Personal Effects (18 page)

I swallow hard, shift away from her until she lets go of my arm. Can’t think. Can’t talk. My mouth flaps like a guppy.

She shakes her head. “I want to help —”

“No.” I cringe at her flinch. “I mean, I know you want to help. And I really appreciate it. But I really want to do this alone.”

She stares. Shudders. Turns so she’s not facing me, hugs herself and nods, like it’s no big deal.

“I need to do this by myself. This, it’s sort of . . . the last thing I can do for T.J. And it doesn’t feel right to bring a friend along to —”

“Fine.” She jumps up. Her bottom lip quivers and she won’t look at me. “Sure.” She nods again. Tugs at the shirt. All of the teasing gone. “I just thought . . . but . . . if you don’t want . . .”

“Shaun . . .”

The bathroom door slams behind her. Kid feet scurry across the floor upstairs.

“Aunt Shauna?” Jessica whispers down. I don’t answer, not sure whether to hide or just stay still. But before I can decide, the footsteps retreat back across the upstairs.

I stand in the middle of the living room, not sure what I’m supposed to do.

When I asked if I could borrow her car — like, asking to take it, not asking her to bring it — I thought she understood. I thought she got that I needed to do this alone.

But shit. She’s pissed. No, worse. Hurt? Any other time, a road trip with Shauna, especially . . . fuck, I’d give choice body parts for that. But this is about T.J. — for T.J. Can’t she see that I couldn’t say yes?

But this was real, right? She dressed up. In date clothes. For me.

I spin in a circle. Trying like hell to make the last few hours make sense.

I could have totally kissed her, right? When she leaned close? Before she said that stuff about coming with me? I could have . . . then . . . she . . .

Shit, if I had just moved in then, I’d be on that couch making out with her, right now.

The room tilts. She . . . likes me. Or liked me. Maybe that was it — my chance. I could have totally kissed her.

A drawer slams, loud even behind the closed door. Then another.

A noise upstairs.

Footsteps in the hall near the steps. I move to the kitchen, out of view from the stairs. Footsteps on the top steps.

“Aunt Shauna?”

They’re not going back to bed.

I know I shouldn’t take off until she comes back out here. But if Stacy finds out I was here, or about the beer . . . Shit, I can’t be here if they come down here.

I grab my shoes and backpack and make a run for it.

Standing in my socks on the front walk, I don’t know what to do.

Should I wait and go back in?

Call? I could try to explain, and . . .

Shit. No. No way she wants to talk to me right now. Maybe not for a few days.

And what if she changes her mind? Without her car . . . What if she says I can’t have it? Or I can’t have it unless she can come, too?

Or, fuck, forget the car. What if this is it? Not just no to more . . . what if this is it for anything, for us, like . . . we’re not even friends anymore?

“Fuuuck!” I groan, clenching my hands in frustration.

I’ve seen Shauna pissed at guys before. I’ve seen her eradicate them from the face of the earth, at least as far as she’s concerned. Invisible. And now she’s pissed at me.

S
HAUNA
’
S ANGRIER THAN
I’
VE EVER SEEN HER
. A
T ANYONE
.

I tried calling her when I got home Saturday night. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. Ever. When I tried to apologize, she hung up on me.

She wouldn’t talk to me at all on Sunday.

Monday, I pretended nothing had happened. For a while that worked, but when I tried to get her to laugh, she seemed to get even more pissed at me — like being able to pretend everything was fine somehow made me a bigger jerk than she already thought I was, even though it’s what she said she wanted. But I didn’t try to point that out.

By yesterday after school, we were back to her not talking, at all, but she took me to get my money from Mr. Anders anyway, like she promised. She didn’t say a word the whole way there, at least not to me — she seemed to be arguing with someone in her head. The whole time I was in with Mr. Anders, I kept wondering if I’d come back out to find she’d left me there, stranded across town, just out of spite. When I got back into the car, she was looking at the map again.

I waved my pay envelope at her.

“So, you’re all ready to go?”

Took me a few seconds to answer, because it sounded more like an accusation than a question. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

She traced my route across the map. Her finger followed the orange highlighter across the spiderwebs of roads and ghostly state lines, past landmarks and cities, over rivers and mountains, snaking along the bottom of two huge patches of lake blue before pressing down over Madison, Wisconsin, like she could make me forget by hiding the destination.

“What if your dad decides you have to turn it in tomorrow instead of Thursday?”

“He won’t. Early day at a site out by Johnstown. He’ll be gone early and home late. Hopefully.”

Her hand was still on the map, hiding Madison and its star. “You know this sucks, right?”

I didn’t try to answer. I knew many things sucked right now, but I wasn’t gonna try to figure out exactly which one
she
meant, especially since I was starting to get a little pissed off myself. Why couldn’t she see that I needed to do this alone? But I just let her fume and kept my mouth shut — I’d had enough practice at that with Dad. I needed the car.

Eventually, she slid the map closed and turned in the seat to face me. She held it to her chest and we had a staring contest, but eventually she handed it over.

When she dropped me off, I thought she was gonna say something else. But she didn’t. When I reached for the handle to open the door, she laughed, but it was a bitter, awful sound. Made me panic.

I left her two messages last night, but she didn’t call back. Until I got her text this morning —
I said id be there
— I wasn’t sure she was gonna show up. I’m still not entirely sure.

It’s actually kind of amazing she’s still letting me borrow her car. Assuming, of course, that she is, that she shows up this morning and then hands over the keys.

I’m ready to go — as soon as Dad leaves. He should have been long gone by now.

I read Shauna’s last text again, for the tenth time, just to be sure. Still pissed.

I hear Dad’s footsteps on the stairs from the second floor. Panic burns up my throat. If he calls me upstairs, I could bolt out the side door. But if he comes charging down here, there’s nowhere to go.

His feet around the kitchen. The refrigerator door.

I’m a sitting duck.

When I hear his steps near my door, I grab the strap of my backpack, ready to run. But he keeps going. I don’t breathe until the front door slams shut. Then I race to get my stuff together.

I wait for the sound of his truck pulling out of the driveway. Picture him turning toward the center of town. Past the gas station. Each likely turn until I’m sure he has to be near the highway. Then I text Shauna.

When she picks me up, we don’t even talk. Her eyes are red and puffy, and there’s nothing left for me to say.

A block from school, she pulls onto a side street, just as we planned. But instead of turning the car off or unbuckling her seat belt or making any move to get out, she just sits there, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that they look melded to the gray vinyl. Each second she just sits there, I’m more sure she’s changed her mind, or that she’s already confessed everything to her mom. Something.

“I hate this.” She hurtles out of the car.

At least she said “this” and not “you.” Unless she really means me.

Outside the car, she hesitates just a few seconds before dropping the keys into my hand. Then she reaches into her backpack and pulls out an envelope. She thrusts is at me, hitting me in the chest.

“Here.”

“Huh?”

“Take it.”

It’s too thick to be a letter. I squeeze it and start shaking my head. Don’t need to open it to know it’s full of money.

She holds her hands behind her back. “It’s only what I had on hand from my birthday and babysitting, so not that much, but there’s no way you’d make it back with what you have.”

“I’m not taking your money.” But even with the words out of my mouth, I know I will. I need it way too much.

“You can pay me back. Later.” She looks into my eyes. “You’ll pay me back. After you come home.”

“I will.” I cradle it close. “Thanks. For everything. I mean it. I —”

“You’d better go.”

She tries to leave but I grab her arm. “Shauna . . .” I don’t know what to say. But I don’t want to leave like this.

She shakes free and wraps her arm around her middle. “Look, whatever happens, or . . . whatever you decide to do, just call me, OK? Every day? Because I’m going to worry, and probably be grounded, and it’s going to suck and . . .” Her hard eyes scare me. “Just promise, OK?”

“Yeah.” I barely gasp the word out. My chest feels tight.

“Every day.”

I cover my heart with my hand.

She lets out a long, shaky breath and then moves away from the car, not even looking at me.

“Shaun.”

When she turns back, her eyes are already filling up. “Just go.”

And then she’s gone. Walking away. I turn to get in the car, but she grabs me from the side in a quick, awkward hug, too quick for me to even get my arms around her to hug back. She makes this sound in the back of her throat. Then she’s gone again. This time I watch her until she rounds the corner out of sight. She never looks back.

Flying up the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I swallow over and over, trying not to puke. Acid churns around the rocks in my gut.

Every dark truck in the rearview mirror is Dad, racing after me. Every state trooper, a trap waiting to grab me. I’m driving like a maniac, practically begging to get caught.

The panic evaporates as soon as I hit I-80 and actually start heading west. My shoulders and arms lose the steel tension that made me cling to the steering wheel. I pull my fingers off the sweat-slick wheel, and shake and flex them in turn until they work again. Even the burning in my gut starts to cool. When I finally sink back into the seat, my shirt is soaked, but I can relax and just drive.

Crossing over the Susquehanna River feels like the last drop on the big coaster at Dorney Park. I’ve never been this far away by myself. I give the Williamsburg exit my very best one-fingered salute and pick up speed.

Just outside DuBois, I take my first break, mainly because I’ve got to piss so bad my eyeballs are floating.

The wall-size map next to the bathroom shows I’m already more than halfway to Ohio. I-80 stretches out to the left until it runs out of Pennsylvania and off the map. Long day ahead, but just a couple more hours and Pennsylvania will be behind me.

Before heading back to the car, I splurge on provisions: a huge-ass soda, two kinds of chips, a couple of candy bars, and two hot dogs. There’s been no call yet from Dad, not surprising since Pendergrast probably doesn’t even know yet that I’m not gonna show. About another twenty minutes, at most, and Ms. Tine will send a note to the office. Toss up of whether Pendergrast will call Dad right away or wait. But eventually someone will ask Shauna. She’ll withstand Pendergrast, but she’ll crack wide open in a wave of guilt with just one long look from her mom.

I chow down, leaning against the car. Driving through mountains, as opposed to over or around them, always amazes me, ever since I was little. And I always wonder the same thing: Exactly when did people start thinking of going
through
mountains? Did the first guy to suggest it get laughed at? Did they give him any credit at all when they finally tried it?

As soon as the second hot dog is gone, I push the question aside and climb back into the car. It’s a long way to go before Madison. Time to gas up and drive on.

Back on I-80 and safely coasting in the center lane, I picture the road stretching out in front of me, like on the map. I lean back and drive.

The next time I stop, I switch iPods. Had to get one of those wall chargers. Couldn’t figure out how to sync it with my computer without messing it up, at least not yet. T.J.’s trusty blue was playing on shuffle, and it was fun at first to have a little bit of surprise with every new song, but too many of them were weird, or songs I couldn’t even recognize.

Just from scrolling through the playlists, I know the bigger one has more songs I already know, some I can already hear in my head. I pick “Top 25 Most Played,” knowing this is pretty much my only chance to hear what T.J. listened to the most, before my replays and skips start messing with it.

I can’t kid myself, even for one moment, into feeling like T.J. is here with me. But with his music playing, I pull back onto I-80, feeling better than when I pulled into the stop.

Dave Matthews Band’s “Ants Marching” pours out of Shauna’s crappy speakers as I merge back into the flow of traffic. The summer I was seven was pretty much Dave Matthews 24/7, until Dad threatened to toss the stereo out the window if T.J. didn’t give it a rest. Before that summer, T.J. had been all about Bruce Springsteen, and even after that summer, he played a lot of Bruce and the posters stayed on the wall. But that summer was Dave Matthews all the time.