Actually, by my calculations I was more like twenty-five hundred miles away, but I just smiled and shrugged and let it slide.
“I said, is it really worth it? Driving all the way across the country to get it? I mean, how bad can you want it?”
My mouth went dry. My breath stopped in my lungs. I saw Rodeo glance away from the road to look at me.
“Want what?” I croaked. All I could picture was that memory box buried under those trees. All I could think to answer was, “Yes! Yes, it’s worth it. I want it so bad, it hurts.”
Lester wrinkled his forehead at me.
“The sandwich,” he said. “That’s why you’re on this trip, right? For some magical pork chop sandwich?”
I blinked. Forced my mouth into a smile. Lester and Rodeo’d been talking about my fictitious Dead Dream. That’s all. I tried to slow down my racing heart.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’m still tired, I guess.” I noticed Rodeo giving me another curious look. “But, yeah. It’s totally worth it. The pork chop sandwich, I mean. It’s amazing.”
“Must be,” Lester said, clicking his tongue and shaking his head.
“Oh, they’re solid grub,” Rodeo jumped in. “All loaded with pickles and onions and mustard. Side of fries. That’s good eating.”
“I could go for that,” Lester said. “I’m starving.”
Rodeo shot him a thoughtful look.
“Yeah? It is about breakfast time.” Rodeo eyeballed me. “We’re crossing a river a few miles ahead, little bird. What do you think—Dine ’n’ Dip?”
I was stuck. I most definitely did not want to pull over to swim or eat or anything else. I wanted to get as far as we could as fast as we could, and we’d only been driving about an hour and needed to make up some lost time. But I couldn’t think of any excuse not to stop. I was always down for a Dine ’n’ Dip. Rodeo’d be suspicious for sure if I passed it up now.
“You betcha,” I said, and flashed him a double thumbs-up to hide any frustrated hesitation that might’ve snuck into my voice.
“All righty.” Rodeo grinned and held up his palm and I slapped it in a high five. “Alert the troops, monkey pie.”
I crossed the aisle to stand on the seat by the door. There was an old brass bell, a little bigger than a soup can, bolted to the ceiling. Rodeo had picked it up at a secondhand store a couple years back. It was pretty tarnished and dented-up, but it did the job when an announcement needed to be made or a hippie woken up. We called it the Holy Hell Bell on account of if you really put your arm into it, that old bell made a holy hell of a racket.
I grabbed the bell’s knocker and whipped it back and forth, making an almighty clanging. Lester laughed out loud, and back on the couch I saw Salvador jump up like a snake had crawled up his pant leg. Ivan, sunning himself in the tomatoes, just put back his ears and glared at me.
“Grab your suits, folks!” I hollered over the din. “Five minutes ’til a Dine ’n’ Dip!”
* * *
The river wasn’t much—I coulda thrown a rock right across it, if it was the right rock—but it was shaded by trees and cool enough without being cold and there were grassy spots on the bank to sit and eat at, so all in all it was a perfect river for a Dine ’n’ Dip.
Lester, Ms. Vega, and Rodeo took a seat in the shade and started in on the sandwiches we’d made from grub from our cooler. Salvador and me headed straight for the water. I’d changed into my swimming suit and he was wearing an old pair of cut-off jean shorts and we were both ready to cool off in that water.
The river was cool and coffee-with-plenty-of-milk-colored and the bottom of it squished up between my bare toes. Salvador and me stood by ourselves, hip-deep in the muddy water.
I don’t know if Salvador was peeing or not, but I know I was. Some folks probably say they never pee in the water when they’re swimming on a summer day, but some folks are definitely liars. I’m sorry, but if you’re already standing in a river and you’re getting out to go pee, you’re doing it wrong.
And for the record, I’m pretty sure Salvador was peeing. He was awful quiet and looked a little preoccupied for those first twenty seconds or so. I was upstream, so I didn’t care either way.
For a while we did that hug-yourself-and-breathe-through-clenched-teeth thing you do when you’re getting used to the water, even though it wasn’t all that cold. We grinned at each other, shivering. And then, at some point, we both got awkward.
I mean, I was wearing just my swimsuit, which was a two-piece. And he was standing there with no shirt on. I don’t care who you are, it changes the tone of a conversation if you can see each other’s belly button.
“So,” Salvador said, and I did some sort of weird laugh and said, “Yeah,” and that’s about as far as we got for a bit.
But me? I don’t do awkward. Life’s too short.
“Race you to the other side,” I said, looking at the far shore.
Salvador looked doubtfully at the water in front of us.
“I don’t know if I wanna go under,” he said. “It doesn’t look, like, super clean.”
“Chicken,” I said.
“I’m not a chicken.”
“Well, either you’re afraid of the water or you’re afraid of losing. Either way…”
Salvador scowled.
“Ready,” I said, and he looked at me and shook his head.
“Set.”
“No,” he said, all stubborn, but I saw him moving his feet and readying his body.
“Go!” I shouted as I dove, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him wait only, like, half a second before diving in beside me.
Salvador was a little older than me. He was taller, with longer arms, and yeah, sure—even I’d have to admit that he maybe had stronger muscles than me.
I ain’t saying that as an excuse. I’m saying it as a brag. ’Cause I beat that boy to the other side of the river by so much that my hair was practically dry by the time he came thrashing up to me.
I was sitting there in the shallows, smiling and breathing easy.
Salvador splashed up beside me and flipped over on his back, gasping up at the sun.
“You,” he said between breaths, “are really fast.”
“Yeah.” I grinned. “Being a strong swimmer is something Rodeo’s always been big on. We even stayed in a town for four weeks once so I could take advanced lessons.”
“Cheater. You didn’t warn me you were so fast.”
“You didn’t tell me you were so slow,” I said, and Salvador fake-scowled and splashed me and I splashed him back and we both snorted and then closed our eyes and looked up at the sun to dry our faces. There were clouds rolling in, dark ones, but the day was still mostly hot and the sun still mostly bright. The awkwardness was gone, just like I’d planned. Putting a boy in his place is a great way to take the tension out of a situation.
Across the way, Lester, Ms. Vega, and Rodeo were chatting, chewing on their breakfast.
“So,” Salvador said, “why you guys heading north?”
“I already told you. For that pork chop sandwich in Montana.”
Salvador sniffed.
“Uh-huh. Right. Now, what’s the real reason you’re heading north?”
I eyed Salvador for a second. He looked back at me, waiting. He was a little too smart for my own good.
“Getting something,” I said vaguely. I don’t know why I wasn’t eager to talk about the memory box with Salvador. Maybe I was just kinda digging our summer swimming hole vibe and didn’t wanna get all heavy by bringing my stuff into it. Salvador wasn’t letting go that easy, though.
“What kind of something?”
I blew out a breath, fluttering my lips.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“What?” Salvador’s face flushed deep red in, like, a second. He was a much faster blusher than swimmer.
“Geez. I mean, I’ll tell you where we’re going if you tell me why your mom and aunt lost their jobs.”
Salvador’s face closed up hard and lost its blush.
“That’s personal.”
“Likewise.”
Salvador narrowed his eyes at me and I narrowed mine right back.
“Fine,” he said.
“You go first.”
Salvador rolled his eyes but said, “My mom didn’t lose her job. We left for … other reasons.” He was looking away from me, his body tight and tense.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “Like…?”
Salvador blinked. A lot. And fast. When he turned to me, he turned so fast I almost flinched, and his eyes were red and watery.
“I’m only telling you this because I was a jerk last night,” he said, and I kinda nodded, and then he looked away from me and said, “We left because of my dad.”
That’s all he said. Just said it and left it sitting there. But I didn’t jump in with a question or nothing, ’cause I could tell he wasn’t done talking. He just needed a sec. So I gave it to him.
“My dad’s a jerk,” he said finally. “He’s always been a jerk.” He shook his head. “Well, I mean, not always. Like, sometimes he’s cool. Fun and funny and stuff. But he’s got this temper. And when he’s mean, he’s mean. And when he’s mad, he’s mad. And when he’s mad, sometimes he…” Salvador trailed off, his voice kinda low and broken. I kinda thought I knew where he was going and my eyes were stinging already. Then, Salvador finished the sentence. “Sometimes he … hits.”
I swallowed. Blinked a couple times.
“He hits you?”
Salvador, still looking away, shrugged. “Mostly my mom.”
That “mostly.” Boy. That word just hung there. Now I knew why Salvador stopped using his dad’s last name.
Up in the riverside trees behind us, a bird chirped out some sort of cheerful song that just didn’t fit the moment. Salvador scooped a rock up off the muddy bottom and chucked it out into the river.
“My aunt’s been trying to get Mom to leave him forever. ’Cause of all that stuff. And we tried, a couple times. But it’s hard. ’Cause he’s, like, so sorry after. Or acts like he is. Until the next time.” He dug up another rock, sent it skipping across the surface. “But … I don’t know. Maybe we just finally realized that there’ll always be a next time. So we left. And here we are.”
We sat in silence for a second, the muddy water flowing around and between us.
“I’m sorry he hit you,” I said.
“I don’t care about him hitting me,” Salvador snapped, his eyes flashing back to me, full of fire. “I mean, whatever. I care about him hitting her. I hate that he did that. I hate that I couldn’t stop him. I hate that I couldn’t take care of her.”
“It’s not your fault, Salvador. It isn’t your job to take care of her.”
He gave me a funny look, then snorted.
“Yeah. You’re one to talk.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
He looked away from me, out across the water to where our separate parents sat, eating in the shade.
“I think it is our job to take care of each other,” he said. Then he shrugged. “I mean, we’re all we’ve got.”
That Salvador. He’s a smart one, maybe.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. Sitting there in the water. Scowling and squinting, looking all tough. And also kinda looking not hardly tough at all. Looking kinda small and scared and sad. Come on, Coyote—like I didn’t know you could be scared and sad and tough all at the same time, like I didn’t know you could be a million different things all at the same time.
There’s so much sadness in the world. Really, there is.
I pushed up off the bottom so the water floated me down an inch until I bumped into Salvador’s shoulder. He looked at me, looking at him. He shook his head.
“No. Nope. Don’t do that.”
“What?” I said.
“Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?”
“Nah. I see it. You got that … that … sympathy look on. I know that look. I hate that look. We’re not pitiful. We’re strong.”
I swallowed and wiped the look off my face, even though I didn’t know I’d been making it ’til he told me. ’Cause I knew that look, too. And I hated it, too.
“Okay,” I said. “Yeah. I get that look all the time. Everywhere we go. And I’m with you. It’s the worst.”
Salvador nodded and scratched at his cheek and looked out across the water.
“Let’s make a deal, Salvador. Right here. I promise to never feel sorry for you, if you promise to never feel sorry for me.” I held my dripping hand out to him.
His eyebrows flicked up and a little smile tickled the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pushed my hand closer to him. “No sympathy.”
He looked at my hand for a second, then reached out and took it. His hand was as wet as mine but warm, and he squeezed softly.
“No sympathy,” he echoed.
We held each other’s hand for a minute, until I think we both kinda realized that we were holding each other’s hand and then we dropped them and looked off in different directions.
“You worry about him coming after you? Your dad, I mean?” I asked.
“Nah. I don’t think he was ever all that excited about being a husband. Or a dad. He knew we were leaving, didn’t even try to stop us. I think he’s glad we left.” Salvador’s voice got awful tight there at the end and he looked away and cleared his throat, and I didn’t say nothing, just let him have that moment.
“Okay,” he said after a few seconds. “Your turn to tell. What are you really going to Montana for?”
Now, I’m not sure how much of my whole deal I’d been planning on sharing with Salvador. But I sure as heck knew that after all the hard truth he’d passed my way, Salvador deserved the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
I took a big ol’ here-I-go breath and then dove in.
“Well, we ain’t really going to Montana,” I began, and then I laid it all out. I told Salvador all about the park and the memory box and the call from my grandma and he listened close and quiet, nodding and squinching up his eyebrows. He was a good listener, that Salvador. Some folks listen without really listening, but Salvador ain’t one of ’em. I kept it short, but everything I said he took in and put someplace inside himself. When I was done, he nodded slow to himself.
“Well. That’s … That’s, like, legit. I mean, it’s important. No joke. I hope you get there in time.”
“Me, too. And, remember: You can’t breathe a word of this around Rodeo. If he finds out where we’re really headed, he’ll turn that bus around faster than … well, I don’t know what. It’ll be fast, though.”
Salvador nodded seriously, then looked over at Rodeo.
“How long you gonna keep it a secret?”
I sighed. “As long as I can. Maybe a little longer, even.”
Across the way, the grown-ups were finishing up their eating and starting to stir around a bit.
“Probably better get back,” I said, and Salvador said, “Yeah, probably,” and we stood up and took a couple steps deeper toward the middle, but then Salvador stopped and faced me and looked me in the eye and said, “Hey,” and for one mortifying moment I thought he was gonna give me a hug or something, but then he just held his fist out and smiled a little and said, “You’re cool, Coyote,” and I bumped his fist and returned the smile and said, “You’re cool, too, Salvador Vega.”
I looked back at the river.
“Shoot,” I said.
“What?”
“I’m already breaking our deal.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, I do feel sorry for you.”
“What for?”
“For how bad I’m gonna beat you swimming back across this river,” I said, but I was already snickering before I finished the sentence and he shook his head and laughed and said, “Shut up, Coyote,” and splashed water at me a
nd that was that.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
So, here’s a memory. It’s one of those weird memories that feels magic and unreal, like a song you wake up singing. It feels sweet and gritty like brown sugar in my mind. Maybe because it starts with me sleeping. Or maybe because it really was magic. I don’t know. But here it is.
We were pulled over. Somewhere in Nevada, I think. Rodeo had driven the night before until the desert around us was silver with light from the full moon and the sky was crowded with stars. We were on a little two-lane highway, not a big ol’ interstate freeway. Rodeo had his window open, so cool desert air flowed all around us. The radio was off. When there were no cars coming the other way, which was most of the time, he turned off Yager’s headlights and we rolled through the night, nothing but moonlight showing the way.
That’s how I fell asleep: moonlight all around, the desert air playing with my hair, Rodeo humming quiet to himself.
It was cool.
But that ain’t the memory.
I woke up to Rodeo whispering my name, soft and excited. I’d fallen asleep up front, not back in my room, and I was curled up against the window. The bus was still, silent, and there was pinkish-yellow light seeping in through the windows.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, tried to figure out where the heck I was.
Rodeo was kneeling on the seat in front of me, his own face still puffy with sleep but his eyes bright and looking out the window.
“Coyote,” he whispered again, “look.”
I straightened up and looked out the window that had been my pillow.
We were pulled over on a dirt road. I guess Rodeo had parked there to sleep once his eyelids got too heavy to drive.
The desert was waking up around us, the sunrise just starting to warm up over a red-rock mesa in the distance.
At first I didn’t see her. My eyeballs were dry and crusty and she blended in so well. But then her big ears twitched, circling around after some sound, and there she was.
A coyote. Slender like a deer. Mottled brown and gray fur that looked coarse and soft at the same time, somehow. Long, skinny snout pointed our way. Eyes that were sharp, that were smart, that were wild, that were looking right at us. But not just at the bus … She was looking right in the window to where we were sitting, looking back.
The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise Page 11
