An Honest Lie(50)

Her feelings were further validated when, five minutes later, Tara arrived and Braithe took her AirPods out to chat with her.

“Hey,” Rainy said, leaning over to Ursa. “I’m gonna head out for a few hours. If anyone asks, just say I don’t feel well.” Ursa nodded, and Rainy gathered up her things. No one acknowledged the fact she was leaving or said goodbye. It stung worse than she wanted to admit. It took her what seemed like forever to make her way back to their suite, maneuvering around the slow-moving gambling crowd and then waiting for an elevator that wasn’t packed so tightly you could smell your neighbor’s shampoo.

When she finally made it to the suite, it was empty. She must have just missed Mac on her way down. Rainy stood at the vast window in the suite’s living room, staring down at the dusty city she’d long come to hate. Her mother’s words the first day they arrived—Everything is going to be okay now—echoed uncomfortably in her memory. The most honest lie she’d ever been told. Nothing had ever been okay again. She’d learned to maneuver around the not-okay-ness until she met Grant. He made it all better than okay.

She replayed the voice mail he’d left earlier. When she put her phone away, the longing for her mother hit her so deeply she hugged her arms around herself and held her eyes closed against the threatening sting of tears. Rainy made a split-second decision. She was here, so why not? Warming to the idea even as she threw a dress over her bathing suit, pushing away thoughts of him and focusing solely on her mother. The way things currently felt in the group, she wouldn’t be missed, and she’d be back before dinner, their last dinner before their flights home in the morning. Her seat on the plane was next to Braithe. She could talk to her then. Sort things out. She grabbed her bag and headed out the door.

It was no less crowded on the street outside their hotel. People swarmed around each other in a frenzied, colorful tempest. Everything smelled of gasoline and food, and Rainy’s dinner rolled in her stomach like it didn’t want to be there anymore.

She didn’t want to be here anymore. But where was here? Vegas? With these strangers? In her new, partnered-up life that was built on a lie? She sat down on a wall, a short distance away from the crowds, and called an Uber, then she tried Grant again. If he answered, she’d tell him everything, because in the moment she couldn’t bear the weight. When it just rang, she thought about calling Stephen’s phone to see if he was with Grant, but then he might ask her about Braithe, and Rainy didn’t want to have to lie to Grant’s best friend. She sent him a text, knowing he’d see it later and respond.

Miss you. We really need to talk.
She hit Send and was about to put her phone away when she saw the dots appear on her screen: Grant was texting her back. The relief was a solid thing, like a chunk of concrete. It was moments like these when she realized how deep she’d fallen down the relationship hole. She waited for his words to appear, wondering why he didn’t just call, but as suddenly as they appeared they disappeared. Her phone notified her that Riva had arrived in a Jeep.

“The address you put in, it’s not showing up on my map—it’s just a dot in the desert.” The driver pivoted her body sideways toward Rainy, trying to see her where she sat wedged behind the driver’s seat.

“It’s the right place,” Rainy said. “Do you have an issue driving me that far out?”

“Nope, just wanted to make sure you know you’re asking to go somewhere I ain’t never been.”

Rainy turned toward the window then so she could look out as Riva pulled into traffic. The radio was playing a Johnny Cash song that made her think of Taured. No, it wasn’t just the song that made her think of him; it was all the dust, too, coating everything in film. She could feel it on her tongue, on her skin, and then suddenly she was somewhere else.

Friendship was a greasy spoon of a town meant to provide highway comforts to drivers before the desert swallowed them up. There was a post office, a diner called Nirvana that doubled as a bar in the evenings, a pharmacy named after its owner, Red, and a highway motel called Charlie’s Inn.

Rainy’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth for most of the drive, and now that the Jeep was almost there, she was unsure if she’d be able to get out of the car when it stopped. This was the place where her childhood had shriveled up and died. Her chest was tight as they idled at a stop sign; she wished she’d brought a bottle of water with her. She’d buy one at Red’s Pharmacy, if it was still there.

“Nice place,” Riva snorted, turning onto Main Street. “Would you like me to leave you at the pharmacy, the dollar store or what looks like a bar over there...”

The bar was new. The building was modern, and it looked funny standing amid all the old buildings that had been there since before Rainy’s time.

“Drop me at Red’s,” Rainy said. The Jeep made a sudden stop and her forehead bumped against the window. She poured out of the back seat and onto the sidewalk, already missing the air-conditioning.

“And how are you going to get back?” Riva looked over her sunglasses at Rainy, who had gotten out of the car and was standing by the driver’s-side window. She had one arm propped on the window, and as she waited for Rainy’s answer, she wiped her face with a yellow bandanna and then tossed it on the passenger seat.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. She looked over at the dollar store and wondered if Slav was still around; he owned the only taxi in a fifty-mile radius. She turned toward Riva. “I’ll figure it out.”