I was paralyzed between my desire to have Dekker stay and my desire to please my father. I felt so raw after finding out that Michael Rhones had tried to kill me, I’d wanted to talk it through with Dekker while Mitch was asleep. Now I wouldn’t have a chance to do that, and it made me feel unsteady.
Dekker came back out of the guest room with his Walmart bag full of stuff. Since Mitch was standing right there, I tried to use my face to tell him that I didn’t want him to go.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Dekker said.
Mitch watched my face.
“Sure,” I said, angry at myself for wanting to leave with Dekker, because I wasn’t being fair to my dad. It was all just too much.
Dekker pulled the car keys out of his pocket and studied them. “Well,” he said. “I guess this is goodbye.”
Mitch stuck out his hand to Dekker. They shook hands, and Mitch said, “I can’t thank you enough, young man.”
“I’ll be back,” Dekker said, surprising me. “I’ve got to bring your car back to you.”
My disappointment at his reason for returning embarrassed me. “You can keep the car. I can’t drive, remember?”
His face fell.
I stood up and we stared at each other for a moment, my kissing dream filling my head. I had to look away from him.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I borrow some money? I’ll need gas and I’d like to get a new shirt for the show.”
I pulled my money from my back pocket and counted a thousand dollars, leaving myself five hundred. I held it out to him.
“I don’t need that much,” he said.
“Take it,” I said. “Have a good show. I wish I could see it. I’ll bet you’re going to be great.”
He took the money out of my hand and put it in his pocket. “You gonna be okay?”
Mitch held open the front door.
I stuck my hand out to Dekker. He took it in both of his. I looked into his brown eyes and I started to shake. He pulled me toward him and it felt like my bones were melting.
“All right you two, break it up, break it up.” Mitch made a karate--chop motion between us.
Dekker let go of my hand, turned to the door and picked up his Walmart sack. Mitch held the door open for him once more.
“Goodbye, now,” he said.
“Goodbye, Petty,” Dekker said over his shoulder. And then he went out the door.
AS SOON AS the cabin disappeared from my rearview mirror, I lit a cigarette and inhaled. What a relief to be able to smoke in the car! No more nagging about how bad it was for me, about how she was in such better shape than me. No more drama.
Still, I felt low--level trepidation at leaving, because I could tell Petty wasn’t ready for me to go yet. But Mitch had been more than eager to push me out the door. In fact, he’d taken on the father role pretty quickly after meeting Petty, as if he’d been waiting to do it for a long time.
I turned on the radio and flipped the dial until a station came in semiclear. It was playing an Autopsyturvy tune. I pounded the steering wheel, letting out a shout of exultation, then I drummed along with the song.
But the farther I got from the cabin, the less excited I became at the prospect of rejoining the band. It was the reverse of what I expected. But I’d made a commitment, and I needed to honor it. So why did I feel so lousy?
The problem was pretty much everything reminded me of Petty.
I hit Leadville about a half hour later. My fuel was near E, so I drove into a Conoco and paid for a tank of gas with the cash Petty had given me. It was cooler out than it had been earlier, the sky filled with low, gray clouds. While the pump clicked and whooshed, I went inside to use the restroom and buy some junk food. There were a few -people in line ahead of me, so I glanced at the newspaper on the rack in front of the counter.
AURORA RAPIST GETS FIFTEEN YEARS, a headline read.
A rapist like Michael Rhones. Petty had lived in a house with a rapist and a murderer for eighteen years, the man who’d tried to drown her. I wondered if what Mitch had said about kids who were molested—-that they couldn’t remember the abuse—-was true. I wondered if Michael Rhones had raped Petty.
Even as the idea entered my head, I punted it right back out again. Petty was suspicious and paranoid, but she didn’t exhibit the anxiety and depression that I’d seen in the two girls I’d known who’d been raped. Petty was a trained, fierce warrior, not a PTSD sufferer. She was a female Jason Bourne. I smiled at the thought.
I tried to pull my mind back to Kansas City and Disregard the 9 and Autopsyturvy, but one of the semi drivers in line was wearing a cap like Ray’s, the poor dumb trucker bastard who’d thought Petty was a hooker. I grinned at the memory now, how Petty had put that guy in his place.
I hoped she’d be okay. I missed her.
I walked out the door just in time to see a flash of red traveling west.
It was a Dodge Ram pickup truck with Kansas plates.
Chapter 27
I HAD SPENT much of my life alone—-out at the dump, in the old farmhouse, when Dad was uncommunicative. But I’d never felt loneliness like what I felt when Dekker drove away.