He Started It(42)

The side compartment is empty. No wooden box, no anything at all. Grandpa’s ashes are gone.





WYOMING


State Motto: Equal rights

If you’ve ever wondered what would get you kicked out of a place like the Western Sun Lodge, start by losing your grandfather’s ashes. Follow it with a brother who loses his mind over said ashes.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You left Grandpa in the car last night?” he screams.

Portia. Slurring. “We were a little busy, given that you were in jail.”

Eddie turns to Krista. “You saw me bring that box in every single night and you forgot?”

“Stop yelling at me,” she says. Krista walks away, throwing one last bomb over her shoulder. “You’re the one who got arrested!”

“Nice, you dick,” Portia says.

“I mean, she has a point,” I say.

Eddie continues to yell. “What happened to watching the car?”

“You missed your shift,” I say. “You were in jail.”

“So you just bailed?”

I hold up my hands, trying to halt the conversation before it gets more ridiculous. “Felix and I tried, but you know, people get tired. I may have nodded off.”

“You nodded off?” Felix says. He sounds annoyed at this.

“Yes, I am human. I do sleep,” I say.

“ASSHOLE!” Krista yells from across the parking lot.

Eddie punches the side of the car.

“Stop,” I say to him. “Listen to yourself. You think someone broke into the car and stole a box of ashes.”

“That looks like exactly what happened.”

“Have you looked in the suitcases?”

Eddie sighs. “Why would—”

“Have you looked?”

He lays down the roller bags, opening each one in the quickest, roughest way possible, shoving aside the clothes in search of Grandpa’s ashes. I think about stopping him and doing it myself, but I’m too intoxicated and can’t be bothered. I was the one who suggested it, after all.

“Nope . . . Nope . . . Nope . . .” He says this over and over, like it’s a mantra.

Felix leans in and whispers, “You have to admit it’s pretty weird.”

“I know.”

“Don’t touch mine!” Portia says. She opens her own suitcase and shows Eddie that there are no ashes hiding inside.

Eddie looks through the whole car, throwing out whatever gets in his way. Snacks, garbage, water bottles, sweaters. When he finds the vodka bottles, one empty and one half full, he looks at Portia. “Really?”

“I didn’t drink it all by myself.”

“What the hell?”

The voice doesn’t come from any of us. It comes from a very large, very shirtless man storming across the parking lot. He is unkempt in that just-woken-up way and not happy about it.

“What the hell?” he says again.

Portia is the only one stupid enough, drunk enough, to answer. “What the hell what?” she says.

“What the hell is all this noise about? For Christ’s sake, I’ve got customers here.”

“You work here?” I say.

He looks at me with so much scorn that I physically feel it. “I don’t work here, I own this lodge. And you idiots could wake the dead.”

“Do you have zombies here?” Portia says. “Or are they vampires? Because I’m pretty sure those are the only two dead things that can be woken—”

“Out,” he says. “Get out now.”

Eddie hears this, and sticks his head out of the truck to say, “I’m not going anywhere until I find our grandfather.”

The man hesitates. “You’ve got five minutes to find him.”

“I’m going to need our money back,” I say.

He’s already walking away, waving in the direction of the office. I motion to Felix to get our money, and I tell him to keep his eye out for Krista. No idea where she is.

Portia puts her suitcase back together, a slow process given her condition. I look into the back of our SUV. It’s empty, and the tire cover is pulled up.

Something on the ground shines in the sun, catching my eye. It’s right by the back tire, not far from the suitcases, including Portia’s. And Eddie’s.

I pick it up and put it in my pocket.

“You find anything?” I call to Eddie. He’s rummaging around in the front.

“No.”

I turn to Portia. She shrugs.

“It’s not like anyone knew what we had,” I say. “And Grandpa’s ashes aren’t worth anything to anyone but us.”

Eddie gets out of the car and leans against the bumper. “They’re worth a hell of a lot, though.”

“Who’s going to know?” Portia says. “Ashes are ashes. They all look the same.”

“That’s a messed-up thing to say,” Eddie says.

“This is a messed-up thing we have to do.”

“Grandpa was still pissed off,” I say. “Until the day he died, he was pissed off at all of us.”

“He was pissed?” Portia says.

She’s right. We all have good reasons to be pissed off about that trip.