The Lies About Truth(62)

She hung up.

I stared out the window. Dust stirred and cotton fields rose up like seas of cumulus clouds. Azaleas the size of mobile homes waved in the breeze.

The azaleas jogged the memory of Trent and me lying in a field, talking about things that mattered.

“I want to matter. I want this to matter,” I told the group.

They all nodded.

Even though we were a long way from St. Augustine—especially if I never drove more than forty-five miles an hour—I eased the truck toward a rest area. When we were parked, I told Gina, Gray, and Max the whole story of Trent and Callahan. Gray wondered if Trent was ever attracted to him. I told Gray no, not that I knew of. Gina asked if Callahan loved him. Max answered that with a resounding yes. Max said how we all felt: some people are hard to understand and easy to love. That was Trent.

That was all of us.

“Why didn’t we do this a year ago?” Gray asked.

Max had an answer. “We were all in different places then.”

I added to it. “We were different people.”

“I guess we were,” Gray said.

Gina nudged my arm. “We should get on the road. You still okay?”

To answer her, I reversed from the parking spot and headed toward the ramp with increased speed in mind. Ten miles per hour. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

Max sighted the traffic for me. “You can get over.”

I followed his voice onto the interstate.

Fifty.

Fifty-five.

I thought my heart might explode.

Sixty.

Sixty-five.

Max watched the needle climb. “Hit the cruise,” he said.

Cruise. (n.) my first successful drive on I-10.





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


We got gas in Tallahassee, and I took a ten-minute walk to settle down and stretch. By Jacksonville, my frazzled nerves sat on the end of their ends.

I was so close—forty-one miles, according to the signs on the interstate—I could practically taste Ponce’s magic spring water. Those forty-one miles might as well have been a thousand. We holed up in a McDonald’s parking lot, eating french fries, sweating, and avoiding the obvious problem.

“Will one of you drive?” I finally asked.

“I’ll do it,” Gray said quietly.

I felt his hesitation and his courage. The last time he’d driven somewhere when we were all involved was a year ago. Maybe he needed to get behind the wheel as badly as I had. Maybe he just wanted out of the cramped backseat.

We played musical chairs, swapping places in the truck. Gina and I were snug in the back, even though my legs were not nearly as long as Gray’s.

Max amped the radio and turned on a playlist he’d made of Trent’s favorite songs as we pulled out of McDonald’s. Amos Lee, Ben Howard, the Head and the Heart. Music was a two-way street where nearly everyone traveled. Those songs were more than music; they were good memories. As Gray drove east, I rested my head against the side glass and let the motion of the highway thrum through my body like the songs.

Somewhere on the outskirts of St. Augustine, Max slid his hand backward between the seat and the door. As I reached for his fingers, a glare of white greeted me from his passenger side door pocket. Envelopes. At least three of them. I couldn’t be sure they had my name on the front, but I suspected they did.

I curled my hand into his, eyes still on the envelopes, heart still curious. Max turned in his seat, a smile on his face, and invited me into a whisper.

I brought my ear as close to his mouth as I could. “You did great at driving. I’m really glad we came on this trip,” he said.

“Me too.”

When he turned around, I slid the envelopes into my bag.

Gina saw me do it, raised her eyebrows, and nodded toward the front seat.

Toward Max?

Toward Gray?

At this point, I didn’t want it to be either of them.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


Gray braked and wound through the streets of St. Augustine. The oldest town in the United States wore its age like a classic movie star. As we neared the inlet, Gray lowered his window and warm, salty air filled the cab.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park and announced, “We’re here. Man, I’ll bet old Poncey wished there’d been a sign like this back in the day.”

Trent would have said the same thing. I realized Gray had been trying to fill in Trent’s gaps for a while.

Gina clinched my knee and smiled before I climbed out of the truck. The bright afternoon sunshine forced me to grab a straw hat to add to my sunglasses. I glanced in the mirror and harnessed my courage. Slipping off the long-sleeve shirt, I exposed Tennessee and the Peter and the Starcatcher T-shirt Gray had bought for my sixteenth birthday. It had been my swimsuit cover-up a year ago today. I’d found it in the hall closet this morning, where Mom and Dad had stowed the stuff they’d removed from the Yaris.

“Nice shirt,” Gray said as he walked by toward the ticket counter.

Max beamed and tugged on the short sleeve. “Good for you.”

Gina stayed close as the boys wandered toward the sign. She helped me lather special SPF into my pallid skin and said, “You’re going to get some extra vitamin D today.”

I tossed the sunscreen into the truck. “Gotta start somewhere.”