Chapter 4
four
Zander
It's hard to explain, but something about driving through town with Nev in the passenger seat feels right.
I can picture the two of us, a true couple, heading to the feed store to pick up hay for the horses.
Jameson's truck, with its techy dash, self-driving beeps and alarms and shiny leather seats is far too fussy for a good farm truck, but it's still easy to imagine.
Nev in a cotton dress with gritty cowboy boots, her hair tied up in a bandana and sunburn on her cheeks as she hangs her head out the window to get a better look at the prairie sunflowers growing along the road.
A country ballad blasting out of a scratchy radio, our big black collie sitting in the seat between us, and the scent of her lemony shampoo filling the cab.
"Did the doctor say how long he'll be in the hospital?" she asks. It takes a second for her question to break through my daydream.
I look over. There's no bandana or cowboy boots or sunburn, but she's still every bit the goddamn daydream.
"Depends on a few tests but probably four or five days.
" I laugh. "She did tell him that if he continues to sexually harass the nurses, she'll personally wheel him out to the parking lot and dump him out of the chair. "
"I liked her the second we met," Nev says. "She was the doctor on call when we got there." Nev rests her head back and turns her face to the window. "I always wanted to be a doctor."
"Really? My money was on astronaut. In sixth grade, you did a whole report on becoming the first woman to step on Mars."
She chuckles lightly. "I did want to be an astronaut but then I watched a training video where you're strapped into a chair while experiencing some crazy ass amount of G-force.
Looks like your skin is going to rip right off.
I decided I wasn't brave enough to be an astronaut.
Wasn't brave enough to be a doctor either. "
"Bullshit," I say. "You stayed because you love Rockhurst, and you didn't want to go out into the, and I quote, 'wide world because you were sure it would disappoint.'"
Without lifting her head from the head rest, she turns to look at me. The light coming through the windshield turns her hazel eyes green. "Did I really say that?"
I nod. "You were sitting in the park one day reading through college brochures. I was riding past on my dirt bike, so I stopped to talk."
She smiles. "I remember. You offered me a bite of your Snickers bar—"
I laugh. "And you took a gigantic bite, and I told you that was the last time I'd share a candy bar with you."
She laughs too. It's always like that with Nev. Comfortable, easy, exactly right, like my fucking daydream. We know each other so well that we could jump back in time a million times and always pull up a story about us.
"I can't believe you remember my astronaut report," she says.
I tap my temple. "I've got a photographic memory when it comes to Nevada Mason."
Her smile fades, and she gazes at me with those incredible eyes.
I glance at her for a second and am glad to have the excuse of having to watch the road as a reason to look away.
I'm not sure why I said it, but I'm fine with it being out there.
Nev knows how I feel about her. At least I think she does.
"Hey, remember that shell bracelet I made you?" I ask. I don't know if it's Dad's heart attack and the slap of reality that we'll lose him someday or if it's sitting in a truck with Nev, but I'm feeling stupidly nostalgic for the past.
Nev is quiet for a second. She turns to look out the window, and I'm embarrassed about bringing it up.
"It was just a meaningless memory that popped up," I say quickly.
"Of course I remember it," she says quietly. "I remember why you made it for me."
I'd forgotten that part of the memory. "Yeah, that was one of those moments in life that helped me grow up fast. Dad was really good at that, helping us become men fast as he liked to say."
"Nana was so pissed at him. I think she really was planning to pull out grandpa's old shotgun."
* * *
Then
I sneak in the back door, hoping to avoid my dad.
I can hear him talking angrily on the phone to someone.
He is always cussing out someone. My backpack bounces against my back as I tiptoe through the kitchen to the stairs.
I talked the vice principal out of calling Dad to tell him about my suspension.
It wasn't hard to do. My dad scares the shit out of him.
My plan is to hide out in my room and then come down later, after school is out and pretend like I just walked in the door.
It's a good plan that is quickly obliterated when I accidentally drop my heavy backpack on the floor.
I freeze, hoping he didn't hear the noise.
I finally take a breath and a step, and there's a new hitch in my plan. The squeaky floorboards in my room.
Seconds later, heavy, angry footsteps pound up the stairs. Dad smacks open my door. He's holding his pistol. "Zander, what the fuck? I thought someone broke in. Why are you home so early?"
I take a step back. At fourteen, I've passed him in height, but he still outweighs me in muscle, strength and meanness. A loud crack of thunder outside startles me and reminds us that thunder clouds are hanging low over the town.
Dad's already in a bad mood from the phone call. I can almost see orange flames from his nostrils as he takes a step into the room. I'm done for either way so I tell him.
"Got suspended for telling the physical ed teacher to fuck himself. He deserved it. He made this kid wipe up the bathroom with his shirt because he couldn't do a pull-up."
Dad shakes his head, smooths his hair back with his palm and throws his fist. I turn my head, and it lands on my jaw. I bite my tongue so hard it's spurting blood. "Get out," he says.
I'm trying to catch the drops of blood, so I don't get in more trouble for dripping blood on the floor. I look at him, confused. The room is spinning. My entire mouth hurts, and pain is shooting through my skull.
"Get your shit and get out. I told you no more suspensions, and next time, let the kid with the toilet-stained shirt fend for himself. You've got an hour, then I start throwing your crap out the fucking window."
He walks out. I wait for him to get down the stairs, then I race to the bathroom to spit out the blood and rinse my mouth.
The pain in my jaw and the rush of blood down my throat cause me to puke.
I wash my face and plod back to my room.
I dump the school shit out of my backpack.
Won't need it when I'm out on the road, and I tell myself more than once that getting the fuck out of here will be the best thing that ever happened to me.
I shove some clothes and some money I have saved into the pack.
My coat is downstairs in the boot room. The distant thunder tells me it's going to be a rough night.
I'll need the coat. Before leaving, I step into the bathroom.
A bruise is forming on my face, and my lip is swollen to twice its regular size.
I gulp down two aspirin and tromp downstairs.
I'm just as glad not to see the fucker again.
Far as I'm concerned, I'm walking off the ranch and never looking back.
I'm pissed that I meet up with him as he's coming back from the bike shed. He pushes keys into his pocket. "I paid for those bikes. You can walk."
I stare at him and keep walking. He crosses his arms and stands there, apparently, to make sure I leave the property. The joke is on him because I'm happy to get the fuck off his land.
The sky over the road is charcoal gray, and the clouds are so thick and heavy with rain it looks like they might fall out of the sky.
The first drops hit my face. They're heavy enough to remind me that my face is swollen.
I realize once I leave the road that I've got no fucking place to go.
My friends aren't out of school yet, and most of them have parents who don't like any of us Wilde boys hanging around.
I get to the small park at the end of town and take shelter under the massive shade tree.
Today, it's protecting me from the downpour.
I'm sure somewhere in science we learned not to sit under a tree during a thunderstorm, but there's a picnic table and bench underneath, so it's the best place I can find.
The thick branches keep some of the rain off me.
I'm already soaked, and the cold is starting to settle into my bones causing me to shiver.
My chin joins in, and it causes sharp pain in my jaw. The aspirin didn't do shit.
I search in my backpack for the granola bar I shoved in there this morning.
The bar is too hard and crunchy for my sore jaw and ripped up tongue.
I throw it on the ground. It takes only five seconds for a squirrel to run down the trunk of the tree and snatch the granola bar.
He carries it back up to wherever he's sitting out the storm in the branches.
The downpour slows to a drizzle, but a sharp, cold wind has followed the storm.
I zip up my coat, plop my backpack on the table and climb on top of it to stretch out.
The backpack stuffed with clothes makes a decent pillow.
I close my eyes, hoping the ache in my head will stop and hoping that I never have to see my fucking old man again.