Radical (38 page)

“Accuracy will come with time,” he says. “Just give it time.”

Time.

The way Cammie smiles at me makes me shiver. And sweat.

Makes it hard to look at her on the walk back to the car. She doesn’t try to fill the space, and just walks beside me.

I’ve been staring at the computer in Uncle Skip’s office for an hour, trying to write my last e-mail to Lucy. A short e-mail. Just to say I’m sorry. To say she’ll never have to hear from me again, but I wanted her to know that I’m sorry. And to thank her. She helped me, protected me. She was brave. But I can’t hit send. It feels unfinished. Like there’s something I’m forgetting to say. But I don’t know what.

She hasn’t answered any of my previous e-mails or phone calls. Last time I called, her father said not to call again or he’d get a restraining order. It’s the last attempt I’ll make. It has to be right.

“So, the truck’s done? Done done?” Cammie asks, leaning around the doorway.

“Except for the last test drive, yeah. I thought you might . . .”

“Cool,” Cammie says. “I’ll meet you out back in twenty minutes.”

The truck starts right away, purring, perfect.

“Have a name yet?” Cammie asks, petting the dash.

“Not yet.” I’m not sure I’ll name her. I’m not sure I’m the naming-vehicles kind of person. “Feel like a good long test drive?” I ask.

“Yes,” Cammie says. “Hell, yes.”

“I know a great place for pizza,” I say.

We take the extra-long way, just enjoying the ride, the night.

The pizza’s as good as I remember. Greasy and cheesy and hot. Cammie drinks pop instead of tea and covers her slice in grated Parmesan, and I’m not at all nervous about being here with her.

Tomorrow I’m sending the e-mail. As is.

Good-bye, Lucy.

“That’s it.” I toss my backpack behind the seat. “Be right back.”

“Hurry up,” Cammie says, looking at the map. She’s started ordering me around again. I think it means she thinks I’m cured.

Uncle Skip is in his workshop, working on something that is still in multiple pieces. He’s been sanding it for days. Maybe he’s just playing at building it.

“We’re leaving.”

He looks up as if he forgot I was here or that I was leaving today. He hesitates before putting down the plane and wiping the sawdust from his hands.

“You’ve got enough money, and —”

“Yes. I’ve got enough.” Joan got them to give me back my cash by showing them my pay records from the station. Every penny, honestly and legally earned.

“I got something for you.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a box. “A little late, but happy birthday.”

“We agreed that the truck would cover birthdays and all other gift-giving holidays for a while.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

I take the box. Inside is a cell phone, along with a charger, car charger, and earpiece.

“The kid at the store said it’s a good one and explained all the extras. I didn’t understand, but I got you what he recommended. He programmed some numbers for you. So you can call if you need to, or want.”

“And you can call me.”

“Yeah. That, too.”

I throw my arms around him and hang on, his hand stroking the back of my head, until I swallow the tears.

“You be careful,” he whispers before letting go. “And don’t stay away too long.”

I walk back to the truck slowly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I feel like I should run back and hug him again, hang on until it feels less like saying good-bye. But I know if I do, I might not let go. I have to go.

“Ready?” Cammie asks through the open window.

“Ready,” I say.

I start the truck and then search through the stations to find something I want to listen to. Then I put it in drive.

“We are not listening to this crap the whole trip,” Cammie says.

“Driver picks the music.”

Cammie considers it and then says, “That’s fair. Just remember it later.”

“You think I’m letting you drive my truck?” I ask.

Cammie smiles and flips her sunglasses down. It’s a wicked smile. “I think I can convince you.”

Windows down, wind whipping in, sun on my arm, I realize I’m fully warm for the first time in months.

I can’t wait to see the ocean.