Salvador was just looking at me, all serious.
“It’s good,” I reassured him. “What happened, happened. There ain’t no need for us to dwell in all that sadness. So we don’t talk about it, or them, and then we don’t have to be sad, and then Rodeo can be okay. That’s my job. It’s good.”
There was quiet then. Between Salvador and the road and Ivan and the night and me.
Salvador broke the quiet, but he broke it gently, with a voice that was low, like a warm mug in cold hands.
“But why don’t you call him Dad, then?”
“It’s all part of that no-looking-back deal, you see. If I call him Dad, it just reminds him. Of them, I mean. My sisters. And he doesn’t like that. So, when we hit the road, we left all that ‘Dad’ stuff behind. Picked ourselves new names. He became Rodeo, I became Coyote. We did it all legal and everything. Changed our last name, too, to something that showed our new lives: Sunrise. A fresh start.”
“Wait. So your actual name is Coyote Sunrise?”
I grinned. “Yep.”
“And your dad’s name is Rodeo Sunrise?”
I pursed my lips and nodded.
“Huh,” Salvador said doubtfully, then shrugged. “Kinda fits, actually. But … how do you pay for stuff? I mean, if your dad’s not, like, working or whatever?”
“Money’s not a problem. There was a settlement. Because of the accident, I mean. We got money from the company whose truck … well, whose truck caused the accident.”
We sat in quiet for a while. A few minutes, even. And then Salvador broke the silence with another question.
“What were their names?”
“Whose?”
“Your sisters.”
I looked up at him, saw his waiting eyes. He had nice eyes, Salvador did. Quiet eyes. I know it’s weird to call eyes “quiet,” since I’ve never seen a loud eyeball, but it’s the truth. Salvador’s eyes were quiet, and something about that quietness kinda gave you the courage to talk to them.
I glanced toward the front, making sure Rodeo wasn’t listening. I had a feeling like when you’re holding something too hot in your hands and you gotta set it down. I leaned forward so my mouth was so close to Salvador’s ear that I could smell his deodorant. It had a kind of distracting pine-tree smell to it.
“Ava,” I whispered, “and Rose.”
The names were like candy in my mouth for just a second. Sure, it turned sour soon enough, but for a few breaths the sweetness made it hard for me to talk.
I leaned back into my own spot.
“Those are pretty names,” Salvador said, and I just nodded.
Then he asked, “What’s your real name? The one you had before?”
I opened my mouth, snapped it shut, then opened it again. Salvador just waited calmly, which was actually kinda infuriating.
I worked real hard to smile at him, and when I answered him my voice was as light as anything.
“None of your business,” I said.
He smiled back a little, smiled at how I’d used his own words against him, but it wasn’t much of a smile.
“Fair enough,” he said, and I gave him the same smile back. He shook his head. “Man. We’re a mess.”
“Who?” I asked.
“All of us,” he said with a little laugh. “Me and my mom are heading off to somewhere we don’t even know, for a job we aren’t even sure exists. And you and your dad are doing whatever this is, driving around and, like, pretending that—”
“We’re not pretending anything,” I cut in, my voice cold. “And we’re not a mess. We’re okay, Rodeo and me. Better than okay. Better than anybody. We’re solid, solid as the Rockies.”
Doubt was drawn all across Salvador’s face.
“Whatever. What do you call this?” He gestured around us at the bus.
“We call it … We call it … living. Freedom. We call it taking care of each other. And moving forward.” Salvador stared at me, his face still unconvinced, his eyes still maddeningly quiet.
“It works for us,” I said.
“Does it?” he asked. “I mean, maybe it works for him. But does it work for you … Coyote?”
He said my name the way people do when they curl their fingers in the air like sarcastic quotation marks. He said my name like it was a joke, like a punch line, like an elbow to the ribs.
My throat hurt. My stomach churned.
I am not a mess. I am not a joke. I am not fragile. I am not broken.
I stood up, bent down, and picked up Ivan, a limp body and a weak squeak his only protest at being disturbed mid-nap.
“I’m going to bed,” I said to anyone who happened to be listening, and I walked back with my cat and I pulled the curtain to my room closed behind me and I slept just fine, thank you.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Now, here’s the thing with grudges: I don’t have much experience with ’em, so I’m probably not all that good at holding them. But I do my best.
So when I got up the next morning and stumbled out through my bedroom curtain, I was all set for a day of spurning and ignoring stupid Salvador and his quiet eyes and his pine-tree armpits. I mean, I’m never that much of a morning person, but that particular A.M. I made double-sure I had that chip lodged firmly on my shoulder before I left my room.
Yager was lit up golden in the morning light and Lester was stretched out snoring on the couch. Rodeo’s feet were sticking out from under his blanket pile. I shook my head at their sleeping selves. What’s the point of having two drivers if they both go to sleep as soon as I nod off?
Salvador’s mom was sitting in the same seat she’d been in the night before, looking out the window. I didn’t see Salvador, but then I jumped a little when something stirred right next to me and I saw Salvador, lying propped up against the side of the bus and blinking at me sleepily, with Ivan curled up sound asleep on his lap.
Salvador, sleeping in my home, with my cat? Ivan, sleeping with stupid Salvador, instead of with me? They both had a lot of nerve.
“Good morning,” I said, and while those words are technically nice words I said them so cold you coulda stirred ’em into a glass of milk and made ice cream, but then Salvador answered in a husky whisper without a moment’s hesitation, looking all serious right up at me, “I’m sorry.”
Now, I’d never had someone answer a “good morning” with an “I’m sorry” before, and I’ll admit it threw me off. I was still a little dreamy-brained, and I thought maybe either he had heard me wrong or I had heard him wrong, so I said, “I said, ‘Good morning.’”
Salvador nodded.
“I heard you. I just wanted ‘I’m sorry’ to be the first words I said to you today.”
I blinked at him.
“I was, like, a jerk last night. I don’t know why I … do that sometimes. Trying to act tough or something, I don’t know, like I don’t care or whatever, but it’s not … I mean…” Salvador trailed off and scowled, then started over fresh, still whispering every word. “I know I made you mad and I know it was my fault and I haven’t been able to sleep. I didn’t wanna, like, disturb your privacy or whatever, so I been waiting out here for you to come out so I could tell you I was sorry.”
I took a breath, desperately trying to find that chip I’d put on my shoulder.
“Sure looks like you were able to sleep.”
“Well, maybe a little,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes.
“Why are you whispering?” I asked.
He pointed at my traitorous cat, passed out on his legs.
“Ivan’s sleeping,” he said in that annoying way he had of making it seem like the answer was obvious.
I supposed I could maybe forgive Salvador, seeing how contrite he was and how thoughtful he was being toward my one and only Ivan. I supposed my shoulder was pretty much chip-free about the time he whispered my cat’s name. But I also supposed he didn’t have to know that just yet. Nothing wrong with letting someone know that a little “I’m sorry” don’t
get them totally out of the woods that easy.
“I gotta pee,” I said, starting to walk past him with my chin held high.
“Wait,” Salvador hissed. “So, are we cool? Do you forgive me … Coyote?”
The way he included that “Coyote” there? That was smooth. He coulda just said, “Do you forgive me,” but he added that “Coyote” and he said it soft but he said it right. He didn’t say it like a punch line; he said it like it was a real name. Like it was a good name. And when he said it like that, he wasn’t just saying my name; he was saying with his eyes and his voice, “This is your name and this is how I should’ve said it and this is how I’ll always say it from now on.”
“Well,” I said to him, and I may even have let a little smile creep in. “Let’s just say I don’t not forgive you, Salvador Vega.”
And then I walked away and left him sitting there with my cat, because it was time to wake up Rodeo and get some more miles under our belts. Plus, I wasn’t joking, I really did have to seriously pee.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Sometimes, when you’re on the road for a long time, and the highway is humming along underneath you and the sun is shining sideways through the windows and the world is blurring by through the glass, something magical happens. No. “Magical” ain’t the right word. “Magical” feels glittery and fake and cute. This feeling, the one I’m talking about, is almost the opposite of that. It’s solid, and deep down, and a forever kind of smooth, like river rocks. This feeling I’m talking about is this: It’s a rising up, like you’re taking flight and leaving the road behind, like you’re in a moment that somehow lifts up free from the rest of your life. In that moment, wherever you just were and wherever you’re about to be don’t matter one little bit; just for a few breaths, you’re everywhere and nowhere, and you can feel your soul touching something big, some kind of truth that’s hidden most of the time. It’s like the first time you ride a bike: All at once, out of nowhere, the wobbling world settles down to a thrumming harmony, there’s a balance that goes down to your bones, a kind of balance you never knew was there until it came alive all around and inside you; the falling stops and the flying starts and everything just hums, everything just rings true. It’s like that, this feeling I’m talking about.
I know, I know—come on, Coyote. I sound like Rodeo. It doesn’t make any sense. Unless you’ve ever felt it, I mean. Because once you feel it, you know it ain’t any kind of nonsense at all.
Well, anyway. I had one of those moments the first morning that Salvador and his mom were with us.
It was like this:
It was that sleepy early-morning time and we were mostly feeling quiet. It was warm but not hot, and we had some windows cracked so there was a breeze flowing around us. Lester was up driving. Salvador and me were on opposite ends of the couch, me reading and him just looking out the window. Ms. Vega was sitting in the Throne across from us, and Rodeo was sitting on the floor, leaning back against his bed, plucking lazily at his guitar.
He wasn’t playing a song, really, just picking and strumming through some chords, but then a song started pushing through and he slid right into it and I knew which one it was. It was one of my favorites, and when Rodeo started murmuring the words, I couldn’t help myself and I started to sing along. We were both soft at first but then our voices found each other and we got louder, opening our throats a bit to let the song out. Rodeo’s eyes caught mine and we traded smiles as we sang. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Salvador and his mom looking at us and I could have been self-conscious, I guess, but heck, it was my living room even if it was moving at seventy miles an hour, so why shouldn’t I sing in it?
“When the light is on my side
Love reveals itself to me—
Then I can, yes, I can,
I can be set free.”
It’s sort of a slow song but one you really kind of have to shout, and as we headed into the next verse we did, tilting our heads back and hollering it out.
“Yeah, sing it!” Lester called back from the front. I smiled bigger and really started belting it out. I heard a rhythm sneaking in under our voices and realized that Ms. Vega was clapping along, not just on the beat like most folks do, but funkier … hitting offbeats, throwing in some accents and exclamations, adding a whole new flavor to the song. Rodeo cheered her and gave her a big smile and I saw that Salvador’s knee was bobbing along to the music, his chin rocking a bit.
I fished under the couch where we always kept one of our tambourines, just in case, and tossed it to him. He caught it but then froze and looked at me wide-eyed, all awkward all of a sudden.
“Play!” I encouraged him, then crowed out the end of the second verse:
“When you’re tired, and you’re torn,
Humankind seems filled with misery—
Then you can, yes, you can,
You can be set free.”
Salvador still wasn’t playing, and I laughed and shook my head at him. How the heck can you be shy about playing the tambourine? Lord, all you have to do is bang it on your knee.
Rodeo jumped into a clumsy guitar solo and Salvador said to me, “Who is this?” and I said, “This is us!” back to him, all smiles and grooving on that rising-up feeling and he said, “No, like, who sang this song?” and I answered him, “Langhorne Slim!” and he said, “Who?” and I said, “It don’t matter, it’s us singing it now, come on and play!” and I leaned over and slapped the tambourine he was still holding like it was a dang bomb and he swallowed but then he started playing, just hitting it against his leg on the beat, about as lazy as you can play a tambourine, but it was better than nothing and that happy jingle-jangle was just what the song needed and his mom started clapping louder and Rodeo and I launched into the final verse.
Ivan, no doubt roused from a nap by all our carrying on, came yawning out through my bedroom curtain and then stopped and took in the scene. He didn’t look all that impressed. He weaved his way through the concert, tail held tall and straight, and hopped up into my lap. He looked up at me, his eyes that crazy crystalline blue, and I scratched him just right behind his ears.
I love that Ivan had five laps to choose from, and he chose mine.
My heart was full right there. I sang that song with Rodeo right over the top of that clapping jingle-jangle rhythm and the world swirled around me and Lester was drumming on the steering wheel and keeping us flying through it and the one and only Ivan was warm on my lap and then it happened, that feeling, the lifting-up-from-the-world feeling. I was sitting in the middle of the music with all those singing souls and it felt like forever, it felt like always, it felt like a little piece of the biggest thing in the world. It felt like family. My whole heart was tingling.
And then, of course, the song ended. Come on, Coyote, of course it did. The clapping stopped. The tambourine disappeared. And I fell back to earth, back down into my bones, and I felt that it was only a cat on my lap, felt the empty space on the couch beside me, and maybe I don’t know why, but I felt something like tears sting their way into my eyes and I looked away from everyone else, looked off out into what was just kind of an empty highway world.
There’s so much sadness in the world.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
“Good lord, it is “hot,” Rodeo said, taking one hand off the steering wheel to wipe his forehead.
“It’s Georgia in August, man,” Lester said with a chuckle. “What did you expect?”
Rodeo wasn’t joking. It was hot, and having all the windows in the world down didn’t help that much. Salvador and his mom were still back half-sleeping on the couch, and Lester and me were sitting up front by Rodeo, squinting into the sunshine and sweating through our clothes.
“Yeah, brother, but it’s, like, melt-the-ChapStick-in-your-pocket hot, and it’s barely nine o’clock in the morning. That ain’t right.”
I laughed along with Lester, but I wasn’t really thinking about the heat or worrying about
ChapStick. I stared straight ahead and tuned out their conversation. My mind was all maps and miles and minutes. I’d done a little casual conversational digging, trying to see how much driving we’d done while I’d been sleeping the night before. It was tricky, getting info without Rodeo catching on that anything was up. But I knew that me getting to where I needed to be depended on Rodeo not knowing we were going there.
From what I could tell, once I’d gone to bed Rodeo had driven for a couple hours, and then Lester had done the same, and then he’d gotten too tired and pulled over and parked until the morning. They’d both taken their sweet time sleeping in, so by the time I’d gotten up around seven thirty, I figured we’d already been parked for a few hours. They’d gotten us out of Florida and into Georgia, though, so at least we were making progress. We were getting closer and closer to that memory box. I got tingly and all scratchy-throated just thinking about it.
“Coyote?”
Lester’s voice shook me out of my thoughts. I realized he was looking at me, waiting for me to answer a question. I’d been too lost in maps and memories to hear.
“Sorry, what?”
Lester laughed.
“Girl, you were a million miles away there.”
The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise Page 10
