Perfect Escape (23 page)

I knew that it wouldn’t last—that they’d go their way and we’d go ours. And I wondered if we would even care when it happened. I wondered if I’d forever be worried that she’d never figure out what was wrong with her baby. I wondered if Grayson would care. If he’d be counting for Bo forever, too, instead of just our family.

My shivering died down a little as I sat in the sun, squeezing water out of my hair and thinking how I would
never forget this day—the day when I forgot about my problems for a few seconds while swimming in the Green River, which I’d never even heard of before I stepped into it.

I grabbed my jeans and headed to the other side of Hunka, where I peeled off my shirt and underwear and snuggled into my hoodie and jeans. I felt so much better already. I opened the trunk and laid my wet clothes, which were already beginning to stink like moldy river, flat inside it to dry as much as they could while we were driving. I left the trunk open so Grayson could do the same, but by the time I came back around the car, they were both dressed, Rena wringing out her wet underwear by the riverbank, Grayson bare-chested and holding a dripping shirt in a wad in his left hand.

“I told you it’d be fun,” Rena called up to me.

I sat by the tree and stepped back into my shoes, making a face at the rocks and grit that stayed stuck to my feet inside them. Yuck. “I told you it’d be freezing,” I called back. Bo stirred at the sound of my voice, so I moved toward them.

Grayson was putting on his shoes, looking out over the river. He almost looked as if even he couldn’t believe he had done it. “I wish…” he said, but he didn’t continue. I waited for him to finish the sentence, but I knew Grayson. He’d never finish it. He’d be too afraid to express a wish out loud. He’d have to count to, like, a billion to keep the wish from being “jinxed.” We used to wish on stars together with Zoe. Somehow Zoe must have made it feel safe for him to
do that. But this was the first time I’d heard him wish since she left.

“How’s Bo?” Rena said, climbing up toward the tree.

“Sleeping. We should go while he’s asleep.”

She nodded, bending over him and peering into his face, then picked up her shoes and his carrier. “Probably should. Little man won’t sleep forever.”

We all got settled and back on the highway, none of us saying a word, half for fear that we’d wake up Bo, and half for the endorphins that flooded our bodies. I felt cozy and compact, like my hoodie was a cocoon.

“Where to next?” Rena asked sleepily from the backseat.

Grayson opened the atlas and studied it. “Utah,” he said. “I guess Utah.”

“Utah,” she repeated softly. She shifted so her back was against the door and her legs were resting across the seat. “Never been. We are definitely away from home now, little Bo-bo,” she said.

Grayson ate a granola bar, and Rena passed around the leftover bottles of chocolate milk, which were getting warm, even in their cooler. I ate a few pieces of cheese and watched the road. It changed, but not really. Mostly the highway was just the highway, no matter where in the world you were. A grungy gas station here, a rest stop there. Maybe a restaurant every now and then, and sometimes even a whole city, like the one we’d just come out of. Could be anywhere. I guess that’s because nobody makes the highway a home.
There’s no room for personality on the highway. Everyone is either coming back from somewhere away or going away from somewhere that once was home. Nobody is “here.” Everyone is on the way “there.”

And where were we on the way to, really? To Zoe? To Grayson’s getting better?

That’s what I’d been telling myself.

My plan with Grayson seemed to be working. But something about the way he still made that sound in his throat and rubbed the rocks with his thumbs made it feel so tentative.

And besides, even if Grayson did get better, that did nothing to help me. And—I had to face it—I wasn’t really running twenty-six hours away from home because of Grayson’s problems. I was running away from mine.

I had lots of excuses for why I did the things I did. I was always the ignored sibling. I had to be perfect if I wanted any attention. I never meant for the situation to get so out of hand. I never meant for anyone else to get hurt. I never forced anyone into anything, so it wasn’t really my fault what happened to Chub and Bryn and the others. Blah, blah, blah. All cop-outs, every single one of them.

Why couldn’t I just relinquish control and admit that, yes, sometimes Kendra the Perfect does screw up?

Why couldn’t I let go?

In the small amount of time I’d known Rena, I’d already done things I never thought I would do. Picked up a
hitchhiker. Climbed a jackalope. Skinny-dipped in a river I’d never even heard of before. And it all felt so good. I felt so free.

But the freer I felt, the more tied up I realized I’d been for so long. And the thought had begun to creep into my brain in the rattly silence of Hunka that maybe Grayson wasn’t the only one who needed fixing. Maybe he wasn’t even the one who needed fixing the most.

Bo woke up with another ear-piercing shriek when I stopped for gas. Both Grayson and Rena jerked awake, looking disoriented, their river-wet hair dried in odd angles away from their heads. I stood in the open driver’s door, peering over the seat at Bo.

“Sorry,” I said to Rena. “I didn’t mean to.”

“What time is it?” she asked, rubbing her eye with one hand and pulling Bo out of his carrier with the other. He kicked and arched backward angrily.

“I don’t know. About three-thirty, I guess.”

She sat up straight, like someone had poked her with a pin. “God, he hasn’t eaten in a long time.” She fought with his buckles.

“Where are we?” Grayson asked, opening his door and stretching out of the car.

“Salt Lake City. I was gonna go farther, but my butt was getting numb. I need a drink.”

The wind ruffled his hair as he turned to face the highway, both of his hands pressed against his lower back. “Good thing you stopped. I think it’s not much more than desert past here for a while.”

The thought startled me. Had I not stopped, would we have run out of gas in the desert, like in the movies? Would we have wandered around out there until we all baked to death in the desert sun, our throats caked with sand?

What does it matter?
I told myself.
You’re sounding like Grayson now, what-iffing and catastrophizing. You stopped. That’s all that matters.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” I said, walking over the pump island. “You coming?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ll hold it.”

“I don’t know when I’m stopping again. Desert, remember?”

“I don’t have to go. I’ll wait.”

“I’m sure the restroom is plenty clean, Grayson.”

“I said no, okay? Let it go.”

I held up my palms, innocently. “Okay. Whatever. But when you’re peeing on the side of the highway and a cobra bites your ankle off, don’t come running to me.”

He shook his head as if he felt sorry for me. “A, cobras are not indigenous to this area. You’re probably thinking of a rattlesnake.”

“Thank you, Genius Boy, for that little factoid.”

“B, it’s not possible for a snake to bite a human’s ankle off. And, C, if my ankle had been bitten off, how would I run anywhere?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Captain Literal, permission to go ashore now?”

“Granted.”

I turned and walked to the restroom, a smile on my face despite my frustration.

While I was inside, I picked up a few more supplies, including a few petrified-bread sandwiches, since it looked like we’d be in the car for dinner.

I noticed, with a little jolt of panic, that the money wad in my pocket was getting significantly smaller. A lot more singles and a lot fewer twenties. If we were going to make it to California, we were going to have to be very careful. I didn’t even want to think about how we’d get back home. Maybe the cashier’s refusing Mom’s credit card at that diner in Kansas had been a fluke and I could try using it again. I’d think about that later.

Back on the road, Grayson opened the sandwiches and passed them around.

“Did Bo eat?” I asked, taking a bite of mine, even though I wasn’t really hungry yet.

“Not much,” Rena answered. “But at least he’s not screaming anymore.” She stroked the top of his head, a concerned crease in her forehead, leaving the uneaten sandwich on the seat next to her.

“Maybe he should see a doctor.”

She seemed to consider this. But instead of agreeing, she turned to him and started singing, her voice velvety and low. We drove in silence until she was finished.

“What was that?” I asked. “Pretty.”

“Something my grandma used to sing to us when we were little,” she answered. “Church song.” When she lifted her eyes to meet mine in the rearview mirror, I noticed tears, tiny and shimmery, clinging to her eyelashes.

“Hey,” I said, forgetting about the rearview mirror and looking back over my shoulder at her. “He’s fine, I’m sure,” I said. “He’s just been through a lot of commotion, like you said.”

She nodded, curving one finger over her top lip and turning her head toward the window. “I just don’t want to screw him up the way my family screwed me up.” There seemed to be nothing to say to this, and we all fell into an uncomfortable silence.

I put my hand over Grayson’s hands, which were still working the wet wipe, and shook my head.
Not now
, I mouthed. And, to my surprise, he stopped. I made a mental note that sometimes just telling him to stop actually worked. Maybe I should try doing it more often. The sun was setting by the time we reached the desert. Rena’s sniffles had stopped miles ago, and she’d sung a few more songs to Bo, then leaned her cheek against the window forlornly.

The desert was like nothing I’d ever seen before. White sand stretching for miles, with little plateaus dotting the distance. It felt like desolation. It felt harsh. Out here, what
really mattered? OCD? Cheating? Money? Scholarships? No. None of it.

“I guess I’ve watched too much TV,” I said, taking a sip of my water.

Grayson, who had finally finished his sandwich, looked up from the atlas he was studying.

“I always picture beige sand dunes and camels when I think of deserts,” I continued. “This is white and flat. Not a camel to be found.”

Grayson was hunched back over the atlas again. “You’re thinking of the Sahara. This is Great Salt Lake,” he mumbled, tracing a finger over a highway line.

“Duh,” I responded. “I’m just saying. I wasn’t, like, expecting to find King Tut out here or anything. I guess I was expecting more… brown.”

“It’s salt deposits. It’s really a big dried-up lake we’re driving through right now. You sure it wasn’t geography you were flunking?”

He grinned. I narrowed my eyes at him but couldn’t help grinning a little, too.

I gazed out the windshield, straining to see as far as I could see, trying to picture what it must have looked like back when this was a huge lake. Or, for that matter, back when dinosaurs drank at that lake’s edge. Sometimes it seems too surreal that that life really existed. Sometimes I wondered if a future being would find my life surreal, too.

Hell, right now I found my life a little on the surreal side.

“What do you think is out there?” I asked.

“The military,” Grayson answered. “And maybe a cobra or two.”

We both snickered. I glanced in the rearview, but Rena had resumed staring out to the horizon, saying nothing.

Grayson went back to studying the atlas, mumbling, “It’s only about fifty miles across this thing.”

Good
, I thought, and went back to daydreaming. Something about the desert made me feel unbearably far away from home. I wanted out.

The most notable thing about Nevada was that we were starting to see green again. And we were out of granola bars, which, we decided, was okay because we were all sick of granola bars.

And Bo woke up and screamed. A lot.

Rena did everything she could for him. She tried feeding him, but he turned away from her, arching his back and screaming so loud and long you could see his heartbeat in the soft spot on the top of his head.

At a rest stop she paced with him, bouncing him on her shoulder. She rocked him briskly back and forth, taking his breath away, but as soon as he got it back, the screams resumed louder and longer.

She even gave him to Grayson, who walked the entire perimeter of a rest area in small, steady steps, chanting numbers in Bo’s tiny ear the whole way. Rena sat on
Hunka’s bumper and cried, pressing a balled-up piece of toilet paper to her nose.

I sat next to her and rubbed her back. “I’m sure he’s just fussy,” I tried, but I didn’t sound convincing, even to my own ears.

“What do you know?” Rena snapped. “You’re not a mother. This is just a road trip to you. You said it yourself.”

I felt my face flush, unsure what to say. Had she seriously not heard me telling her for miles that I thought the kid was sick? “You’re right,” I finally said, my voice clipped. “I’m not a mother.” Neither was she much of one, in my opinion, but I didn’t say that aloud. “But you’re wrong about this just being a road trip to me.” I didn’t go on. I didn’t need to justify myself to a stranger.

Grayson had paused, out across the lawn, and lifted his foot backward to look at the bottom of his shoe, then resumed his pace, Bo’s squeals echoing all the way across the parking lot to where we were.

“I miss my mom,” Rena said suddenly, turning her puffy red eyes to me. “As stupid as it sounds, I miss her.” She snorted sardonically, then pushed herself up onto Hunka’s hood and curved her bare feet around the bumper, her leg brushing up against Jack’s antlers. “She’d know what to do.”

I bit my lip, unsure what to say. It was hard to stay mad at her when she was crying like that. Plus, as much as it felt as if I knew Rena after the past couple days, there was no denying that I really didn’t know her whole story. I didn’t
know why she really ran away from home. I didn’t know how mad her mom was when she left. I didn’t know why she was driving halfway across the country with two total strangers.