All Over the Map

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I stay on the bench for several more minutes, keeping my phone screen on so I can see the time tick toward 11:00.

It vibrates with a text from Jean.

Paul says you changed your mind. You sure, kiddo?

No. Not at all. I feel sick. I want to hit something. Break something. Maybe throw up.

Yes

I sit longer, just to feel the time slip away, just to feel the exact second when the window of opportunity closes, and finally, the screen shows 11:00, then 11:15.

It’s over.

I can’t take it back.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t sit and cry for the first time. Even the good parts—meeting Seth and Leila—have hurt because they’ve made Mom’s lie worse.

It’s not the hard kind of crying where I can’t catch my breath and my eyes swell.

They’re quiet tears. But they burn.

At the end of thirty minutes, I text Leila and ask her to do a post thanking her followers for their willingness to help but telling them I’m ending the trip.

What’s wrong?

Everything. But I give her a simple answer.

Jeep damage catastrophic.

Trip is over.

I reverse all the PayUp donations and sit some more, waiting for the congestion of crying to go away, for my eyes to feel normal again.

When they finally do, I walk back to Randy’s shop.

Only Mia and Gabe are in the waiting room. She stares through the window, refusing to look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Mia turns toward me now. “I think a few things have gotten misunderstood in all of this, but it doesn’t matter. Some of it’s true. And I’m sorry. The rest of it, what you said, Mia? That I only care about myself? I hope it’s not true.” I don’t want to get into her accusations about Gabe, or to explain how I fell in and out of love with him once before and that it never changed our friendship. I’ll tell her the truth about my crush someday. Not with him sitting right here.

I take the seat across from her and wait until she meets my eyes. “I’m not going to Redding,” I tell her. “I’ll wait here with you guys, and we’ll drive back to Adobe together. I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t matter in all of this.”

She doesn’t say anything. It is the sound of a dusty, empty road with no red Ford coming down it.

I’d hoped the grand gesture was enough. I stand up to make the only other gesture that has a prayer. I hope that it works. I hope hard. “I’m going back to that café to get you another donut. Powdered. Because friendship is messy.” Please love the metaphor. Please love me again.

I text Mom as I leave the waiting room.

I’m coming home.

You don’t need to fly out.

I walk in silence. Lonely silence. Silence that gets quieter the farther I get from the body shop. My steps feel heavy.

I’m halfway to the café when Mia calls my name from the sidewalk and runs to catch me.

She stops in front of me, her breath coming hard. “I’m sorry too. I’m really sorry that you can’t meet your sperm donor now.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She searches my eyes. “He’s not your dad. He’s just some guy. You’re probably not missing that much.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, but I know she’s trying to cheer me up. “You don’t get it, but that’s okay. I love that you came on this insane trip with me anyway.”

“Explain it to me then.”

I glance down the empty sidewalk. There’s no one to hear this conversation but this still feels like a strange place to have it. “Take a walk?”

We wander to where the sidewalk ends and turns to dirt, becoming the road shoulder leading out of Coffee Creek.

“Tell me,” Mia says, as we stare down at the sidewalk. “Tell me what I don’t get.”

The concrete sort of crumbles at the end, bits of cement mixing with the small pebbles in the gray dirt. I’m so tired of this town, enough to almost want Adobe back. “You know who you are. You know why you are the way you are.” I kick at the crumbling edge of the sidewalk. A small piece breaks off and skitters into a thatch of dandelions that trail off in yellow clumps toward a patchy field.

I crouch to study the dandelions, trying to find the words. “You’re like these little guys, all hanging out together doing their thing.” I pluck one and stand, holding it out to her. She takes it. I glance around, trying to find something that explains my place in all of this. I point to a tall, gangly weed growing by itself against the road several yards ahead of us. “I’m like that.”

“I don’t know, Kendall. You’re more like this.” She picks up a piece of gravel. “Dumb as a box of rocks if you think you don’t fit right in here with these dandelions.”

I smile. Teasing means forgiveness in Sandoval-speak. “You’re messing up my analogy.”

“It was bad to start.”

“What I’m really saying is, you know the parts of you that come from your family because you see them every day. You’re in the middle of it, like that flower.” I nod at the blossom I gave her. “For the first time ever, I found a few of my own pieces this week.”

“Because of Leila?”

“And Seth too. But mostly Leila.”

“You really like her, huh?”

“No. I love her. Just like that.” I snap my fingers. “And finding her has made this whole trip worth it.”

“You finally feel like you have a sister?”

“Yeah.”

Hurt flickers over her face. “I’ve thought I had a sister since we were six years old.”

I stare at her. I see the truth as wide open and uncomplicated as the long stretches of desert highways we’ve already traveled. There is the same kind of loneliness in her eyes that I feel staring out at those bleak landscapes.

She turns away slightly, brushing at her eyes as I gather myself.

“Mia.” I rest my hand in the crook of her elbow and pulling lightly but stubbornly until she turns to me again. “Do you think Leila is going to replace you?”

She takes a long pause, almost speaks, then stops like she’s trying to get her voice under control. “DNA matters so much to you. And it never has to me. You’re my sister. But I guess I can’t accuse you of being the selfish one without being a hypocrite. A real sister would be happy for you.” She sniffles and the sound squeezes my heart. “Honestly, in my better moments, I am.”

Mia is the hugger in our relationship, but I fling my arms around her and squeeze. “Leila is awesome,” I say into her hair. “But I chose you, and she’ll never have that on you.”

She squeezes back in her strong, warm Mia way. “You chose me?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“Yeah.”

There’s a long pause as we stay in the hug, and she rests her head on my shoulder.

“You chose me.” She says it with more confidence.

“So much yes.”

She’s quiet a long time before she mumbles into my shoulder, “I still want a donut.”

I laugh into her curl tickling my nose. “Okay, but one more thing.” I step back and hold her at arm’s length so she can see my face. “I’m not trying to move in on Gabe.”

She waves her hand through the air like she’s brushing my words away. “I know you guys are just friends. Donut?”

I squish her hard again. “Coming right up.”

She laughs and untangles herself from my hug, then jerks her head toward the café. “Are you going to be okay not meeting the sperm donor?” she asks as I fall in beside her.

This is her way of making space for me, and I step into it, test it to see if we can share it like we always have. “It’s hard to walk away from getting the last few answers. I’m going to spend time being sad about it.”

She slides her arm around my waist as we walk down the sidewalk. “Just cry, mija.” This is something her mom has said to each of us more than once. Even though I already feel like a wrung-out rag, I know I won’t stop if I start again, so I don’t.

We get her powdered donut and return to the body shop. Gabe looks between us, an eyebrow raised in question.

“We’re good,” Mia says.

“Cool.” He returns to his phone.

Austin steps in from the garage, jingling a set of keys. “I forgot to tell you. I rented the Dodge in the parking lot. You can take it for the afternoon if you want to. The Jeep is going to take several more hours. I’ll call you when we’re done.”

I accept the keys. “You aren’t worried I’ll wreck it too?”

“Just drive on deerless roads. But if you hit another one, I also know how to fix Dodges.” He winks and heads back to the bay.

I smile at Mia. “We never did get your picture by the Coffee Creek sign.”

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, bouncing up. “How much do I hate sitting in this waiting room that getting back into a car sounds good to me?”

“About as much as I do,” Gabe says as we all head for the parking lot.

“Wait, I need to get Jack Daniels,” Mia says, running inside to her luggage.

I’m relieved to discover that Austin’s rental is an automatic, and I feel even better when Mia sets Dolly Parton in the cupholder.

Twenty minutes later, Mia has her Coffee Creek sign pictures, and we’re back in the car with several hours still left to kill.

Mia puts Jack Daniels on the console. “It’s time to lay this guy to rest. There’s a place about twenty miles from here called Trinity Lake. Let’s bury him there.”

We drive to the lake and park near a boat ramp and walk along the shore while Mia looks for a good burial spot. It’s a big lake, and there’s a pretty decent strip of dirt beach between the dark water and the spruce and pine trees that surround it.

“He needs shade,” Mia says, rejecting the beach when Gabe suggests it.

“The woods are nice,” I say, pointing toward them.

“He needs something with a view,” she says.

We walk another ten minutes before she darts toward the forest. “There’s a small hill I want to check out,” she calls over her shoulder. She comes back a minute or two later. “It’s perfect. But I’d like to be alone with him for this. You’ve never understood his journey like I have.” She shoos us toward the shoreline while she gets to work digging with a large, pointy rock.

Gabe and I wander farther south along the water. The shore makes a sudden curve a couple of minutes later and follows a small inlet about two football fields long. It’s pretty, but my mind isn’t on it. When he stops to skip rocks, I sit on a log and stare at the trees on the opposite shore until Gabe drops beside me.

He nudges my knee and the soft brush of his jeans against mine sends a surge of warmth through me. “It was nice of Austin to fly out here.”

“It’s amazing. I just . . .” I stare down at my hands.

“You just what?”

“I can’t even feel happy about it because I’m so mad at California.”

“Not the answer I expected. What did California do to you?”

“It’s so big. How can I be in the same state as my bio—as my donor, and still be twelve hours away from seeing him with no shot of getting there? He might as well be back in Philadelphia. California is too . . . too . . .”

“Long?” he supplies.

“Yes, long! And stupid.” I kick at the dirt.

He stands up. “I can’t fix any of that. But come throw a rock. You’ll feel better.” He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him pull me up. His palm is warm and slightly rough. The soft scrape of it across mine raises goosebumps from my arm all the way up to the fine hairs at the nape of my neck.

I hate and love each of these touches.

We have gotten close twice now to doing something I can’t take back—very close, perilously close. It feels like Gabe wants to steer us that way again. This is exactly what I told Mia I wouldn’t do. But I don’t move away.

I glance back in Mia’s direction, but she’s out of sight, far beyond us, still busy digging her hole on the other side of the point. The densely wooded point.

“Gabe.”

He steps toward me, his fingers tangling in mine. “Kendall.”

His breath feathers across my skin, and I swallow. “This is a bad idea.”

“It’s a good idea.” He runs a finger across my cheekbone, his touch light. “Such a good idea,” he whispers.

“Why now?” I murmur back. “Why not two years ago?”

He gives a low laugh. “Because this time you don’t smell like a fifth of whiskey. And . . .”

He trails off. I reach out and pinch his shirt, unwilling to let him get away with a non-answer. “And what?”

His free hand covers mine and keeps it in place against his chest. “You at seventeen is much different than you then. Now you’re . . .”

Another trail-off, and I want to growl, Finish your sentences. I’m what ? Hot? Old enough? Dead sexy?

“A person,” he finishes.

“A . . . person?” I blink at him, a tiny bit less in the moment.

He gives me a slow smile. “Yeah. A person. Before, you were my annoying kid sister’s annoying friend. That was it. Your whole identity. But the last few days . . . I don’t know. You turned into a person while I’ve been in Boulder. A cool one.”

He draws up my hand he’s holding against his chest to wrap it around his neck. “A person I’d like to kiss. But if you’d rather I didn’t, I guess we can keep talking.”

I want him.

His smile fades when I stay quiet, and his eyes meet mine, asking a silent question. When I only stare back, he slides an arm around my waist and rests his other hand against my cheek, and already I know Gabe Sandoval will be a better kiss than the previous three kisses I’ve experienced.

Every thought blinks out when his lips brush against mine, and he draws back to give a small sigh. Then he’s kissing me, his lips sure and firm against mine, and I tighten my arm around his neck, bringing me flush against him. Everywhere we touch is electric.

His hand slides into my hair and holds me against him, and my mouth opens beneath his, his tongue sliding between my lips, and he pulls me tighter.

It’s my turn to explore his lips. The thousand daydreams I used to have of this moment aren’t even a fraction as good as reality. His hands skim down my sides to rest against my waist. The gentle friction of his palms against the soft skin there is enough to kill me. I will die of a sensory overload and Mia will have to bury me too—

Mia.

I pull away and take two steps back, my breath coming hard.

“Kendall?” Gabe’s voice is rough and slightly dazed. He reaches for my hand, but I tug it away.

“I don’t want this.” I take another step back.

His eyebrows shoot up, calling my bluff.

“I don’t want to upset Mia,” I amend.

He frowns. “Mia? She’ll be fine.”

“Do you know how many girls have lost Mia privileges because they tried to get to you through her?”

“That’s because they never wanted to be her friend. You’re different. She’ll get it.”

“She won’t.” I remember the angry confrontation on the sidewalk in Coffee Creek. “She’s already accused me of doing it, and I swore to her that it wasn’t true. And it’s not, Gabe. I won’t do this to her.”

He looks like he wants to argue. Instead, his expression closes off, like the first time I saw him standing by his Jeep in front of my house. He walks down to the water and picks up a rock, chucking it as far as he can.

Everything is worse now. I know this. I don’t know what to do about it. I watch him for a couple of minutes and the silence grows as prickly as the New Mexico pinyons.

I walk over next to him. “Gabe? Do you get it?”

Instead of answering, he stoops down to pick up another rock and hands it to me. “Rock skipping challenge.”

We skip rocks for a long time, and I beat him more than I lose.

“How are you so good at this?” he complains. I’ve never been so happy to hear his familiar bickering tone.

“Your brothers taught me at Lake Adobe too, you know.”

After I beat him for the tenth time, Mia walks around the point.

“Hey, guys,” she says. She crouches to rinse her hands in the lake. “Jack Daniels is home now.” She and Gabe cross themselves, and we stand around silently for a minute. She clears her throat. “Well, I’m hungry again. Let’s go.”

There’s a crackle and hum to the vibe between us, but we act normal, talking to Mia instead of each other, and she doesn’t seem to sense anything different.

We head back to Coffee Creek, stopping at a restaurant on the way to order takeout. I pick up sandwiches for Randy and Austin too.

But it’s all so different.

Gabe Sandoval kissed me. I tasted him. I still feel the traces of heat where his thumbs rested above my hip bones.

I am doomed to replay all of this. Forever.

After the trip.

I can’t think about any of this until we’re home and Gabe is back at school, and I’m not trapped in a car where Mia can read my face while I moon like an idiot because Gabe kissed me.

And it can never happen again.

We’re all quiet for the rest of the drive. There are no new cars in the Boss Auto parking lot when we get back, and I hope that means Randy has been able to work on the Jeep with Austin without interruption.

Mia and Gabe sit down in the waiting area to eat, and I poke my head through the service door. “Hi,” I call above the sound of loud drilling. It stops and Austin’s head pokes up from the other side of the Jeep. “I brought you guys lunch.” I notice the time on the shop wall. 3:13. “Maybe it’s dinner. Or linner? Anyway, it’s roast beef.” He’s always happy when Cassidy makes pot roast.

“Thanks,” Austin says. “Randy’s in his office, but I’ll let him know.”

“I’ll bring it to him. How’s it going? Did the radiator show up?”

He grins. “It’ll be here any minute.”

“Okay,” I say. Hope stirs in my chest again. If the radiator shows up soon and Austin finishes by closing time, there might still be a way to save the trip. We can do this if we drive all night. Gabe will just have to take his turn at the wheel. I can talk him into it. I know I can.

But no.

No, I’m not asking Gabe and Mia to give up more than they already have. I found Leila, and that’s not a consolation prize. I let go of the San Diego plan, again.

I knock on Randy’s office door and enter when he calls, “Come in.”

“Hey. Brought you some lunch. Or dinner.”

“Thanks.” He accepts it from me and sets it on his desk. “Don’t worry, the Jeep will get done today. Your brother does good work.”

“He’s not my brother,” I correct him. “He’s my . . . my mom dates his dad.”

He peers at me over the top of his glasses. “Interesting. Because showing up like that is exactly what my brother always does for me.”

I go back to the waiting room to eat my own lunch. I’m halfway through a BLT when the shop door opens and a woman steps in carrying a large box.

“Whoa,” Mia says.

I can’t say anything. I can only stare. This is a bigger shock than Austin showing up, and it’s much less welcome.

Because the woman with the box is Cassidy.