Painless (13 page)

Chapter 30

I jump out of bed, fling open my closet door, and start throwing clothes onto the bed. My suit, dress pants, a couple of shirts, shorts, my black shoes, and my guitar. I take anything I might need. By nine a.m., the car’s loaded.

And I call Luna. I need to say good-bye.

Luna’s voice is groggy when she answers her phone. “This is David,” I say. “I’m leaving in a few minutes. I wanted to say good-bye.”

“You’re really going to meet your mother?”

“I’m going to her wedding, and then I’m following up on a lead from a detective about my dad.”

“Have you lost your mind?” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Remember? It’s on my bucket list to find out about my parents.”

“The bucket list,” she says. “When and where is the wedding?”

“Tomorrow evening at six. It’s about an eight-hour drive. And then on Sunday I’ll be headed to check out my dad.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Sunday evening or Monday.”

“I hope everything works out for you,” she says.

“A detective gave me the invitation to my mother’s wedding. He found it in her garbage.”

Luna laughs. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when she sees you.”

“Come with me,” I say. “We can go as friends. Nothing more. We’ll have separate rooms. I won’t even hold your hand.”

“I’d go, but you have to believe me when I say I can’t.”

“You have free will,” I say.

“Not with this,” she says. “Good-bye, David. It was great most of the time.”

I get into the car wondering what’s going on with Luna.

She’s marrying Derek.

She’s pregnant.

She’s saying no in the nicest way possible because she doesn’t connect with me.

I take deep breaths. All those times I was in the hospital because of CIPA, I never gave up. I never even thought about giving up. Sure, I was not in pain, but I’ve learned there are other ways to suffer without it.

Okay, David, I tell myself. Pretend this is a game. You’re in the woods and you don’t know which way to go.

It’s like that part of my video game where Davy and Tyler have to make it through the woods to a tower and rescue the princess to restore order in the village, only I don’t have friends or a princess to rescue.

I feel like I’m going to stagnate and start growing mold if I don’t do something.

I have to do this.

Besides, if my plan explodes I’ll still be able to sit on the beach for a while. I’ll play my guitar. It’ll be almost like home where there’s no one around to hear me.

I stop at Spencer’s house and walk to the garage. He’s got paint on his face and arms. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“I’m going to my mother’s wedding. I wanted you to know where I’ll be.”

“What about Joe?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t tell him. He’d talk me out of going.”

“Why now, David? Why not wait a week? I can go with you in a week.”

“Joe would stop me.”

“I’ll explain everything to Joe if you want me to. He only wants to make sure he’s doing what’s best for you, but he doesn’t know what to do,” Spencer says. “But I’m glad you’re giving this your best shot. Good luck.”

I go to the bank, and I stop for gas. Then I go into the store and buy an energy drink and chips. As I’m waiting in line, I see a kid who used to be on my grandfather’s soccer team. Once in a while I’d go to their pizza parties.

“Hey, Wyatt,” I say.

He looks at me and says hello. He asks about my grandfather, and I say he passed away. “He used to say you were the best goalie he ever coached.”

“He was a great coach.” Wyatt sets a twelve-pack of beer on the counter.

“I didn’t know you were twenty-one already,” I say.

The clerk asks him for his ID.

He pulls one out and gives it to the clerk.

“I thought your name was Wyatt,” the clerk says.

“I hope you die,” Wyatt says to me.

That’s all right. Just because I’m off to a bad start, it isn’t an omen that this trip is going to suck. If luck’s based on breathing, I’m doing pretty okay. The worst thing that ever happened to me is going to become the best thing, and this kid doesn’t rank in the top thousand of bad things that have happened to me.

I slide behind the steering wheel and fasten my seat belt. My cell phone rings.

“Can you stop by here before you leave?” Luna asks. “I can’t say good-bye in a telephone call.”

When I get to Luna’s duplex, I see her sitting on her porch with a backpack. Her car’s gone. I get out of my car and meet her halfway.

She touches the necklace around my neck. “You’re wearing the necklace,” she says.

“Yeah.” I’ve been wearing it since the day she gave it to me. “I never gave you anything.” I wish I would’ve given her something to remember me by.

“You’re kidding,” she says. “You rescued me tons
of times.”

“Not tons,” I say. “Maybe two. Where’s your car?”

“I donated it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need it,” she says. “I won’t be needing it.”

“Flying’s better,” I say. “Where did you decide to go?”

“Texas.”

“I’ll miss you,” I say.

She looks away. “You’re staying in a hotel tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Did you make reservations?”

“No.”

“You should’ve. Drive carefully, okay?”

“Come with me. You don’t have to leave today.”

“I can’t,” Luna says.

“You’re leaving because of Derek?”

“I don’t have a choice,” she says.

“A couple of days won’t make a difference. It’s not like an asteroid is going to destroy the earth right away.”

A cab pulls up in front of her house. Luna gives me a kiss. It’s the first time I’ve really kissed her. Then she walks to the cab and gets in. I climb into my car and rest my head on the steering wheel.

There’s a knock on my window, and I look. I see Luna and roll down the window.

“I hate you,” she says. “I hate you for making me want to go with you. I hate you for making this harder.”

“You called me,” I say.

“You should’ve kept going. Will you be back before Tuesday?” she asks. “Are you absolutely sure you’ll be back?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Then I’ll come with you as long as you understand that after this weekend, I probably won’t see you again.”

I’ll think about that on Monday.

Part Three

Chapter 31

I back out onto the road. “Will you be in trouble for not showing up today?”

“I’ll call my mom,” Luna says and punches a number into her cell phone.

“Hey, Mom. I’ve changed my plans. I’m taking a road trip with David…Okay. That sounds great…I’ll meet you Tuesday morning…I will…Love you too.” Luna sighs.

“Is she mad?” I ask.

“No. She told me to have a good time.”

“She thinks you still work for me?”

“No. Are you going to get into trouble?”

“Probably. I didn’t tell Joe I was leaving.” I don’t ask her anything about Tuesday. The days before are more important.

“Is it worth getting sent away?” she asks.

“It is now,” I say.

Luna shuts her eyes and yawns, and we’re not even out of the city limits yet.

“Want to listen to a road-trip CD?” I ask.

“Okay.”

“It’s in the console.” I tell her how I went to the bookstore, heard Cassandra and her boyfriend arguing, and how he left her on the sidewalk when it was storming.

“You took her home?” Luna asks.

“No. I gave her cab fare.”

“That would be embarrassing to her, I think,” Luna says.

“It was late. My license restricts me from driving
after midnight.”

“So you’re going to this wedding to get back at
your mother?”

“Well, I don’t want her to remember me as a disease,” I say. “I want to show her I’m better off without her, and I’m more than all right.” It only took me eighteen years to get where I am.

“Just don’t expect anything from your mom.” Luna slips in the CD. “Born to be Wild” starts.

“I don’t.”

“We can have fun doing other stuff.”

She starts singing. By the time I turn onto the interstate heading north, we’re singing together, and the windows are down.

“Your eyes are different,” Luna says when the
song ends.

“Bloodshot?” I ask. I turn the mirror and glance at my eyes for two seconds.

“Bright like you’re happy.”

“I am.”

“Me too, except for one thing. I didn’t bring anything to wear to a wedding.”

“We’ll stop somewhere,” I say.

“Goodwill,” she says.

It’s a good day for driving. The sun shines bright in the morning sky, and there isn’t much traffic.

“I’ll reserve a couple of rooms,” Luna says. “After we get there, you may have a problem because of your age.”

I get my wallet from my pocket. “Use my bank card,” I say. “There are maps in the console with the route we’re following. Try to find a five-star hotel. Get a penthouse if you want to.”

Luna starts searching on her phone. After a while I ask if she’s having trouble finding something. “I’m reading reviews,” she says.

She spends the next hour reading. I keep driving north on the interstate. I drive the speed limit except when someone is merging onto the highway, and then I slow down. There isn’t much traffic, and it’s interstate all the way. Along the side all I see are signs, trees, and exits to places I’ve never heard of. A car museum, campgrounds, a lake. I drive over a suspension bridge about a mile long. Below are water and boats.

“I found one,” Luna says. “It has a restaurant, pool, and Internet access.”

“Okay,” I say.

Pretty soon I see a sign to an outlet mall at the next exit in a few miles, and I ask Luna if we should stop there.

“Let me check,” she says.

A few minutes later we’re inside the mall and at a shop with racks of prom and pageant dresses. I watch her as she searches through the rack of gently worn dresses. She carries several into a dressing room and returns a few minutes later with a short, black dress. The neckline is low cut. It’s on sale for twenty-five dollars.

“Are you sure black is a good color for a wedding?” I ask.

“Nobody will know me,” she says. “Will I embarrass you?”

“Never,” I say. “You can wear whatever you want to wear.”

“I want to do something I’ve never done before,” Luna says, looking over at a rack of shoes. She picks out black three-inch-high heels and tries them on.

I look up her body from the heels and meet her eyes.

“They match the dress,” is all I know to say. I can’t say she reminds me of Miss March from an old
Playboy
magazine.

“Is it too much?” she asks.

“No,” I say.

Outside I open the trunk. She gently places the dress across the bags and turns to me. “Want me to drive?”

“Why don’t you look up information on the town?”

Back on the interstate, she tells me it’s a barrier island. “Average high temperature in June is eighty degrees, and the average low is sixty-five.” She looks at me. “It’s perfect.”

“Good.”

“It’s believed that Blackbeard hid his treasure there. The island is only twenty miles long, and it’s a sea turtle sanctuary. Most of the island is privately owned. There is a forest preserve. The only access is by one bridge. Visitors are limited.”

My stomach drops. “Not good.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “We have the wedding invitation, don’t we?”

I nod. “Are you a good swimmer?” I ask with a grin.

She sets her phone on the console.

“Since this is theoretically the last time we’ll ever do anything like this, why don’t we play truth?” I ask.

“But only one question per category and only three questions total,” she says. “And we can refuse to answer. No, I am not a good swimmer, and if you’re thinking we’ll swim to the island, you’re crazy.” She sighs. “What are the top three craziest things you’ve ever done?”

“Three? That’s three questions.”

She shrugs.

I tell her about the time I lay on the railroad tracks, the time Spencer dared me to jump off a bridge, and the time we tried to stop a robbery.

“I thought you were scared to do anything,” she says.

“I was after I jumped off the bridge. I ended up with a collapsed lung and almost died,” I say. “Now it’s my turn. Have you ever had sex?”

“Yes.”

“With who?”

“One question per category,” she says. “What’s the name of the person you were with the first time you had sex?”

I keep my eyes on the highway. “June,” I say after a minute.

“How long did you date her?”

“A few times when I was younger,” I say, even though her question falls into the sex category.

“She sounds old,” Luna says.

“She was older than me,” I say. “Okay, so what do you think you and I will do this weekend?”

“Eat, dance, laugh, swim in the ocean, maybe sleep on the beach.” She clears her throat. “And say good-bye when it’s over.”

Luna didn’t mention anything about me meeting my parents. I glance at her. She’s looking out the window. I turn my head toward the road and think about how in two or three days we’ll be headed in the other direction. Together but separate. We don’t say anything for a while.

Finally she rests her head against the window. “I’ve always wanted to sleep outside where I could hear the ocean,” she says.

“I think I’d like sleeping on the beach as long as we don’t get arrested.”

“When I was fourteen and fifteen, we’d rent a condo on the beach, and I’d sit on the balcony for hours at nighttime.”

“No partying?” I ask.

“No. It was in Mexico, and I spent most of my time with my parents,” she says. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

I keep driving down the highway, and Luna sleeps. After a while I pull into a service station and fill up the tank. After I move the car, I get out without waking Luna and walk around. It’s eighty-five degrees, the air is heavy with humidity, and the sky’s cloudy. I hope it’s not going to stay this hot and cloudy. I’d like to take a walk on the beach in the sunlight while holding hands with Luna.

I go to the bathroom and then head back. Luna’s getting out of the car.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Not yet,” she says. “I need to pee.”

I nod, get into the car, and turn on the air. Looking at the road map, I figure we still have four more hours to go. We’ve been on the road for four hours, but we spent an hour at the outlet mall. Still, we have plenty of time before it gets dark. I’m kind of worried about finding the hotel after dark.

Luna returns and doesn’t say anything. I get back on the interstate heading north. I’ve never driven this far or long before, and I’m doing all right. Of course, all I have to do is drive straight and watch out for the big rigs and cars passing us.

It’s mid-afternoon when I pull into a truck stop and park in front of the restaurant. Luna gets out, yawns, and stretches.

“Hungry yet?” I ask from the other side of the car.

Luna looks over at me and smiles. “I am, actually,” she says.

We go inside the restaurant and sit by a window. I smell grease and onions. Even though it’s late for lunch, the place is half full. There’s a counter with a half-dozen people sitting on stools. A chalkboard has “liver ’n onions” or “chiken ’n dumplins” listed as today’s specials. I kind of grin. Somebody doesn’t know how to spell. A kid is crying at one of the tables.

The waitress arrives and recites the specials. We order burgers and fries.

I’m wondering where all these people are headed when a guy at the counter stands and yells, “I hate crying kids!” Everybody turns their heads to look. The woman with the crying kid picks her child up, calls the guy a moron, and goes outside.

“We should get a T-shirt while we’re here,” Luna says, nodding toward a rack of clothes near the entrance.

“Okay.” I need one that says, “I drove five hours and ended up with a cheap T-shirt.”

As we’re eating, I watch out the smudged window and see a guy with a backpack tie a dog to a post. The dog is big and skinny with its ribs showing. The guy comes inside the restaurant and looks around. He has long, scraggly hair and rumpled clothes. He snatches leftover food from the table where the crying kid was sitting.

The waitress watches, but she doesn’t say anything. He goes back outside, gives part of the food to the dog, and starts eating the rest. I get up, go outside, and hand him a few dollars.

“Thanks,” he says. He has a sign with “Dosta” written on it.

“Where’s Dosta?” I ask.

“A couple of hours northwest.”

I go back inside.

“You gave him money?” Luna says.

I nod. “He needs a ride to Dosta,” I say.

“You offered?”

“No. We’re not going his way.”

“Have you ever picked up a hitchhiker?” she asks, watching out the window.

I don’t look. I don’t like seeing sad stuff. “No. Have you?”

“No,” she says.

“It’s out of the way,” I say. It’s a dumb thing to do. I’d probably give him a ride if Luna wasn’t with me.

We buy T-shirts and pay the cashier. I leave the waitress a nice tip only because if I had her job, I’d like to get a nice tip as a surprise. Besides, it makes me happy.

I pull onto the road and avoid looking in the guy’s direction. He could be a thief or a killer or just somebody with a dog. He can’t take a bus when he has a dog, but I bet that dog has mange or something.

I pull onto the interstate. Luna’s reading, and I’m thinking how miserable the skinny dog looked. Probably still starving. It’s not his fault he’s on the side of the road with a guy who’s a loser. I’m not going to think about the guy and the dog.

Here’s what’s going to happen when I go to my mother’s wedding.

I’ll watch her go down the aisle. She’ll be looking at people and smiling. She’ll see me and smile the same as she does for everybody else.

Because she’s not going to freakin’ recognize me.

Then at the reception she’ll say hello quickly. Maybe she’ll give me a hug and get back to greeting. After all, she’s the star, and I have to be prepared for this. I should not expect more, but I’m hoping I have a minute to ask her about my dad.

It’s drizzling rain. The windshield wipers make a fast
whack, whack, whack
, and I turn the switch to the low speed. The whacking isn’t as bad. I bet the dog and the guy are soaking wet by now.

I see the next exit, and I don’t know what comes over me. I move into that lane, stop at the red light, and then turn left. I see the sign for the interstate heading south. I make the left turn, and pretty soon I’m headed in the other direction.

“Are we lost?” Luna asks, sitting up straight.

“We’re going back,” I say, and the speedometer climbs to seventy.