The day winds down in another rundown motel, this time in Wyoming. I hear stilted talks of Nevada and something about territory. The general idea is, I think, that we’re getting closer to home, which is, as far as I know, somewhere in California. Aside from that, I know nothing—because I’ve asked nothing.
On the third day of our journey, we’re nearing the end, which is unfortunate. Though I’m worn down and out of clean clothes, I’m settling into life on the road. I find myself in that space between expectations of normalcy and chaos. I’m learning the ticks of the men around me. Duke, the Devil of Death, is at his best in the late evenings. Anything too early and he’s an asshole. I don’t know if I’ll see him much once we get ‘home,’ but I’m working on figuring out his sweet spot with whiskey. Too much or too little and I find my foot itching to kick him.
Since yesterday, I’ve learned the names of the other two men who have accompanied Ruby and me in the van. Neither man is chatty enough on his own, so I had to ask Duke for their names. The man who does most of the driving tends to keep himself scarce, and has a shaved head. He goes by the name Diesel. His long-sleeping companion goes by the name Bear. After watching him sleep for days on end, I can see that the name was aptly applied.
As for Ruby, I’m doing the best I can to open up to her, but it’s not easy when she is so hot and cold all of the time. Any time I’ve tried to ask her about my mother, it’s been a disaster. Her entire body goes rigid, and she just shuts down. The guys even notice it and tense up. One of Duke’s few redeeming qualities is that he’s protective over her. I can’t stave off the petty jealousy that flares when he gives me a look, warning me to back off when I’ve stumbled upon a sensitive topic. I don’t even like Duke, but the loneliness is getting to me, and I’ve found myself wanting to talk to him. I’m out of my element, essentially alone, and a guest among a gathering of family. So I vow not to bring my mother up again, not until I can form some kind of relationship with Ruby. I want to get to know her, especially if she’s going to help me get on my feet, but that’s going to be quite difficult if I continue to upset her.
Quietly, I clear my throat, catching Ruby’s attention, and I say, “Thank you.” Since I’ve spent the past day or so mulling over how to get on her good side, it’s suddenly occurred to me that I don’t think I’ve thanked her until now. I don’t understand much of what’s going on here and why she would go through all of this trouble for me, but I do understand that she did. And regardless of whatever rift they had, despite my mother’s death, Ruby’s helping me. I don’t know where I would be without her right now.
“Not a problem,” she says with a tired, but friendly smile. I shake my head.
“But it is,” I protest. “It’s kind of a big deal to drag these guys across the country for me.”
She nods. “Yeah, that kinda is a pain in the ass.” The men chuckle—the first sound I’ve heard from them in hours. It’s not even noon yet, but we’ve been on the road since early this morning, long before the sun ever rose. And just like that, the men are talking, and Ruby is laughing. She’s telling them I’m such a pain that I’ll fit right in. For the first time in days, I feel like maybe one day I could belong to something or somebody again.
Just as I join the conversation, a loud boom sounds outside, and the van crashes off to the side of the road. The driver swerves, cursing along the way. The passenger gets on his cell as the sound of angry shouts and motorcycle blast into my ears. I look out the window to see the bikes, checking that everyone is okay. Ruby does the same. The bikes swerve out of the way as we come to a screeching halt, but not before plowing into the edge of a corn field. I’m tossed forward, landing with a bang, my knees hitting the floorboard. Instinctively, I cover my head and fight back the tears that are coming. My lungs strain for enough oxygen, but it feels impossible. There just isn’t enough air. Sucking up enough air as I can, my lungs struggle to find a steady rhythm. It’s no use.
Chapter 8
Is freedom anything else than the right to live as we wish? Nothing else.
Epictetus
VOICES CLAW AT the corner of my consciousness, fighting for attention. I hear “It’s okay” again and again until I begin to believe it’s all in my head. But as I slowly pull myself together, steady my breathing, and shut down the tears, I realize the voice isn’t mine. It’s Ruby. She’s hunched over me, her torso pressed into my back, and arms draped over mine. She rests her head on the back of mine and continues to soothe me. Little by little, I force down the acid rising in my throat and shake off the feeling of impending doom.