All Over the Map

13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

“I don’t get it,” Mia says. We’re idling in the parking lot of a Barnes & Noble that sits at the intersection where Route 66 branches off the main interstate in Flagstaff. “This looks like every intersection in Adobe.”

“This was a stupid two-hour detour,” I complain to Gabe. “Drive to Bend, Uber.”

Flagstaff is pretty. Much prettier than I expected after the arid Tempe landscape. It’s mountainous and green and twenty degrees colder here. But this road trip isn’t about the scenery.

“Give it time. It probably gets cool when you get out of the city.” Gabe turns onto Route 66, and for the next couple of miles, it’s more suburb.

Slowly, tall pines take over the landscape. Route 66 becomes regular Interstate 40 again, but I don’t say anything. This interstate will take us to Bend too. Since I don’t exactly have a standing appointment with my possible sister, I can live with the extra time.

After an hour, signs appear announcing that Route 66 is splitting off again.

“No,” I say to Gabe.

“No what?”

“No, we’re not going back on Route 66. I checked the map. It’s nothing but tumbleweeds and gas stations. We can get those if we stay on Interstate 40.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he passes the junction without turning. It stays quiet for another hour while Mia naps, and I pore over every comment from Powder_fresh in Seth’s feed. I commit them to memory like it’s the periodic table and my chemistry grade depends on it.

This is my half-sister. I can feel it. I just need her to accept my message request so I can prove it. Her last comment on Seth’s account was three days ago, which means she logs into Instagram way more often than she does to RootsDNA.

We’ve been driving about an hour when Gabe signals and pulls the Jeep to the side of the road. There’s nothing in either direction. Not a billboard, not a tree. Not even another car.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He looks at me in the mirror like I’m a talking pile of stupid. “Seeing a man about a horse.”

He shuts the door and walks to the other side of the Jeep.

“He’s going to pee on the side of the road?” I ask Mia.

“Guys do it all the time.”

“It’s so weird.”

That makes her laugh. “That’s how I know you didn’t grow up in a houseful of brothers. It used to make me so mad that they could pee on a tree when we were playing outside, but I always had to stop what I was doing and go in.”

“Is this how men dominated society for so long? Free-range peeing abilities?”

“That and testosterone that blunts their sense of compassion so they go out and conquer everything.”

“Oh, yeah. That.”

The gravel crunches outside then the door opens and Gabe climbs in.

“We object to your free-range peeing,” Mia says as he’s reaching for his seatbelt. She drops a bottle of hand sanitizer on his lap.

He stops mid-buckle and turns to stare at her over his sunglasses. “Didn’t we settle this when you were in, like, third grade?”

I would like to climb out of the Jeep and go away until they finish the argument. But Mia says, “Kendall hates it too, don’t you, Kendall?”

Gabe twists even farther to pin me with his over-the-rims gaze. “Is that true, Barrows? You’ve got a problem with—”

“Equal pee rights!” It’s almost a shout, and his eyebrows fly up. Mia jumps. “If we can’t pee on the side of the road, neither can you. You’re going to have to watch your fluid intake and live for rest stops like we do.”

He frowns. “No one said you can’t pee on the side of the road.”

“Right, because that’s fair,” Mia says. “We can moon passing traffic so they get the scenic view. There’s not a shrub big enough for privacy."

"So now nature is sexist?” Gabe asks. “It conspired not to grow plants for girls who want to pee on the side of the freeway?”

I can’t talk about this anymore. I make a new rule to shut them both up. “From now on, peeing at rest stops and gas stations only. For equality.”

“For equality,” Mia cheers and high fives me.

“You’re both frickin’ ridiculous.” The words are a growl as Gabe peels out getting back on the highway.

The subject isn’t over though.

“I need to pee,” Mia announces an hour later, scaring a squeak out of me.

“I thought you were asleep,” I say. “You need to warn people you’re conscious.”

“Hi, I’m conscious, and I have to pee. Right now,” she says louder for Gabe.

“I heard you. I’ll pull over at the next rest stop.”

“When is that?”

“I don’t know. Been a while so it must be soon.”

“Soon” turns out to be closer to a half hour, and I get lost in my Powder_fresh thoughts.

“Sweet salvation!” Mia whoops, startling me from a daze. “Rest stop six miles ahead.”

It’ll feel good to stop and stretch. I’ve become noodle muscles connected by snarled joints of stress and frustration. My body wavers between the bonelessness the road lulls me into and the anxious knot—wiry and bristling—of trying to coexist with Gabe in the car while also trying hard not to notice his existence at all. Plus trying to use all my atoms to will Powder_fresh to accept my message request.

I’m so tired, and I haven’t even done anything for almost three hours.

“About time,” Gabe says. “I need parole from the peepee police.”

Mia scrambles from the car before he even gets his key out of the ignition. Gabe climbs out and shuts the door before turning back when he realizes I haven’t moved. He shoots me an impatient look, but I just wave him off. I need a minute in a Gabe-free space. He shrugs and heads toward the men’s restroom at a fast walk.

When he disappears, I climb slowly down from the Jeep, enjoying the feeling of unfolding each muscle. I shut the door and press my hands against my lower back, pushing my back in and stomach out until I’m a perfect crescent, and there, there it is, that point where one degree more, and it will hurt. The muscles stretch, forgiving me.

A man walks past, heading to a pickup. His head turns toward me and stares a half second too long. The relief of the stretch is forgotten, and all I can feel is my chest pushed out. I snap back into a straight line and turn away from him. His hat advertises the cheap beer that always shows up at Josh Masterson’s parties. He runs his tongue over his teeth, keeping his eyes on me.

I turn to get in the Jeep, to climb back in and fold up, but I stop with my hand on the door. I don’t want to make myself smaller for him. But he’s slowed down, and I don’t want to stay in the parking lot with him either, so I walk toward the bathrooms at a steady pace, refusing to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s spooked me into hurrying.

Mia is washing her hands when I walk in and she smiles. “Have to pee too?”

“Might as well. Wait for me? There’s a creepy guy in the parking lot, and I don’t want to walk out alone.”

She nods. I duck into a stall, take care of business, and wash my hands in the cold water only sink, drying them on my jeans as we head back out.

“Where is he?” She scans the parking lot, but I don’t see his truck anymore, so I give a quick shake of my head.

“Gabe?” she calls, and there’s sudden worry in her voice. My head whips in the direction of the Jeep where Gabe stands beside his open door with his hands fisted in his hair like he wants to tear it out.

Mia jogs toward him, calling his name again, but it’s me he glares at when we reach him. “My wallet’s gone.”

I take a step back at the accusation in his voice. “I didn’t steal it, dude.”

“I know that, but you left the door unlocked.”

It’s true. I did. I was in a hurry to get away from the creeper and forgot. But instead of apologizing, I say, “Why did you leave your wallet in the car?”

“I didn’t want it falling out of my pocket in the bathroom!”

“How was I supposed to know you left it here? It’s not like I would have walked off if I’d known that.”

“This crap right here is why you two were dumb to think you should do this trip by yourselves.”

“Except I have my wallet,” I say. Mia holds up hers in silent agreement.

He scowls. “You better check and make sure they didn’t go through any of your stuff.” He leans back into the Jeep to examine the dashboard more carefully, ignoring us, and the first pang of guilt pokes through my defensiveness. What if more stuff is missing? I should have locked the car.

I lean through my door and notice the console is open. Jack Daniels is still in his jar but now on the floormat. Dolly Parton is upside down in a cupholder. Mia does a quick search through her bag and reports nothing is missing. I check my pink suitcase, and the world tilts slightly on its axis. The top is down but it isn’t latched. It makes me feel gross, like catching someone peeking through my bedroom window. I open it.

“Your stuff okay?” Mia asks.

“No.” I say it quietly. I can hear all my heartbeats.

She looks up from resettling her duffel bag. “What did they take?”

“All my underwear.” I’m trying to keep my voice down, but Gabe hears me anyway.

“Someone stole all your panties ?” he says.

“Yeah.” It has to be Cheap Beer Creeper.

The corner of Gabe’s mouth twitches, and I get why it seems funny on the surface, but I hate the way it feels to see the space where my five pairs of underwear used to be.

“Can we just go?” I click the suitcase shut and walk back to the passenger side.

“Relax, Barrows. Whoever did this is long gone. Probably some tweaker who was looking for easy cash and decided to do some panty-snatching while he was at it. Don’t worry about it.”

My shoulders tense when he says “relax,” and Mia shakes her head at him.

I can’t stand here feeling this exposed while Gabe laughs like it’s funny. “I’m going to get some water.”

I bend over the water fountain outside of the bathroom, but I don’t drink. I take deep breaths instead, but I still feel the sticky weight of that guy’s stare. I splash the cold drinking fountain water over my face to wash away the feeling.

“Hey.” It’s Gabe, his voice level, making sure to stand where I can see him.

I straighten and pat my face dry with the hem of my T-shirt.

“Mia says you went into the bathroom to find her because some guy was creeping on you in the parking lot. That’s why you forgot to lock the door?”

I nod.

“Where is he?” Gabe has gone still.

“He’s gone.” I meet his gaze. For once, the weight feels like concern instead of judgment.

“You’re sure?” His voice is quiet.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t move for another long pause, but his eyes keep scanning the parking lot, empty except for a young mom and dad trying to herd two little boys back into an old Chevy. Then, as if he’s made some sort of decision, he nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t take the underwear thing more seriously.” He reaches out, and I think he’s going to ruffle my hair the way he always does Mia’s. Instead, he brushes a finger against a strand the water stuck to my cheek and carefully hooks it behind my ear. “Are you okay?”

I step back. “I’m fine. Can we go?”

He forces a smile that doesn’t reflect in his eyes, and waves for me to go ahead, falling in step beside me on the way back to the Jeep.

“You good?” Mia asks.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s find you a sister.”

“Who’s driving?” Gabe asks.

“The only one who knows how to drive a stick shift?” Mia sounds as confused as I feel.

“Who is also the only one who doesn’t have a driver’s license on him. It was in my wallet,” he reminds us.

Mia swears. “Just . . . go the speed limit all the time? It should be fine.”

He shakes his head. “No. Out-of-state plates always get more attention. I’m not getting a ticket for this. So who’s learning first?”

“Not me,” she says.

When I settle into the driver’s seat, seatbelt locked, hands on the steering wheel, I’m surprised. I’d planned to fake like I wasn’t nervous, but I don’t need to. It feels okay to be in the driver’s seat. Good, even. I tighten my grip.

“The left is your clutch,” Gabe says from the passenger seat, and talks me through pressing it down, shifting into reverse, and then pressing the accelerator while releasing the clutch. “You’re feeling for a sweet spot where you can take your foot off the clutch without stalling the engine. You’ll know it when you find it.”

I follow his directions, but the Wrangler lurches backwards and dies. “I feel betrayed,” I say to the steering wheel. “I thought we were going to be friends.”

“That’s on you, not me,” Gabe says, his voice tight.

I glance at him, startled. “I was talking about the car.”

“I was too.” But his gaze flickers to the gearshift, and I think he’s lying.

I’m so busy worrying about what he means—why would he think I would want to be friends after that night? Or did he mean that he wants to be friends and it’s my fault we’re not?—that I realize he’s repeating his instructions about the clutch and accelerator. I hurry to follow them so he doesn’t wonder why I’m spacing.

“Hang on,” he says, when I shift a few times, not feeling what he’s talking about. He rests his hand on mine on top of the gearshift. “Go again.”

My concentration is worse this time, so when I reverse, the Jeep executes a flying leap backwards. A sound like a rusty playground swing slips out of me, and I stop right as a van slams on its brakes to avoid hitting us. Gabe’s hand tightens to a death grip over mine.

He takes a deep breath and lets go.

Shaking with adrenaline, I wave for the driver to go around and hope he sees the apology on my face. Gabe settles his hands against the dashboard, motionless for about ten seconds.

“Hot nuggets.” Mia lets out a shaky laugh in the back seat. “I’m glad I already peed or that would’ve scared it right out of me.”

Gabe clears his throat. “I’d better drive. We’re definitely less likely to be pulled over. I don’t want you guys messing up my car.”

“I’m going to figure this out.” My fingers tighten around the wheel and I stare at my whitened knuckles. “Dear Dolly Parton, please bless me to drive this dumb Jeep.” Her bobblehead nods like she’s on board with the plan. “One more chance?” I say to Gabe.

He hesitates, then nods.

I start the car and check my mirrors, shifting into reverse, focusing on the tension in the clutch and the give of the accelerator. I feel . . . something . . . as I work the pedals in opposite directions. The sweet spot? I keep going, and the Jeep slides back smoothly.

Mia whoops, and I grin at her in the rearview mirror. “Praise be to Dolly Parton.”

Gabe grunts. “Great. Now all you have to do is figure out how to go forward.”

I won’t let him get me down. I flash him another grin, shift into first, and accelerate smoothly. When I round the end of the parking lot to drive on the long straightaway in the other direction, Gabe talks me through shifting gears.

I don’t grind the gears once before we pull into a parking spot so we can talk about what we’re doing next.

“Not bad, Kendall.”

I don’t understand why it feels so weird for him to compliment me until I realize he used my first name. Not Barrows. I can’t remember the last time he called me Kendall. I glance at him but he’s watching me, and my eyes skitter away. I fish my phone from the console to set the destination again.

“Oregon?” he asks.

I’m in second gear, cruising toward the rest stop exit before I answer. “Yeah.”

“What if you don’t get in touch with this girl?”

“Then I’ll figure something else out.” I wait for his argument, but he settles back and stares out the window.

I pull onto the highway and hit seventy-five without a hitch. It feels like a great speed for chasing down a sister.