The Serpent King(38)
“Okay, wow, I guess we’re just gonna shift topics. But I’ll go with it. You are not stuck. You’re making a choice to stay. I’ve tried to convince you to get out. I’ve addressed all your arguments. But you think you have to stay. Whatever. It’s your life and I can do without your lame jealousy stemming from hating your choices.”
Dill’s voice rose to meet hers. “My choices? It was not my choice to have my dad go to prison and leave my family with a mountain of debt. You love talking about choices, don’t you? Pretty easy when they’re served up on a platter.”
“First of all, don’t pretend like you know everything about my life or that my life is roses. Now look who’s casting himself in the role of ‘boy from the wrong side of the tracks who’s misunderstood by blithe rich girl.’?”
“I don’t care that your family has more money than mine. I’m trying to make you understand that it really hurts my feelings that you not only pretend I don’t exist, you can’t wait to get away from me. It makes me feel worthless. I get that from enough people. I don’t need it from you.”
“What is your deal with viewing everything I do in the most unfair light possible? As if I’m out to intentionally hurt you in some way? As if I run my blog to hurt you? As if I’m leaving for college to hurt you?”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t.”
“Maybe instead of dwelling on everything I don’t do for you, you should think about what I do do for you. If it weren’t for me, you’d have sat on your ass at home a whole lot of nights, playing your guitar.”
Dill made a mock worshiping motion. “Oh, thank you, savior. Thank you for saving me. Sitting on my ass and playing my guitar is better than hanging out with someone who’s embarrassed by me and looking through me to the next thing.”
They pulled up in front of Dill’s house.
“We can certainly arrange for you to do that more often,” Lydia said, a frigid edge to her voice.
Dill suddenly felt as though he’d tried to swallow a huge ice cube, and it had gotten stuck in his throat. He knew the smell of impending loss, how it felt to have parts of his life erode from under him and be swept away. Panic seized him. Like he should take a mental photograph of Lydia and everything surrounding her, in case he never saw her again.
The way she sat too close to the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, one arm on the windowsill, her head propped on that hand. The other hand—chipped blue nail polish, the color of a vintage car—resting on the wheel. The line of her neck as it met her shoulder. The piece of black tape that covered her perpetually illuminated “check engine” light starting to peel off. The five or six spent vanilla air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror. The ornaments adorning her wrists and fingers.
Please God. Quicken my tongue. Make me mighty of speech. Please let me not be prideful in this hour. Let me say exactly the right thing I need to say to keep from losing one more part of me.
“Fine,” Dill said. Not what I had in mind, God. Guess you’ve gone to bed and left one of your lesser angels at the duty station. Then he remembered the church sign. One last chance for God to speak to him. He looked up the street. IF GOD SEEMS FAR AWAY, GUESS WHO MOVED.
Good one, God. A message about moving apart. That’s helpful right at this moment. He got out. Not a sideways glance from Lydia. Not a goodbye. He barely managed to close his door before she sped off with a squeal of her tires.
Her taillights faded into the darkness and disappeared.
Raynar Northbrook sat at his table, holding the latest missive from Lady Amelia of the Southern Lands in his eager hands. He pored over her flowery script as she recounted the happenings of her life. His heart sang every time he heard news of her.
So what are you up to today? Travis texted.
I’m going to take Pickles and visit my grandma and grandpa. You hanging out with your friends today? Amelia replied.
I don’t know. Lydia’s in New York visiting colleges. I haven’t heard from Dill. They’re being kind of weird.
Aw.
Yeah. I love my friends and I don’t want to say bad things about them, but I feel like they don’t get me sometimes.
I get you.
I know. That’s why I like you.
You’re lucky to have even two good friends at school. I don’t really have anyone.
Oh yeah, I know, I just wish
Travis’s phone rang in the middle of composing his reply to Amelia.
Speak of the devil. “Hey, Dill, what’s up?”
“Hey, Travis, do you have to work today?”
“Nope, yard’s closed on Sundays. Why?”
“I could use your help. My mom’s car won’t start, and we need to get it fixed before Monday so she can get to her jobs. But I don’t know anything about cars and we can’t afford the mechanic. Do you think you could help me try to figure it out?”
“Oh yeah, no problem. Let me eat some quick breakfast and wet down my hair and I’ll be over.”
“Hey, Travis? I’m sorry about the other day. Being a jerk.”
Travis laughed. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’ll be right over.”
Most people wouldn’t be excited to get a call on a quiet Sunday morning, asking them to help fix a car. But Travis loved helping people do things; being with his friends; being away from his father; and pulling a diseased part out of a car, holding it in his hands, and then replacing it with a shiny new one that resurrected the car. Dill offered him the chance to do all four things. Plus, he was in the mood to talk to Dill. He felt like it was time to tell him about Amelia. Dill wasn’t as good with the jokes as Lydia, so Travis felt safer telling him.