Girl Out of Water(67)

My thoughts keep going to my family.

Is it possible to leave a place without leaving anyone behind?

“Why don’t you take a nap?” Lincoln suggests. “I’ll wake you when I get bored. Or more likely, when I get hungry.”

“Okay.” I don’t resist. I close my eyes, not really intending to sleep. But as the car rumbles over the textured pavement and the engine hums beneath us, I slowly drift off.

? ? ?

My body senses the car’s deceleration, and I wake with bleary eyes, glancing at the time—it’s almost eight in the morning. I shift in my seat. Lincoln says, “Driver needs some fueling. Also, look where we are.”

I check the sign as we pull off the highway—Lincoln, Nebraska.

“Ah, an ego-pumping pit stop.”

He grins. “Something like that. Do you mind if we eat in? Driving and eating with one arm—not exactly safe.”

“Of course.” I nod. “No problem.”

Lincoln pulls into the lot of a chain diner. The early-morning air is muggy and still. My legs are already cramped after a couple of hours. I can’t imagine how stiff I’ll be in two days. My muscles demand motion, and I won’t be getting much of it until we hit the Santa Cruz shores.

We head into the diner, where a few people in baseball caps and reading glasses and shirts with sequins sit over heavy plates of greasy breakfast food. We slide into the sticky seats of an open corner booth and peruse the thick, plastic-coated menus. Lincoln rambles about some story where he and his friends were chased out of a diner for coordinating a large-scale paper plane invasion. I try to nod and smile and say, “Mhmm,” and “Oh, shit,” at the appropriate points.

He quiets once breakfast arrives. We both ordered the special—steaming plates of waffles, hash browns, bacon, sausage, grits, eggs, and toast—enough food to feed an entire family. It’s weird that Parker and Nash aren’t here to pick at my food before I have a chance to get to it.

Despite my growling stomach, I barely make a dent in my breakfast. We pay the check and head back to the car. I’m fully aware that I’m soaking in my bad mood, yet I can’t seem to turn it around. Lincoln must notice too because as we click in our seat belts, he turns to me, a set look in his dark eyes. “Do you want me to take you home?”

Home. I know he means Aunt Jackie’s house.

Against all reason, I’m tempted to say yes.

Instead, I slump down in the seat and stay quiet.

Lincoln turns on the ignition and asks again, “Anise, do you want me to take you back to your aunt’s house? I don’t know why you’re upset, and I’m really sorry you are—I really am—but I’m not going to drive twenty-four hours like this. If you don’t want to go to Santa Cruz, we don’t have to go. Just tell me now before we waste more gas.”

His words are logical, though they feel harsh. But when I glance at his face, I only see hurt there. He probably thinks my bad mood has something to do with him, like I’m second-guessing spending so much time alone with him. I mean, let’s be honest, Lincoln thinks highly enough of himself that he might assume he’s the cause of many of my emotions.

“I just…” I fiddle with the seat belt strap. “I don’t want to leave them.”

“Your cousins?” Lincoln asks. I nod. His eyes soften as he leans toward me. “Anise, I know this might be hard to believe, but your cousins were fine before you arrived, and they’ll survive now that you’re gone.”

Survive. I hate that word.

Survive. Get by. Scrape through.

I don’t want my cousins to just survive.

Like survival has anything to do with happiness.

“Anise?” Lincoln asks. “You’re doing that quiet thing again. Let’s talk about it.”

“God, you sound like my dad.” I manage a small smile. “Look, I know they’ll be fine without me, but…I don’t want them to think I’ve abandoned them for something better. Like, Hey, Parker, sorry you broke your arm, but I want to go surfing now, see ya!”

“They’re not going to think that,” Lincoln says.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re not abandoning them. You’re not their parent. You’re their cousin, and you live halfway across the country. They understand that concept.”

“I don’t know…”

“Anise, I don’t want to push you on this, but we have a long drive ahead of us. I have a long drive if we want to make it to Wendy’s house tonight. I’m sorry you’re worried about your cousins, but they’ll be fine, and we’ll have a great time in Santa Cruz. Just think of the pure joy of watching me eat it my first time surfing.”

The thought does seem promising.

And the thing is, even if we turned back now, Dad and I would be flying back to California in a week. What’s the difference between leaving my cousins now and leaving them then? It’s the same thing, except in one scenario, I’ll miss Surf Break and create more distance between me and my friends.

“Okay,” I say. If I say it maybe I’ll believe it. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” he says.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.” He pauses. And then he turns off the car. “I have an idea.”