On the Road #2
The sky was starting to lighten, though, and Reg had been running through what they’d need and what they had over and over in his mind since he’d gotten out of the shower (and remembered how to breathe), and now that their route had been revisited, Reg couldn’t think of one more thing.
It was time to go.
The boys had already been cautioned to keep their phones in airplane mode, particularly after Reg’s adventures on the computer the night before.
Phone games and music only, although Reg kept a worried eye out for Ilia.
It wasn’t that he thought the boy had active ill-will toward them—certainly not toward Reynaldo—but the day before had been exciting, an adventure.
The boy was facing the possibility of leaving his mother and everything he knew behind, and Reg knew that, especially for somebody so young, seeing the consequences of that action might not be so easy.
What could be a simple reach out for reassurance in this case could prove very dangerous for everybody else in the car.
“Stop looking at me like that, Mr. Royal,” Ilia said thickly after the first few minutes. “I do realize what we are doing.”
Reg swallowed, wishing he’d had more time with the boys the night before. He and Dean had been understandably preoccupied with logistics, but geez—this was so haphazard!
“I hate forcing this choice on you,” Reg murmured. “I… I keep thinking of something else we could have done, but—”
“But my uncle Lem pointed a gun at us,” Ilia said, suddenly very adult. “I have seen what guns do to people, Mr. Royal. They make choices like this one very, very clear.”
“Wow,” Reg muttered.
“You are surprised I understand?” And there was hurt there; Reg could hear it. Somebody had treated this young man like a child when it mattered.
“No,” Reg answered back. “I’m sorry that you know that so well. It’s… it’s an awful lesson, Ilia. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. I want you to be safe.”
Ilia shrugged. “And you are trying to make me so.” He glanced at Reynaldo, who had fallen asleep, it seemed. “He is sweet,” he said softly. “We are not so stupid as to think, ‘Hey, it shall be love forever!’ But you do not betray lovers. I haven’t had one yet, but I can’t believe that is so.”
This kid had apparently seen too many hard things.
“I’ll hope, for you, that it never has to be,” Reg said softly.
“I’ll take you at face value, Ilia. Just…
tell me. Tell us if you need to go. Reynaldo has no choice, but if you feel like you need to take another path, let us know so we can get you both to safety. ”
Ilia nodded. “Yes. It is a promise.”
“Okay. Get some sleep. We don’t get out of the car to take a leak for another two hours.”
“Ooh… maybe some chocolate? Your mother is good woman, but I think there needs to be more sugar in this little trip.”
And that sounded like the kid who’d been deeply invested in Reg’s love life the day before. “Of course,” he said, trying not to think about his small cache of savings and how it was about to go bye-bye.
There were other priorities.
After a few moments, Ilia dropped off, and Anthony—who had been doing business on his phone, Reg figured, after watching him text madly for a good twenty miles—put his phone on the charger and slumped back in his seat.
“Hard leaving the shop?” Reg asked.
Anthony grunted. “Not really. Connor apparently knows his shit. He’s been on the phone all morning as he commutes, and Violet said he’s fitting in nicely.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Reg was good at troubleshooting.
“My dad and I—basic business disagreement. I was remembering what you said about not being able to own the shooting range with a felony conviction, and I realized the range was vulnerable. I wanted to put it under an LLC so if one of us was arrested, the other could take over management. I should have done it earlier, but, you know, you don’t count on basic human decency suddenly being a felony, you know? ”
“Oh God,” Reg muttered. “Anthony, I could drop you off, you could take an Uber back to my parents’ place—”
“No, no, no,” Anthony said. “I thought you liked me, and now that we’re stuck on a road trip for the better part of a week you want to ghost me?”
Reg scowled. “I do like you, but what part of liking somebody means you have to ruin their life?”
“I don’t know, Reg. What part of putting on a high school art show means you have to upend your whole existence to keep teenaged boys from being kidnapped or deported to a death camp in El Salvador? It’s like the commercial says: Life comes at you fast. Sometimes you just have to roll with it.”
“That’s not a commercial. What would they be trying to sell? Tums?”
Anthony snickered. “The last two days giving you acid reflux?” he asked. “Because as much as I love your mom’s cooking, I could really use a salad or some beans and rice or something.”
“It’s cute that you think take and bake pizza is cooking,” Reg said dryly. “And let’s do burrito bowls for lunch. Lots of whole ingredients, greens, veggies, beans—you can go full health nut if you like.”
“That’s taking it a bit too far,” Anthony teased, and then he grew sober. “Reg, I’m not sure if you realize this, but there’s not much I wouldn’t do, or go through, to get your attention.”
And just like that.
“Why?” Reg asked, his voice faint to his own ears. He scanned the rearview mirror, and both boys were asleep now, Ilia—for all his tough talk and old eyes—with his head tilted vulnerably on Reynaldo’s shoulder.
“I don’t know,” Anthony said, sounding like this didn’t bother him at all. “Something about how thoughtful you are, how your mind works, how your paintings make me feel like I’m home.”
Reg swallowed, the mention of his art almost his undoing.
“I’m not that remarkable,” he whispered.
“You work hard not to be,” Anthony said, an edge to his voice. “Good boys don’t get lost—I get it. Chance was the baby, and everybody worshipped the baby god. I get that too. I was the baby god, remember?”
That surprised a chuckle out of Reg. “You were the baby god?”
“Son, I had two bedrooms, two bicycles, two laptops, two Lego sets, and my choice of television at both venues. I was the apple of my father’s eye, the squishy center of my mother’s heart, and the surprise treasure of my stepfather’s middle age.
My cat passed away when I was twelve because she was old, and in a week, I had two kittens, one at each house. ”
“Aw,” Reg said.
“Well, yeah. And when my dad’s job traveled too much, they both went to live with my mom, where they are currently collecting a pension and eating bougie cat food, leaving me without a cat.”
“You need a cat,” Reg said.
“I need a boyfriend,” Anthony retorted. “And I’m damned close to having one. He just….” Anthony blew out a breath. “My God, Registrar—you are so bright. Why won’t you believe you shine?”
Reg felt it again, like he’d felt it pressing down on him the night before—the weight of a thousand childhood expectations that he’d addressed himself, because the adults around him had so much more important matters to attend to.
“Why do you always…,” he started, eyes burning. “I mean, with the full name—why do you gotta—”
The warmth of Anthony’s hand on his knee calmed him down.