He Started It(24)

“It was after dinner. He pulled me aside and asked if I thought you were okay. I said you had never been okay.”

“Thanks.”

“Welcome. Then he went on and on about how you were staring at the car, looking for her graffiti. Maybe looking for her. He thinks you’re going to drive yourself crazy if that’s what you’re doing.”

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?”

I shrug. “It’s weirder that he doesn’t give a shit about her. That he isn’t looking at all.”

I glance over at her and it hits me, again, how young she is. I swear she could pass for twenty. “He needs the money,” she says.

“We all need the money.”

“I mean, he really needs it.” She pauses, scraping the ground with her thick leather boot. “I’ve heard him arguing with Krista about it. And a couple of nights ago, he was yelling about a judgment and lien.”

It’s that big house of his. Eddie’s money problems are much worse than mine, and much worse than I originally thought. “No wonder he’s so protective of Grandpa’s ashes,” I say.

Portia laughs. “He sleeps with that box next to the bed.”

“No.”

“Yes. I mean, I need the money, too. But not like that.”

Just enough for her to pay off the student loans and stop stripping. Get out of that crappy apartment. Stop living with a roommate who sells something. Drugs. Maybe herself. The inheritance is more than enough.

“I don’t think this is all about money,” I say. “Grandpa could’ve just given it to us. He wanted us to go on this trip for a reason.”

“Eddie doesn’t care.”

“Do you?”

She looks out at the dark street like a car might appear. It doesn’t. “Yes and no? Like the thing with today, the paint. The Cadillacs. I remember that day, and I remember the fight and the green paint and she was yelling about not finishing. But I don’t really know what happened, I was too young to understand.” She shrugs. “It’s been twenty years. I can’t imagine knowing would change anything.”

I disagree with everything she said. “Maybe you’re right,” I say.

She pats my arm, like she’s the older one. “Of course I am. Now let’s go back into this shitty motel and get some rest.”

I almost stop her, almost tell her about someone coming into the room at the last motel. “You go,” I say. “I’m not tired yet.”

I watch her walk back to the motel. Portia was only six during the first road trip. She missed a lot and doesn’t remember half of what happened.

I do. Not only what happened, but also what we were like. We are right back to being who we used to be.

Portia, too young to know what she was seeing. Me, wanting to see everything, know about everyone. Especially her. Eddie, blinders on, looking straight ahead, not admitting she existed.

And her. Nikki.

The firstborn. Our older sister.

Nikki with her wild, flaxen hair, her blazing eyes, her body constantly in motion. Here, there, everywhere, all at once.

And I have her journal.





I’M PRETTY SURE IT’S TUESDAY.



What are you thinking about right now?

That asshole at the Cadillac Ranch. He was old—as old as Dad—and he stood behind me staring the whole time I was trying to paint. Finally I had to say something, because what girl wouldn’t, so I told him to fuck right off. Just like that.

All of a sudden, I’m the bad guy. I’m the bitch who cursed at a stranger and no one cared that he was the one staring at my ass. I told him to stop and he said if I was going to dress like a slut then men were going to stare at me. I called him an asshole and all of a sudden his wife—HIS WIFE—showed up and told me to stop yelling. By the time Grandpa even noticed something was happening, it was all out of control. The asshole and his wife were there with, like, a whole posse of friends and they all were yelling about me being the troublemaker.

Grandpa bought it. No surprise there, the adults always do. Oh, something bad happened? Must have been Nikki. Something got stolen? Nikki. Someone ran away? You bet your ass it’s Nikki, because who wants to stick around to hear that all the time. That’s why I run away so much.

Sometimes I wonder why I haven’t run away from this trip yet. First, it’s because of Beth. If I’m not around to protect her, it’s not like Eddie will. He’d protect Portia because she’s so young, but not Beth.

Second, it’s because of what Grandpa did to Grandma. I’ve known about it since she died, and I might be the only who knows what he did to her. Someone’s got to pay him back for it.





9 DAYS LEFT


About that pickup.

I stayed outside last night for another fifteen minutes or so, more than enough time for Portia to get back to her room.

I hadn’t seen a car drive by all night, not a single one, and then I saw the truck. Black with the double-cab and oversized wheels. The front windows were tinted and rolled up so I couldn’t see the driver or passenger.

Still, I knew. The back window was rolled down a few inches. As they passed by, a wisp of cigarette smoke escaped. I caught a flash of that auburn-haired woman in the back.

I sat right in that wooden chair and watched it, too shocked to move, until I could no longer see the taillights. Everyone was right about the truck: It was really following us. When it was gone, I ran inside to tell Felix.