Don't Fail Me Now(25)

“About four days, maybe.” I don’t have GPS on my phone, but I’ve already done the math in my head: If we start at nine A.M. and I do sixty on the highway, which is about as fast as Goldie can take, we’ll log 650 miles a day over twelve to thirteen hours, allowing time for bathroom and meal stops. That should get us across the country by Saturday night—Sunday morning at the latest.

He pokes his head in between the front seats and grabs the straw from my empty coffee with his teeth. “Where will we sleep?”

“We’ll camp,” I say.

“Like in tents?”

“More like in car,” Cass quips, but Denny’s enthusiasm can’t be deterred.

“Cool!” he cries, the straw spewing melted-ice water onto the dashboard. “Dibs on the trunk!” If only Child Protective Services could see us now . . .

I glance around the parking lot, growing more paranoid by the second. I wonder if this is how it felt for Mom in the Shell station, if she felt this same sick thrill at knowing before anyone else does that you’re about to do something wrong. I’m pretty sure this little road trip is five different kinds of illegal, considering I’m underage with a provisional license, taking minors out of state without their parents’ knowledge, and—since Goldie’s not registered to me—probably also technically stealing a car.

I’d like to think that I’m owed this one transgression after so many years of playing by my mom’s hypocritical rules, especially since my motives are mostly pure . . . but another part of me can’t help but wonder if I’m just finally fulfilling my genetic legacy, as if a criminal mind is inherited like schizophrenia or Parkinson’s—something that hides in your DNA for years, only to show up one day out of nowhere and ruin your whole life. And I have to admit that it does feel good, the prospect of leaving all my responsibilities behind. Maybe I have more in common with Buck than I thought.

“So . . . what do we need for all this, like, ten bucks?” Cass asks, perusing my list again. But then a cop car passes by behind us, and I suddenly lose the ability to speak.

“Sorry,” I stammer once it pulls out onto the highway. “Let me see.” I tick off the items, counting out loud. “Four toothbrushes, one toothpaste, maybe two packs of wipes—”

“Three toothbrushes, Einstein,” Cass interrupts.

“Yeah, Einstein,” Denny parrots, giggling at what he thinks is a bad word.

“No,” I say slowly. “We need four.” There’s still one major detail to discuss, something I knew I had to do the minute I turned the car around, and I watch the muscles in Cass’s neck gather into tense little ropes as she realizes what I’m about to say. “I’m inviting her, too.”

Cass is silent, and after a few seconds of stillness I let myself hope that she’s okay with it, but then the door flies open and slams shut as a black blur that vaguely resembles my sister storms off across the asphalt.

“Who’s her?” Denny asks, gripping my upper arm. His eyes are big and anxious again, like they were in the police station that first night, and I feel a sharp pang of guilt for bursting whatever safe little bubble he’s managed to crawl into in the interim.

“A relative,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile. “She’s about the same age as Cass. A year older, actually.” Buck’s affair had already become a full-fledged family when my sister made her premature, dramatic entrance into the world, a tiny three-and-a-half-pound thing who my mother says never even cried and who the NICU nurses had to massage to get circulation going because she moved so little at first. It’s like Cass already sensed there was no space for her and just decided to play dead from the start.

I leave Denny in the car with the windows rolled down and strict instructions not to let Max touch the gearshift, and I jog after Cass, who’s made a left at the Family Dollar and is angrily stomping past a RadioShack a few stores down.

“Hey!” I call. “Come on, just listen!” I’m taller and have longer legs, so I’m starting to close the distance. Cass speeds up her walking without turning around. “She’s the one he called,” I yell, panting a little. “She’s the only one who knows where he is.”

“Then call her,” Cass snaps, spinning around. “Facebook message her. Just ask. She doesn’t have to come with us. She didn’t even have the guts to talk to you face-to-face.”

“She was there,” I say. “She stayed in the car.”

“That’s even worse!”

“I know, but what am I supposed to do?” I ask. “Call and say, ‘Hey, we’re driving to visit our dying father—who’s also your dying father, condolences b-t-dubs—and we just need the address. Good luck with your closure!’?”

Cass shrugs, like why not?

“Look, the only reason we even know about him is because of her,” I say. “She tried to do the right thing. We owe it to her to at least invite her. She probably won’t even come.”

“We don’t owe her anything,” Cass spits. Her anger surprises me; she hardly seemed fazed last night when she saw Leah’s photos.

“Maybe you’re right,” I sigh. “But she’s still his daughter. She still deserves the chance to see him.”

Cass broods, cursing under her breath for a minute, before finally walking toward me with her arms crossed tight against her chest.