There was another silence, a stalemate.
“Listen,” said her mother. “There’s stuff I’m still sorting through. There’s stuff I’m still forgiving your father for. I’m not ready to talk about all of it yet—and I don’t think you’re ready to hear it. I’m sorry.”
Val appeared in the shop window again. She was holding an absolutely enormous plastic skunk. How about this?!
Zoe laughed silently, so her mom wouldn’t hear her.
A car cruised past, kicking slush up against the windows. Her mother was still waiting for her to say something.
Zoe wasn’t ready to forgive her. She just wasn’t.
“You know what?” she said. “I don’t really care what you thought of Dad. Jonah and I loved him, even if he was lame sometimes.” She paused. “I warned the police, and now I’m gonna warn you. Dad taught me how to cave—and you know what that means? That means I know how to go get him.”
Val trotted back to the car in the rain. She crossed in the middle of the street and, when a pissed-off trucker honked at her, responded with a quick curtsy. She slipped into the car, and handed Zoe a bag. She’d bought her a trophy at the thrift store. It had a weird golden O at the top.
“You won Best Donut,” said Val.
Zoe broke out of her mood long enough to smile and accept the award graciously.
“There are so many people I want to thank,” she said.
Zoe set the trophy on the backseat, and started up the Struggle Buggy. The engine coughed before catching, annoyed at being woken up. But soon they were out on the wide, rain-slicked highway to Kalispell. Zoe told Val they had to make one more stop. They had to see Dallas. When she began to explain, Val interrupted her.
“You want to see him because he’s a caver,” she said. “You want him to train you in case you have to go into Black Teardrop.” She paused. “Hello? This is me, Zoe. I’m the one you don’t have to explain things to.”
The rain was gentler now. The clouds were pulling apart, and there was a small blue hatch in the sky. Zoe felt herself beginning to breathe again. She had a plan—and she’d won Best Donut. On the road in front of them, there was a massive pickup with dual back tires and a bumper sticker that read, Montana Is Full! I Hear North Dakota Is Nice.
Ten minutes later, Zoe pulled into the giant lot outside House of Huns, where Dallas had gotten his dream job on the grill. Val still wasn’t a huge fan of Dallas. He’d never asked out The Girl Who Was Gonna Say Yes, and Val was convinced he still had a thing for Zoe.
She told Zoe she was going to hit FroYoLo.
“I can’t stand to watch Dallas drool over you,” she said.
“Dallas and I are just friends,” she said. “He gets that.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” said Val. “I don’t actually care if you hurt him because—bottom line—that dude is basic. I mean, he was named after a TV show.”
“He says he was named after the Dallas Cowboys,” said Zoe.
“Of course he does,” said Val. “I’d say that, too, if I was named after a TV show.”
Zoe felt the greasy air settle onto her skin as she entered House of Huns. Dallas and three other cooks were grunting around the giant grill, which they referred to as the Ring of Doom. They were all comically hunky. They carried rubber-tipped spears and wore cone-shaped leather hats, which were ringed with fake fur. They had wide leather straps crisscrossing their chests and backs, but were otherwise shirtless. Because of the heat, they perspired constantly. Every so often drops of their sweat hit the grill and sizzled.
The grill itself was an imposing black circle with a hole in the middle for scraps. Customers handed over the frozen meats, veggies, and sauces they had selected from the salad bar—placards suggested at least five ladles of sauce, and recommended various combinations—and then pushed their tray along the cafeteria rails that surrounded the grill as the cooks fried the stuff up and chanted nonsense that sounded Hunnish. There was a miniature gong positioned nearby that patrons could strike with a mallet if they put something in the tip jar. Whenever the gong was struck, the cooks stopped whatever they were doing and flexed.
To say that Dallas loved his job would be a tremendous understatement.
He beamed when he saw Zoe—then remembered he was supposed to be a Hun.
“What want?” he barked theatrically.
“Can I talk to you?” said Zoe.
“No talk,” said Dallas. “Eat.”
Zoe gazed down at the grill. It was heaped with grayish chips of what purported to be pork and beef. A handful of frozen peas rolled around like marbles.
“I’m not eating this stuff,” she said.
She saw, with a pang, that she had insulted him.
“No eat, no talk,” he said. “Mrgh!”
“Seriously?” she said.