So Long, Chester Wheeler(55)

“Whatever,” I said.

“No, not whatever. It was something Sue said that helped me decide.”

“What did she say?”

“You don’t remember?”

“She said a lot of things, Chester.”

“Right before she walked out of the RV for the last time. She told me however much time I had left, I should pack as much living into it as I can.”

“Right,” I said, watching the river slide by underneath the highway. “I do remember that now. I think that was some pretty sound advice.”



I didn’t push him to talk. I didn’t talk much myself.

But there was this long, barren stretch of California desert between Blythe and Indio. Not so much like New Mexico or Arizona. It wasn’t red rock scenery and, although I found it pleasant, it wasn’t all that visually arresting. It was just sand colored for the most part, with low, scrubby brush.

The driving had taken on a serious tedium.

About halfway through that landscape, he just seemed to split open.

“What if he’s horrible to me?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he kept going.

“What if he tells me I’m just a giant piece of crap and he never gave a damn about me one way or another?”

“Well. That would sting.”

“Ya think?”

“I think that would weigh heavily on you for the rest of your life. How many weeks d’you figure that’ll be again?”

Surprisingly, he didn’t get indignant. One corner of his mouth twisted into a sarcastic half grin.

“Yeah, I guess I see your point,” he said.

“Here’s how I see it, Chester. Since you asked my opinion.” Mark this day on your calendar, I thought. “Even if he hurts you, I think that’s going to hurt less than lying on your deathbed thinking, ‘Damn it, I didn’t even try.’ One way you’re disgusted and disappointed with him. The other way you’re disgusted and disappointed with yourself. Disappointing yourself is the worst.”

“I’m used to it,” he said.

It was a surprising admission coming from Chester. And I found myself not wanting to let it go by. Not wanting to coddle him with false pity or convince him it wasn’t true when we both knew it was.

I got a little heated up about it.

“Then get unused to it, Chester. Just damn well get unused to it.”

He snorted dismissively.

“Little late for that. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. It is, Chester. It’s a little late. But it’s not too late. Know how I know? I’ll tell you how I know. Because you’re not dead yet.”

I waited for him to dismiss me and ridicule me. And argue back at me.

He never did.





Chapter Eighteen:




* * *





Watching You

I want to say I didn’t know the I-10 went straight through the heart of downtown LA. The truth is I did know—sort of. I’d seen it on my phone map, but I hadn’t really registered it, because I saw no reason why it mattered. I was a newbie at LA driving. I didn’t realize that you never go through the city proper if you can possibly avoid it.

It was before one o’clock in the afternoon. One would tend to think, if one didn’t know the territory, that it wouldn’t be rush hour. Surprise! It’s always rush hour in LA. Every damn minute of every damn day.

We were just sitting there in bumper-to-bumper traffic, holding perfectly still. Then rolling forward a few feet. Then holding perfectly still.

My world was an endless sea of brake lights.

And that kind of motion did not put Chester to sleep, which was unfortunate to say the least.

Now and then the traffic would move forward and I’d be a little slow to start up, and another car would simply materialize in front of me, its driver cutting me off to take the space I’d left open only for a brief second. And I mean with inches to spare.

After the third time it happened I said, “The drivers here are insane!”

Chester said, “They’re just doing what they have to do.” As if he were an expert on LA traffic. As if he’d lived there all his life.

“What kind of attitude is that?”

“It’s my attitude.”

“I can’t argue with that, actually.”

“It’s like this . . . ,” he began.

And I said, “Oh good. More mansplaining.”

“More what?”

“Never mind.”

“It’s like this,” he began again. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world on the freeways out here. And so you have to do what you have to do. Otherwise they’ll roll right over you. You can’t be soft.”

I opened my mouth to tell him he was an idiot, and that people like him were the whole problem. But what would that do to improve anything? That would just have been him pulling me down to his level again.

“You would have found out soon enough,” he said. “Since you and your fruitfriend were going to move here.”

Speaking of moving, we weren’t. Not even an inch. So I got to turn my head and glare at him.

“How did you know Tim and I were going to move here?”