“Then I can what? Take the rap for what you did? That is not going to happen.”
“No, you can go back to Saw Pole and explain that—-”
“Oh, yeah. They’re totally going to listen to me,” I said, my voice rising. The pounding in my head threatened to break it open, and I lost all control of myself, no longer caring if I hurt her feelings. “When Dooley and Randy stopped me on the road this afternoon, you know what they said? That you’re retarded. That’s right. That’s what they said. Or autistic, or something. And that you’re disturbed and deranged.”
She turned her face to me, her lips parted.
I was sorry I’d said that, even as pissed off at her as I was. I didn’t believe she was retarded—-not mentally, anyway.
She turned back to the window. “Just take me to a bus station.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? We can’t go to an exit point like that. They’ll be waiting for us.”
“But I have to get to . . .” She trailed off.
We drove in silence for a long while after that. There were few cars out on the two--lane. It was a moonless, dark night, with no sight beyond the headlights’ beams. I kept wondering why in the world Randy King and Keith Dooley were so hell--bent on finding Petty.
Finally, I couldn’t contain myself anymore.
“Petty?” I said. “What is going on? Why is all this shit happening? Will you please tell me?”
She stared out her window at the dark. “Yes. I’ll tell you.”
“THAT CAN'T BE legal,” Dekker said after I’d finished explaining about Dad’s will, Randy King, the trust, the photo of my mom.
“You’d think not,” I said. “But apparently if you put your money in a trust, you can attach any conditions to it you want. I have thirty days to marry him, but obviously he doesn’t want to wait. That million dollars is burning a hole in his pocket.”
“Creepy,” Dekker said, shuddering.
“Where are we going?”
“We can’t go back to Saw Pole.”
“I didn’t mean to get you in any trouble.”
“You did, Petty.”
“Nobody forced you to come back to the bus station,” I said. “You did that all on your own.”
“Because I’m a fucking idiot!” He smacked the steering wheel. “I should take you to the cops and go home, but—-”
“You forget I have a gun,” I said.
“What I was going to say,” he said, irritated, “is that I can’t do it because this deal with Randy King is sketchy as hell. He hit you, didn’t he?”
“And he pepper--sprayed my dogs,” I said. I didn’t mention how he’d grabbed my privates. It was too humiliating.
“I think we need to find you a real lawyer. The only thing to do is call my uncle in Wamego.”
“Is he a lawyer?”
Dekker snorted. “No,” he said. “He is definitely not a lawyer.”
“Then why—-”
“Let’s say he’s a guy who knows how to get out of trouble.”
“I’m not sure I’d like to get to know any more of your friends,” I said.
“He’s my uncle, and as an added bonus, he’s not a meth addict. But out of all the -people I’ve ever known, he is the most trustworthy. He’s my mom’s younger brother. Her favorite sibling. I was named for him.”
“You said his name was Curt,” I said.
“Right. Curt Dekker. Mom’s maiden name was Dekker. When she died—-”
“Your mom’s dead too?” I said, before I thought it through.
“When I was in junior high. Cancer.”
“Cancer?” I said. “Your mom died of cancer and you smoke?”
He stiffened. “It wasn’t lung cancer. It was pancreatic.”
“Still,” I said.
“Anyway,” Dekker said. “My dad left us when I was in grade school, and then when Mom died, Uncle Curt took me in. It was probably the best summer of my life. We hunted arrowheads on his land and went to Echo Cliffs and Science City—-he’s the one who got me interested in geology.”
“Geology?” I said.
“Yeah. That’s what I was going to college for, thanks to him. After that summer I went to live in town with my dad’s mom, my Oma, who you met at the dump, because I wanted to go to high school with my friends.”
A car accelerated around us.
He looked down at the dashboard. “Ah, shit,” he said. “I need gas.”
“We can’t stop,” I said, my uneasiness making me alert. “We’ll be recognized.”
“If we don’t, we’ll run out of gas.”
“Keep going,” I said. “Don’t you dare stop.”
His enraged face appeared demonic in the light from the dashboard. “What are you going to do? You going to shoot the truck if it doesn’t keep going?”
“Why would I—-”
“I was being sarcastic!” he yelled at the ceiling. “You are such a Neanderthal. Listen to me. Without gas, we will be stuck in the middle of Kansas. Do you understand?” He talked loud and slow, enunciating everything.
“Yes,” I said quietly, feeling stupid.
“We’re going to Council Grove. It’s a tiny town and nobody who’s out this late is going to recognize us. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, but I didn’t believe that.