He Started It(41)

Grandpa said nothing.

“So give me the real number or I’ll call our parents and tell them what you did,” Nikki said. She stopped for a minute, gauging his reaction. There wasn’t much of one, and it always made me wonder how much Mom knew about her father. I hope she didn’t know about Grandma. Though if you knew our mother, you’d know she would never tolerate such a thing. Not for one second.

But Grandpa hitting Grandma wasn’t what Nikki was talking about.

Nikki turned to Portia, who was sitting on the other bed playing with her dolls. “I’ll tell Mom about how you touched her.”

Grandpa looked horrified. Too horrified to speak.

Eddie had been sitting at the desk but was now on his feet. “No way,” he said to Nikki.

“I swear,” she said.

“You’re lying,” Eddie said.

“No.”

That was me.

“He did touch her,” I said. “I saw it.”

Yes, Nikki was lying, and yes, I knew it. I lied with her. Maybe I was as angry as she was with Grandpa, or maybe I didn’t want her angry with me.

We were in it together, allies in a secret mission. We were always playing Risk.

Portia didn’t understand what we were saying; she wasn’t even paying attention. We didn’t tell her, either.

She knows now, though.



* * *



–––––

It feels like it takes forever, but we finally cross the border and get out of Colorado.

“Wyoming barely has enough people to be called a state,” Portia says. “But at least it isn’t Colorado.”

She has talked more today than she has the entire trip because her soda cup has more than soda in it.

“Remember last time we were here?” she says. “We thought we were driving in circles.”

She’s not wrong. Wyoming is a state of empty roads, beautiful mountain views, and—now—a ton of fracking equipment. It wasn’t here before.

We make one stop for lunch at a deli, another in the afternoon for gas. The station and a variety of stores are all nestled within the hills, the only signs of modern life other than the road.

We get out to use the restroom and stretch our legs. Portia and I go across the street to the package store, which is the only place to buy hard alcohol in Wyoming. She stocks up on vodka.

“You all right?” I say.

Her eyes are remarkably alert, given her daylong buzz. “Yeah. Why?”

I shrug, and add in snack cakes, chips, packaged cinnamon rolls, and cigarettes.

“Nice,” Portia says.

The man at the counter doesn’t glance my way, but Portia gets his attention. Could be the cutoff shorts, the long legs, or the fact that she’s carrying enough alcohol to kill a few people. Could be that she’s twenty-six.

She sees him look and she smiles at him. “Don’t suppose you give bulk discounts?”

“Depends. Am I invited to the party?” His voice is deep, his smile a leer. I don’t know how Portia can do what she does.

“I’d love to invite you,” she says. “But we aren’t staying. Just passing through.”

“Your loss,” he says.

“I bet it is.”

He discounts our whole purchase by 20 percent. Now that, my friend, is power.

Outside, it’s warm but not hot. Eddie stands around waiting, the gas already pumped, while Krista sits in the car and ignores him. Felix is “in the bathroom” and I already know what that means. While Portia climbs into the car, I have a second alone with Eddie. He motions for me to come closer.

“You don’t really think I broke the rule, do you?” he says.

So he is worried. “I don’t know. I didn’t make the rules.”

“It was one night.”

“You’re right. One night.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding his head like he’s trying to convince himself he didn’t break the rule. “One night.”

We move on, and the roads look the same, the landscape looks the same, the only difference is the vodka in my soda. Portia rambles on about a club in New Orleans that none of us have been to, but at least her voice fills the air. Otherwise we’d be sitting in Krista’s anger and the faint smell of cigarettes.

The alcohol relaxes me a bit. I start to think—to hope—all the bad things are behind us. The guys in the truck are gone, Eddie is out of jail, and the car is working just fine. We’re still here, still driving, and everything is looking pretty good. Not that I want to jinx it, but I almost can’t help myself.

We’re north of Casper when we stop for the night. Eddie pulls into the Western Sun Lodge and for the millionth time Felix remarks about how everything is the same all over.

“Agreed,” Krista says. “I’m not convinced Wyoming is any better than Colorado.” Her first words since we left that state.

Eddie doesn’t respond, doesn’t react. He goes to the back and starts unloading the suitcases. As I get out of the car, I hear Eddie say, “Guys?”

His tone is off. I may be intoxicated, but I know off when I hear it. “What?” I say, moving a little faster. As soon as I step around to the back, I see. All the suitcases are out of the car, on the ground, and the spare tire cover is up.