“Feeling that what?” Curt said.
I felt bashful because I’d only just met these -people, and here I was, babbling on about my innermost thoughts.
“This is definitely a tribe you can share weird feelings with,” Roxanne said. “Believe me. When I went off to college, I didn’t realize that -people don’t usually just say what they think, or share their dreams, or confess stuff to each other like we do.”
“Well,” I said, “I have this feeling my mom . . . might be alive. But I don’t have any evidence to back it up.”
Curt and Roxanne glanced at each other.
“So, either way, I want to know. I want to see if I have any extended family.” I said to Curt, “Could you drive me to a different bus station?”
“Since you two are considered armed and dangerous, all the bus stations and airports are going to be on the lookout for you.”
“Maybe we can stay at your place for a bit,” Dekker said.
“Nope,” Curt said. “The cops will be out to the house by tomorrow. They’ll go to your grandma’s in Saw Pole too. Petty, I’m going to let you borrow one of my cars to drive to Detroit while my buddy George works things out for you here.”
Why would this man do that? He’d only just met me. I didn’t say this. “But I can’t drive.”
“I didn’t mean just you,” Curt said. “Dekker’s going with you.”
Dekker stared at the back of his uncle’s head. “Yeah, no I’m not.”
I sucked in my breath. While I wasn’t sure I wanted Dekker to go with me, his vehement reaction surprised me.
“Yes, you are,” Curt said. “Like I said, the cops are going to be crawling all over our property, so you can’t stay with us, and where you gonna go? You need to get out of the state toot sweet until George gets things handled here.”
“Uncle Curt,” Dekker said, “I have a potentially life--changing opportunity coming up in eight days, and I—-”
“You’ll be back in plenty of time,” Curt said.
“What if I’m not? Like I said, this is potentially—-”
“It’s hard for me to imagine any way I’d let this girl go to Detroit by herself.”
“Yeah,” Roxanne said. “It’s a good thing Detroit isn’t, like, the most dangerous city in America, or anything.”
Dekker pointed his finger at Roxanne. “You shut up.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said, trying to defuse the situation.
“Trust me,” Dekker said. “She can.”
“Dekker,” Curt said.
“If you’re so worried about her,” Dekker said to Roxanne, “why don’t you go with her?”
Curt pulled the Jeep to the shoulder of the highway and stopped. He got out and stuck his head in the door. “Dekker, can I have a word with you out here?”
Dekker didn’t move.
“Get out of the Jeep,” Curt said with a sharp finger snap. “Now.”
Dekker groaned, pushed the driver’s seat forward and climbed out, closing the door behind him.
Since it was so late and we were on a two--lane highway, there was no traffic, and I was able to hear the sound of their voices, if not the words.
Roxanne climbed into the backseat next to me and strained to see out the windshield to where her cousin and dad stood. I was able to pick out Curt’s words “selfish” and “that poor girl” and “so help me.” The only thing I heard from Dekker was a whiny tone of voice, and I wondered if I’d be better off without him.
“Dekker can be such a d--bag,” Roxanne whispered. “But Dad is unbelievably persuasive.” She turned her head toward me. “Wow. You have the shiniest hair I’ve ever seen. What do you use?”
I leaned away from her. “What do you mean?”
“Shampoo? Conditioner? Other product?”
“Product?” I echoed stupidly. “Whatever’s on sale at the Saw Pole grocery store, I guess.”
“Whatever’s on sale,” she said in a whisper and kept right on looking at me. “Amazing. Plus you don’t have a zit or a bump or a freckle anywhere. It’s just so wrong.”
This made me happy, though I could not have said why.
“LET ME EXPLAIN,” I said in a lowered voice.
Self--pity hardened like cement in my arms and legs as I stood with Uncle Curt on the soft shoulder of the road. The stars were bright overhead out here in East Bumblefuck Nowhere.
I’d seen Uncle Curt mad maybe three times in my life, and because it was such a rare event, it was kind of terrifying. The old hippie stood with his arms crossed, his mouth in a rigid line. My sweat glands started up and I instantly felt clammy.
“I’m listening,” Curt said.
“I have the opportunity to get back in the band.”
Although pleased surprise showed on Uncle Curt’s face, I could see it wasn’t enough to win his approval.
“But it’s not just that. They’re—-we’re going to open for Autopsyturvy.”
My uncle remained silent.
“Autopsyturvy is a Kansas City band that just signed a major label—-”
“I know who they are.” He said nothing else.
“This could be the big break,” I said.