Hope and Undead Elvis (26 page)

Once again, she had to take to the road to allay her fears. Somewhere ahead of her lay Graceland, a place of safety and comfort. She rubbed her belly. Her baby felt the touch of her hand and kicked back at it. The motion made her smile. "Soon," she whispered.

Fidel turned to look back at her from where he was fogging up the passenger window's glass by breathing on it. He whined a little and Hope knew it was time to leave.

She put The Way into gear and inched out onto the snowy drive toward the highway. Nur had done a great job repairing the car and making it roadworthy, but it leaked outside air around the places where he'd had to hammer sheet metal straight. The heater blew hot, and after only a few minutes, Hope had to stop and shrug out of the heavy jacket. One blessing about her pregnancy was that she didn't often get cold the way she used to. The work of making a baby had her internal furnace burning overtime.

She reached the highway on-ramp after what felt like hours of crawling along the snowy road. She'd never driven in snow before, and her hands were cramping from being clenched around the steering wheel. What was it they'd taught in Driver's Ed all those years ago? She couldn't remember. That seemed like it had been someone else. Someone slender, who'd rather be cutting class to smoke behind the football bleachers.

She realized as she guided The Way down the ramp onto the highway that there wouldn't be any plowed roads. Snow blew across the highway. Hope was afraid that if it started to stick, she wouldn't be able to see the pavement anymore. The tire tracks from Nur's tow truck turned left, a path that invited Hope to follow it. That road would lead to warmer weather and, eventually, to the sea. Her friends would be there. Love, warmth, and companionship beckoned.

But instead, she turned right, towards the great unknown and, somewhere within it, Graceland.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Hope and the Blizzard

It took less than half an hour for Hope to decide that nobody should ever drive on snow and ice. The Way started to get squirrely whenever the speedometer would go above fifteen miles per hour, so she had given up on using the accelerator and just let the engine idle pull the car forward. She kept her foot off the brake pedal as well, for the few times she touched it, the car's rear end swung wide. Snow blew across the highway and at times covered the lanes enough that she had to guess where the road's edge was. Wind-driven ice crystals rattled against the driver's side door like shrapnel.

At least her feet were warm, for the heater worked like a charm. Fidel sat beside her on the seat, his back pressed against her side and fogging up the passenger window with his breath. She wished she dared to take her white-knuckled hands off the wheel long enough to scratch his ears. She wished she had a tape to play in the old car's radio, or that there was a station transmitting somewhere. She wished for anything to break up the monotony of the blizzard.

Since she had nothing else to keep herself from freaking out, she started to talk to Fidel. Hope said, "When I was growing up, we weren't ever allowed to have a dog, because my mom was allergic to them."

Fidel turned to look at her. She risked taking one hand off the wheel long enough to pat his head. He made a contented doggie groan and flopped down onto the seat, curling around himself.

The Way drifted to one side and hit a rumble strip, as yet unburied by the snow. Hope forced herself not to yank the wheel over but instead allowed the car to work its way back onto the pavement through gentle nudges.

"Every Christmas, me and my brother would put Dog on our wish lists, and at the beginning of every summer vacation, we'd ask too, but she never relented. I don't know why it was such a big deal to us. I mean, pets aren't just a hobby, they're a responsibility."

Fidel's stump waggled a little.

Hope said, "I guess my mom knew that, and figured we'd get bored with a dog and then she'd be stuck taking care of it when it would make her sneeze and get hives and stuff. But I don't think we would have, and you know why, Fidel?"

Fidel didn't answer, but that was okay with Hope. He was a good listener, and she needed that since Undead Elvis was gone. Thinking of him reminded her of his sunglasses, still perched on top of her head. She pulled them down over her eyes and discovered that despite the dimmer view, it was a little bit easier to see where she was going.

"I think that me and my brother, we still had a lot of feelings for our dad. A lot of love that we never got to spend upon him. I don't think that we have a limited supply of love, but maybe it gets doled out to people, and if that person is gone, we need to find someone or something else to use that love. Does that make sense?" She sighed. "We had love for our dad, but he wasn't around, so we could have given that love to a dog. It would have made for a very happy, well-loved dog, that's for sure."

Fidel yawned.

"Not boring you, am I? This is important stuff to me. Stuff I need to work through."

The wind picked up and for a moment, Hope couldn't see at all. She was afraid to stop, because what if she couldn't get going again? And she was afraid to continue, because what if she ran off the road?

She decided to continue on, because every mile she traveled on through the storm was one mile closer to Graceland. Her baby seemed to agree, for he was rocking in her belly. Maybe the story was as soothing to him as it was to Hope.

"By the time I was nine, I'd made friends with every dog on the block. I used to sneak a box of dog biscuits into my mom's grocery cart and then hide them when we were unloading the car. I'd carry the biscuits around and pretty soon all the local dogs knew me and wouldn't growl or bark. They'd lick me through the fence slats. Sometimes I'd even get to walk them for the neighbors. My mom hated it because I always came home covered in fur and it made her sneeze when she did laundry, but I didn't care."

Her baby stopped his rocking and Hope smiled. She was certain he'd gone to sleep. Next to her, Fidel appeared to have conked out as well. Hope sighed. It was better that neither one would hear the rest of the story.

"That summer, the man at the end of the block—I forget his name. John something. He went on vacation and asked me to look after his dog. Her name was Bonnie and she was a beautiful black lab. He said he'd pay me twenty dollars to check on her twice a day for a week, feed and water her, clean up after her, walk and play with her. I'd have done it for free. For the first four days we had a ball. I walked her for an hour at a time, and we played fetch and catch in the yard. Once I even fell asleep in the back yard with her head in my lap and my brother had to come get me."

Hope shivered, as if the storm outside had found its way into the car at last.

"Then, the fifth day, when I got to the house, the gate was open. Bonnie wasn't in the yard. I freaked out. I didn't know if I'd left the gate open or if someone else had or what. I ran all up and down the street, calling for her. My brother saw me crying and asked what was wrong. When I told him, he offered to help. We must have spent the whole day looking all over the neighborhood. I was hot, tired, sweaty, and hadn't had anything to eat or drink. We didn't find Bonnie and I was crushed. What was I going to tell John when he came home?"

A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away.

"We turned the corner onto our street at last and there was a truck in front of John's house and a man on the front porch, knocking. I thought maybe he'd found Bonnie and I ran to the house. ‘Do you live here?' he asked. ‘No,' I said. ‘I'm just taking care of the dog but she got out. Have you seen her? She's black and her name is Bonnie.'"

The road grew blurry and Hope brought The Way to a gentle stop. Her chest was hitching but she couldn't stop. She had to finish her tale.

"He got real sad then and said 'I'm sorry, but I hit your dog by accident. She ran out in the street and I couldn't stop in time.' He opened the tailgate and there she was, on a spread-out blanket. He'd covered up the worst of it but I could see where the tire had rolled right over her and burst her stomach open. Her eyes were shut and I could almost pretend she was sleeping, but I knew she wasn't. I cried and cried until I thought my heart would burst. The man had to leave, but he helped my brother wrap up Bonnie in the blanket and carry her into the back yard. I sat there and sobbed until John came back from his trip that afternoon."

Hope wiped her eyes.

"It was the first time anyone I was close to died. I still have dreams about her even now. She was a good, sweet dog. She was my friend, and I'd let her down. John wanted to give me the twenty dollars anyway but I wouldn't take it. He was sad about her too. He buried her in his garden and let me watch."

The wind started to pick up again and the wipers were spreading ice around the edges of the windshield. Hope knew it was time to go.

"Ever since that day, I never let myself get close to anyone. Everyone dies, Fidel. And if it was because of something you did, or didn't do, it's a million times worse. That day I learned that the only way to keep from hurting that much was to always keep everyone at arm's length. Never get close to anyone, and then it hurts less when they leave. Or die."

She sighed.

"I miss Elvis. I miss him so much, Fidel."

Fidel sat up in the seat, his ears quivering and sniffing the air. Then he barked and whined.

"What is it?"

He barked again, his stump waggling. He was looking through the side window at something. Hope leaned over as best she could despite her prodigious belly. Something dark flapped in the wind outside the car. It took her a minute to realize it was a billboard. It was the first remnant of the past she'd seen beside the road since leaving Nur's place.

Part of the billboard had torn away in the blizzard, but what remained brought an anticipatory shiver to her spine. It read
-ACELAND CASINO, -MILES AHEAD
. And beneath that was a picture of Elvis singing into a microphone. It wasn't her Elvis, the Undead one, but there was no mistaking the sideburns, sunglasses, and pouty lips. As she watched, the gale took the rest of the billboard, tearing it to shreds that flapped away like deformed birds. The steel and wooden framework that remained looked stark and scary against the blowing snow and gray skies.

"That's it, Fidel," said Hope. "That's where we're going. Are you hungry?"

Fidel barked. He knew that word.

"Okay, good old dog."

She dug a can of Dinty Moore beef stew out of the bag resting in the passenger footwell. It would be cold, but she didn't mind it so much since The Way's heater blew strong. She cranked it open with a can opener and set it up on the dash. The can of dog food was easier to open since it had a pop top. She pried it open and set it on the seat next to her. Fidel dove nose-first into it, working out the kibbles and gravy with his long tongue.

Hope ate at a slow, measured pace, taking her time to taste every mouthful. She'd spent enough time being hungry that she would never take food for granted again. The greasy meat and rich gravy reminded her of camping trips as a child.

"This journey has been one long camping trip," she said.

Fidel didn't answer; he was busy trying to get the last few chunks from his can.

Hope poured some water into an empty Cool Whip container and he slurped it down. Then he whined until she opened the door to let him out to pee. He hurried, and Hope couldn't blame him. When he came back into the car his fur was already matted by blowing snow and icicles dangled from his belly.

Hope sighed. The storm wasn't getting any better and she could barely see the road anymore. "I guess we better go."

She reached out to put The Way back into gear but stopped. Something out in the snow caught her eye. What was it she'd seen? She stared for a long time but it didn't repeat itself. Snow blew around the car.

Hope shook herself. She'd fallen asleep. Fidel was snoring on the seat beside her, his back pressed against her side. The sky had grown darker and the snowdrifts higher. The Way still idled and blew hot air. The extra fuel gauge Nur had bolted to the dash showed that the car's oversized fuel tank was still three-quarters full.

In the distance off to one side, she could see a glow on the horizon that was neither sun nor moon. It wasn't the flickering orange of fire, but a steady, inviting yellow glow that spoke of electricity, of Civilization.

"Graceland," whispered Hope. She must have seen the light earlier but not recognized it for what it was.

She put The Way into gear. It strained to move and for a terrifying moment, it didn't and Hope feared they were stuck. Then, with a cracking of ice buildup, the car wrenched itself free from where Hope stopped it and it crept forward.

She didn't dare put her foot on the gas pedal at all. Every time she tried, the back wheels would spin and the rear end would start to slide to one side or the other. She let the engine idle pull the car along. The slow pace was maddening with Graceland so close, but she couldn't see the road anymore, and had to drive more by feel than anything else. If one or the other of the front wheels started to dip, she corrected enough for the car to wend its way back to snow-covered pavement.

Then, out of the blowing snow, she spotted another billboard. This one was intact.
Graceland Casino, 1/4 Mile
. "Almost there," she said.