out?
schmitty: Sorry, Rachel and I are going on a trip with the JCC.
rachel_greenbean: We leave tomorrow morning for DC. We’re going to the White House, the Holocaust Museum, and everything!
j0ck25: @yinyang, I’ll be around if you want to shoot some hoops or something.
stonebutterfly: I’m going to watch all 7 seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Y’all are welcome to join me.
kittykat96: I’m going shopping for a new bathing suit AND I’m going to get my hair cut AND I’m getting my first mani-pedi of the year!!! You could come too.
yinyang: Looks like I’ve got all kinds of options. :-)
z-dawg: Anyone know what’s up with C? She wasn’t at school all week and never answered my messages. Know anything, V?
van_the_man: That girl is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma covered in rusty barbed wire.
van_the_man: In other words, not really.
kittykat96: Maybe you should ask Amelia.
writergrrl: I’ve never seen Buffy. What time are you starting, Stone?
I woke the next morning to Mo jumping from bed to floor. Bacon. I smelled bacon frying. What day was it? Dad wasn’t due home until Tuesday night. Was it really Wednesday? Could two days have passed without my noticing?
Mo whined and pawed at my bedroom door. I groggily followed him into the living room. Dad glanced over from the stove, where, along with the bacon, he had slices of bread soaking in a pan of egg and milk. “Morning, Bee.” Mo sat beside him and began drooling.
“What day is it?” I croaked.
“Monday.”
“But you’re not supposed—”
“No. But that was before you went and skipped a whole week of school, and Van called me, all in a panic, saying you wouldn’t answer his calls or open the door for anything. He actually called SwifTrux to get my number, you know that? That boy’s been your best friend for years. I know you don’t like school too much, but you love him.”
My stomach turned, and it wasn’t just the smell of too much grease early in the morning. Of course Van had been worried. Of course he’d called Dad. I was an asshole.
“I called the dispatch,” Dad said. “Told them I had a family emergency. I had to drive bobtail all the way home from Atlanta, and believe me, Colby, that did not make me happy. So there better be a good explanation for this mess. What have you been doing all this time?”
“Nothing. Working. Taking care of Mo.”
“I meant what I said about Aunt Sue.”
“So did I. I won’t go, Dad.”
We stared at each other, arms folded across our chests, jaws set. Amelia said I was the spitting image of Mom, but she hadn’t seen Dad and me butt heads.
Dad turned back to the stove, flipping the bacon onto a plate. Mo stared, a mustache of drool dangling from his lips. “Go and get dressed,” Dad said. “We’ll continue this conversation over breakfast.”
I took Mo out for a couple of laps around Trail’s End. It was still early. The other trailers glowed dimly. Now that the days were longer than the nights again, I could see where we were going. I didn’t have to worry about stepping in someone else’s dog shit or tripping over a Big Wheel. We took our time, Mo lifting his nose to sniff the almost-warm currents of air.
What did Dad honestly think he could do to me?
As we plowed through our French toast, Dad started in. “A mental health day here and there is one thing, but you can’t take whole weeks off from school. The school doesn’t like it, and neither do I. You’re seventeen years old, plenty old enough to take responsibility—”
“Wait, Dad.” He did, fork poised above his plate. Syrup dripped in a thin line. “You’re always talking about what I need to do. What about what you need to do?”
He dropped the fork with a clatter. “What I need to do is be out there driving that truck, earning a living to keep a roof over your head and food on your plate.”
“Why do you bother? If I’m old enough to ‘take responsibility,’ why don’t you let me do that? If I starve, I starve.”
“Maybe I’m not the best father out there, but I’m not going to leave you to fend for yourself.”
I shoved my plate away and stood. Mo clambered to his feet. “Can’t you see?” I said. “You already have. I don’t care about insurance benefits or college funds. I’d rather have no father at all than a half-assed one like you.” I pulled Mo’s leash from the doorknob. “Come on, Mo.”
Dad was standing now. “Colby Alicia Bingham! Don’t you dare walk out on me.”
“Why not? You do it to me, every single week.” I pulled on my coat and grabbed my wallet and keys. “Mom asked me to help you out, but I can’t do it anymore. I’m sick of it.”
My hands shook as I turned the key in Scarlett’s ignition. We started driving. It didn’t matter where.
When we returned after a few hours of aimless wandering through the nature preserve, the old Chevy was nowhere in sight. Mo was so worn out, he flopped onto the couch and barely noticed when I ate a peanut butter sandwich three feet away.
I waited for Dad to walk in the door and pick up where we’d left off, but he hadn’t returned by the time I left for work. After my shift at Meijer, the car was still gone, although I couldn’t swear Dad hadn’t been home in between. I went to bed, saying good night to no one but Mo, just like usual.
It was still pitch-black when my bedroom door swung open. I sat up, heart pounding. Mo stumbled off the bed, shaking himself. There was a figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the living-room lights.
“Up,” Dad said. “Now.”
My eyes darted to the alarm clock. Four a.m. “What’s going on?”
“Get up and get dressed, or I’ll make you. And you won’t like it.”
I rolled out of bed and pulled on my clothes, my sleep-starved brain struggling to process what was going on. If Dad had been a different person, I might have thought he was hauling me out of bed to give me a beating. As it was, I was coming up empty. “What’s going on?” I repeated, staggering into the living room, rubbing my puffy eyes. “It’s spring break.”
“Not for you it isn’t. Go and wash up. Then pack a bag with some clothes, your personal things.”
“I’m not going to Aunt Sue’s!”
“Who said anything about Aunt Sue’s? Go pack your bag. You’ll want your pillow and quilt, too. Your butt had better be back in this room and ready to go in ten minutes.”
I splashed water on my raccoon eyes and dragged a brush through my hair. I stuffed my backpack with an extra pair of jeans, a bunch of underwear and socks and T-shirts, some sweatshirts, my toothbrush and shampoo, and my mp3 player.
I hoped Dad wasn’t sending me off to some kind of wilderness intervention camp.
“What about Mo?” I asked.
“He’s packed.” Dad nodded to a couple of Meijer bags by the door. Mo’s dishes and chew toys stuck out of the tops.
“What about breakfast?”
“We’ll deal with that later. I’ll take out your things; you take Mo to do his thing. Then we’re hitting the road.”
Hitting the road. So that was it. Dad wasn’t hauling me off to wilderness camp or a home for wayward girls. He was taking me with him in his ri
g. Once upon a time, the idea of riding side by side with Dad for a whole week, seeing the country, would have thrilled me. Now it sounded like a prison sentence. I wondered if it was too late to stay with Aunt Sue after all.
Mo made a production of sniffing the entire inside of Dad’s rig: the huge bucket seats, the dozens of buttons and dials and compartments, the litter bag hanging from the center console, the cave of a “bedroom” behind the seats where Dad spent most of his nights. I buckled myself in. Dad punched in his security code, turned the key, and the engine roared to life, a zillion times louder than Scarlett. We circled out of Trail’s End and onto Harrington Road, heading for the freeway.
Dad said, “SwifTrux has a load for me to take from the Irish to Gay Bay.”
“It’s early, Dad. Try that again in English?”
“Sorry, Bee. That’s South Bend to San Francisco.”
“But what about my work?”
“Give me your manager’s number. I’ll call and explain things.”
“I could lose my job over this.”
“I doubt it. But if you do—well, you’re young. You can find another.”
“Does SwifTrux know you’re doing this? Taking me with you?”
“Yep. I went to the local office yesterday and got written permission. Family emergency.”
“What about Mo?”
“Dogs are allowed anytime. I know a guy who’s got three.” Dad reached back to give Mo a scratch. “Before you got Mo, I always thought a dog was more hassle than it’s worth. But now that I know what a good pal he’s been to you, I’ve been thinking maybe when I buy that truck, I’ll buy myself a dog to go with it.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Get yourself another daughter, and you’ll have two complete sets—one at home, one for the road.”
“What was that?” Dad asked. The farther we drove, the more cheerful he sounded.
“Nothing.” I scowled into the darkness.
WE STOPPED AT Burger King, where we didn’t see Elvis but Dad bought us hash browns and French toast sticks. I crawled behind the seats and let Mo sit up front to take in the scenery, such as it was: bare orchards, barren fields, and withered vineyards in the early-morning light.
I slept most of the way to South Bend. After I woke I lay still, listening to the drone of the road beneath me, rocking with each curve and dip in the road. Had Dad told Aunt Sue his grand plan? What about Van? The roaming was sucking juice from my phone’s battery faster than you could say “Rescue me.” Seconds after I texted Van to assure him I wasn’t dead, the screen went gray.
The truth was, I was excited to go to San Francisco. My family had always done most of its traveling within a few hours’ drive: Chicago, Cedar Point, Mackinac Island. Twice we all flew down to Florida to visit Grammy and Pop-Pop; we went to the beach and to Disney World. But that had been years ago.
In South Bend we pulled off the freeway so Dad could pick up his load of pork rinds or tampons or whatever it was that Californians simply couldn’t do without. I took Mo for a pit stop as Dad fussed with hitching up the trailer to the tractor. The air smelled wet and rotten, and we quickly climbed back in.
When Dad rejoined us, he pulled a little notebook from the driver door’s storage compartment: his logbook, where he kept careful track of his mileage, hours, loads, and destinations. He jotted down the details and tucked the book away, then started up the engine once more. We pulled onto I-80, the long, white trailer extending behind us like a Lego block.
Dad talked with other drivers on his CB, usually boring stuff about traffic and state troopers, and I had a discussion with Mo about why he couldn’t sit in the front seat at the same time as me. Dad and I didn’t say much to each other.
Lots of drivers kept a TV in their “bedrooms.” Not Dad. He didn’t even have a laptop, even though almost every truck stop we passed advertised free Internet. Aside from his mattress, microwave, and mini-fridge, he just had a big stack of books back there. The battery in my mp3 player ran out way too soon, so I messed around with the FM. Every time I found a station that played decent music, we were out of range ten minutes later. It seemed like country was the only music that came in loud and clear, so I resigned myself to the twang.
When Dad had logged what felt like a hundred hours, he pulled into a motel just off the freeway in Middle-of-Nowhere, Iowa. “Don’t get used to this motel business,” he said. “It’s just because this is your first night, I want you to be comfortable.”
Ha. If Dad wanted me to be comfortable, he’d have left me at home.
We ordered a pizza and ate it sitting cross-legged on the bed, ESPN on the TV. After a while Dad stood up and took his toothbrush from his travel case. “I’d better hit the sack.”
“It’s eight o’clock,” I said.
“Yep, and we’ll be hitting the road again bright and early tomorrow. I’m setting the alarm for three thirty—okay?”
“What am I supposed to do now? I’m not even tired.”
Dad shrugged. “Watch TV. Walk Mo. Read the Bible. Just be ready to go at four.”
He stripped down to his T-shirt and shorts, pulled a sleep mask over his eyes, put in his ear plugs, and slid between the sheets. Soon he was snoring away. Mo climbed up on the bed beside him and joined in. Just great.
I perched on the corner of the bed and watched TV until my brain turned to pudding. I’d barely fallen asleep when Dad shook me and pulled me back out to the truck.
Later that morning Dad switched off the radio, silencing a mournful slide guitar and Toby Keith’s crooning. “I guess you and me’ve got some talking to do. I know it’s not something we’re good at, but it’s time we tried a little harder.”
I stared out the window. Nebraska along Route 80 looked a lot like Iowa, which looked a lot like Illinois, which looked a lot like Indiana. They were all even more boring than southwest Michigan, something I hadn’t thought possible. So much for seeing the country.
“I’m not saying we have to jump into anything heavy. We could start with the easy stuff, just catching up. I feel like we’ve been too busy fighting lately even to do that.”
Mo let out a groan from where he lay sacked out behind us as if to say I’m staying out of this one.
“Fine,” I said. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Well, forget school for now. How about your friends: Van, Rachel. You still hang out with her?”
I hadn’t realized Dad ever knew I had a friend named Rachel, much less remembered her name. I must have mentioned her ages ago. “Not really,” I muttered. “She has a boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Dad drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “That’s like a full-time job for some kids, isn’t it? What about you, Bee? You got a boyfriend?”
He was trying for casual, but it was utterly unconvincing. Obviously, he thought my meltdown was the result of some kind of boy trouble. I’d been dumped, or there was some boy I mooned over who wouldn’t look at me twice. Some everyday girly teen drama.
I could lie or change the subject, the way I always did. But maybe because I was stuck on an endless freeway in endless empty fields, I suddenly couldn’t stand to be trapped in another lie.
I sighed. “I’m gay.”
There was a long moment of quiet, interrupted only by the squawk of voices on the CB. Dad reached over and thumbed down the volume. I waited for him to say Not another word, Colby Alicia Bingham. What would your mother think if she were here?
It was so quiet, I heard Dad breathe in through his nose before saying “That’s all right, Bee. That’s just fine.” And he reached across the gap between us and gave my knee a little squeeze and a shake.
“Seriously?” I said. “You’re seriously okay with it?”
Dad ran his hand over his bald spot. “Well, I guess, if I’m being honest, it wouldn’t be my first choice for you. Life’s got complications enough without—without something like that.”
“It’s not like I can help it,�
� I said.
“I believe that, too. But even if you could help it”—he shot me a stern look—“it wouldn’t stop me from loving you. It wouldn’t change you being my daughter. You got that, Bee?”
I swallowed. “Got it.”
There was another long silence, and then Dad drummed his fingers again. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
So much for not getting into the heavy stuff. I fidgeted with the cuffs of my sleeves. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, if it’s not prying too much, I guess I’d like to know how it—how you—”
I wasn’t about to tell Dad about my Victoria’s Secret dream starring Ms. Whittier, my initiation by Liliana, my hopeless affair with Rachel, or my latest disaster with Amelia. “How’d you figure out you liked girls?” I countered.
He stared out into the vast, gray-blue sky, cocking his head like Mo. “I never thought about it,” he admitted. “Never had to. It just came naturally. Pretty girl smiled at me, I smiled back.”
“Well, it came naturally to me, too. Except it took a while to figure out what it meant.”
“But how do you know it’s not just—”
“A phase?” I nearly spat the words. “It’s not, Dad. Trust me. It’s permanent.”
“Don’t bite my head off, Bee. You’ve had however long to think about this, and I’ve had the last five minutes. Give me a break.”
“Sorry.”
Dad cleared his throat. “So. You got a girlfriend?”
“No. Not now.” Not ever.
He patted my knee again. “You’re young. In the meantime, I guess I don’t have to worry about you running around with boys, huh?”
“Not so much.”
“That’s a relief.” Dad hesitated. “Is Van—”
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s my ‘good buddy.’”
Dad smiled wryly. “Put my foot in my mouth with that one, huh? I guess in the back of my head I already knew. I never worried about you being alone with him. You two were always more like sister and brother than anything else.”
I waited for Dad to ask another question, but he didn’t. It was almost funny. Even when we were talking, we weren’t talking. Or was it that we’d already said everything that needed to be said? Except …
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