Thou Shalt Not Road Trip (18 page)

“So who was with you?” the woman asks again.

I can’t think straight. My brain has latched on to
Fran and refuses to let go. I’m like a dog with a bone: single-minded and relentless.

“Fran,” my mouth announces, before I can stop it.

“Who’s Fran?”

Think, Luke.
Think
. “A cousin.”

“Is that the same cousin as in Amarillo yesterday?” shouts a girl at the back of the room.

“Uh…” How does she know about yesterday’s signing? “Yes.”

“Oh, good. My friend e-mailed me about that. It’s so sweet that you’re helping with her recovery.”

I almost flinch, but turn it into a shrug at the last moment. “Well, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Not for you, maybe. Because everything you do is so… extraordinary. Like that passage in
Hallelujah
about swimming across the Mississippi River—I read it, and I was like,
seriously
?”

Thank goodness we’re changing topics. “Yeah, that’s what my editor said too.”

“It must’ve been so hard.” The girl’s eyes are practically bugging out. “I read that the Mississippi has really strong currents. Polluted too.”

“True. But I really wanted to get across this idea of putting your doubts aside and going for it, you know? Because every now and then, you get lucky, and something wonderful happens.”

“I guess.” She puffs out her cheeks. “Still, I can’t imagine doing something that crazy.”

A young boy raises his hand now. “That’s how I felt about the part in the desert.”

“Realizations, chapter four,” I say. Another section my editor told me I wasn’t allowed to ditch.

He nods. “That bit where the animals attacked, I practically peed myself.”

His mother tilts her head and
tsks
loud enough for all of us to hear. Stifled laughter ripples around the room.

“So which desert was it?” he asks.

“Sorry?”

“In
Hallelujah
—which desert are you talking about?”

“Just a desert. Any desert,” I say. “It really doesn’t matter which.”

The boy’s smile looks frozen in place. All around him, people exchange glances. I’ve clearly said something wrong, though I can’t figure out what.

“Any other questions?” I ask.

A stony silence has descended on the audience. When people speak, it’s to each other, mutterings I can’t decipher.

Normally I’d be pleased to end things early, but something about the silence is really unsettling. “Anybody got a question? Seriously. Anything at all. Please?”

Two boys about my age are elbowing each other
in the ribs. Finally the taller one raises his arm. He’s chewing so much gum it takes him a moment to prepare his mouth for speaking.

“Hey, man,” he says. “So, like, I just read this rumor online that you might’ve, you know, been emptying hotel minibars. Is that true?”

I can literally feel the blood rushing to my face. Who would make up something so ridiculous? How could anyone possibly think…

Oh. My. God.

I picture Fran opening one after another miniature bottle. Sure, I haven’t taken anything from a minibar. But what about her?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “I’m pretty sure most of the hotels haven’t even had minibars.” I think I sound persuasive, but the silence that greets my defense is anything but reassuring.

“So you notice that sort of thing, then?” the boy asks.

“Oh, no. No!”

“But you don’t deny taking alcohol.”

“Of course.”

Gasps resonate throughout the hall, followed quickly by desperate whispers that leave me feeling weak-kneed and nauseous.

“I mean, of course I deny taking alcohol. I’m on a book tour for
Hallelujah
. I’d be crazy to drink.”

“But if you weren’t on tour?”

“No! I still wouldn’t drink. Don’t drink. Honestly. I promise.”

There’s a collective exhalation. They seem reassured.

But I’m not. Because whoever leaked this information in the first place may be able to prove that Fran took something from a minibar. And if they do, I’ll be forced to explain why I’ve been sharing a room with a female “cousin” instead of my brother.

These events aren’t getting any easier, that’s for sure. The question is whether I can survive two more of them.

The Divine Depot, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

Matt’s standing by the main door of the bookstore as I leave, but I’m in such a daze it takes me a moment to notice him. I think it was Pastor Mike who told me to be ready for anything; or maybe it was someone else. Anyway, what does that even mean? Who can be ready for sleep-deprivation and hunger and several
hundred people asking completely irrelevant questions? Seriously, who can do that?

“Follow me,” says Matt.

“Where are we going?”

“Out to eat. You look like you’re starving, and I think it’s affecting…” His words trail off.

“Go on—say it.”

“Okay. I caught the end of your performance, and it wasn’t exactly… inspirational.”

I know he’s right, but I hate hearing him say it.

“Did you hear the question about the minibars?” I ask him.

“Yeah. That one’s got ugly written all over it.”

He ushers me outside and around the corner. It’s no quieter here, but at least we won’t be overheard. Still, I can’t help scanning the streets in case Teresa and her photographer are nearby. I’ve become paranoid.

“Listen, I know this is going to sound weird,” I say, “but can we stay radio silent until we get to St. Louis? It’s only two days. Then I’ll call Colin and explain everything.”

“Sure. No problem. What about Mom and Dad?”

“Shoot. I didn’t think of them. Geez, I haven’t spoken to them all week.”

“Don’t worry about it. I called them this afternoon—explained
the car problem. I figured Al would probably tell them eventually, so I should just fess up.”

“And?”

“And they
definitely
didn’t see the funny side.” He smiles, but it seems like hard work. “Anyway, they’re fine, and they know you’re busy. So you want a complete blackout on communications, right?”

“Yeah. That’d probably be best.”

“I’m all over it.” He takes out his cell phone and turns it off. “Now, about these events… I’m no expert, but it seems that as long as you’re smiling and saying stuff they want to hear, almost everyone is happy.”

I haven’t got the energy to talk about this right now.

“I get it,” he says. “Less talkie, more eatie.”

We stop at an all-day-breakfast diner that claims to be the home of “The Coronary.” Matt selects a booth at the back and a waitress joins us almost immediately.

“Coffee, please,” says Matt. “And my brother will have a Coronary.”

She looks me up and down. “Indeed he will.”

“So where’s the car?” I ask, once she has gone.

“At the hotel. AAA towed us to a dealership, and the mechanics rodded out the radiator—said something about a blockage in a tube—and after that, it was fine. They also said it had nothing to do with hitting
the possum, if you can believe it. I think Alex was disappointed. She figured it was divine retribution for the roadkill.”

Hearing Alex’s name reminds me of what’s so wrong about this scene. “Hold on. Why are you here? And where’s Fran? She said she was coming tonight.”

Matt nods. “Yeah, well… I think they wanted some girl-bonding time, you know? At least,
Alex
did. I can’t speak for Fran, but they went out together anyhow.”

“Oh.”

The Coronary takes barely a minute to arrive, which is pretty disturbing. Matt hands over Colin’s credit card without a thought. He catches me watching. “It’s a legitimate expense,” he says.

There are five strips of bacon on the plate, and another three on a saucer beside me. There’s also a mound of scrambled egg, four pieces of toast, three sausages, and something that’s either a burger or a sausage patty. Guess I’ll find out which.

“Have we really been spending a hundred bucks a day on gas?” I ask.

“Alex exaggerates.” Matt scratches his stubble. “It’s more like eighty.”

“And I’m guessing this isn’t coming out of your pocket.”

“It’s a legitimate—”

“Tour expense. Yeah, I know.” I’m getting tired of that word:
legitimate
. “But a rental car was never part of the plan. Especially not an expensive one.”

“Hey, it’s a whole lot cheaper than flying you from city to city. Which, by the way, is what Colin’s doing with that other author.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know that. “Even so, he never would’ve let us get a Hummer.”

“It was Sunday morning. I tried three rental places before I found one that was open.” He huffs. “We did what we had to.”

“No, Matt, we did what
you
wanted to do. It’s not the same thing.”

“Why are you getting mad at me? I’m trying to be nice.”

I clatter the knife and fork onto the plate. “Why do you think? Because I barely make it to my events. I stink half the time ’cause I didn’t get to shower. I’m so tired, I say dumb stuff, and half the audience leaves before buying the book. But all you care about is Route 66 and stupid detours to the armpits of America. Haven’t you noticed? No one else gives a crap.”

Matt brings his hands together as though he’s praying. “You don’t really believe that, do you?” He pauses. “Oh, come on, bro. This is Alex’s tour, not mine. Do you hear me reciting entire chapters from the guidebook?”

“You can’t. You’re driving.”

“Oh, man.” He shakes his head. “I’m doing this for her, okay?”

I stab a strip of bacon. “Why?”

“Because I’m freakin’ desperate, you idiot. That’s why.”

My fork hangs in midair. “What do you mean—desperate?”

“I’ve lost her. Can’t you see that? I’ve been losing her all year. I don’t know if there’s someone else, or if she just doesn’t feel the same way about me anymore. But ever since high school she’s talked about driving along Route 66—always said we’d do it the summer after freshman year. So I made plans: not just Havasu Falls, but a bunch of other stops too.” He watches my expression. “Yeah, this has been planned since forever. Mom and Dad knew about it too. When Colin bailed on you, they asked if I could change things so they wouldn’t have to take off work. I didn’t want to do it, but they practically begged me—said Colin would cover expenses. So I canceled all the motel reservations except Havasupai Lodge, and made new ones to fit
your
stupid itinerary.”

I swallow hard. “Mom and Dad never told me.”

“Because they didn’t want you to feel bad about it. Didn’t want you to have any distractions. Never
mind what Alex and I wanted. No, we just have to keep to a ridiculous schedule that means we miss every freakin’ stop I had planned. I have to check my cell phone for messages every two hours. And when I can’t get a signal, I get chewed out—like it’s my fault!”

“I’m sorry, Matt. I…”

“What? You
what
?” He leans back and rubs his eyes. “It’s okay, bro. This isn’t really your fault. I kind of knew things would be crazy. I just never figured on having to woo Alex all over again too.”

I’m not used to seeing Matt’s vulnerable side. I’m not sure I even knew he had one. Since I don’t know how to respond, I say the first thing that pops into my head: “Did you just say
woo
?”

The server returns and Matt signs the credit card receipt. He leaves a
really
generous tip on Colin’s behalf. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

“Don’t go. Please.”

Matt helps himself to a strip of bacon. “I need some alone time, okay? Anyway, you can counsel me back in our room.”

“
Our
room?”

“Yeah. Alex didn’t want to…” He shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

He walks away then, and though I feel sorry for
him, I also feel sorry for me. I know I shouldn’t—it’s really selfish—but it kills me that I won’t see Fran until the morning.

Tomorrow morning feels like an impossibly long way away.

Hotel Okie, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

Matt is lying on his bed. His eyes are closed and he’s wearing noise-canceling headphones. He may as well hang a neon sign saying:
DO NOT DISTURB
.

Suits me. I’m tired too. Although…

I step out of the room and wait for the door to latch behind me. I need to go for a walk, get some fresh air. Just for a few minutes.

It’s quiet outside, except for the occasional sounds of traffic. There’s no fresh air, just the stale heat of a humid summer evening. Still, it’s peaceful, so I close my eyes and try to shut out the nagging doubts from tonight’s event.

“Oh, hi.” Fran appears beside me. “I didn’t know you were out here.”

My heart leaps, and for some reason I wave. “Yeah. I, uh, just came out for a walk.”

“Me too.” She narrows her eyes. “You didn’t get very far.”

“No. I decided to take a break.”

“Lucky me.”

We sit side by side on a concrete wall, feet dangling beneath us. Fireflies gather just beyond arm’s reach.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it this evening,” she says. “How’d it go?”

“Oh, you know… terrible. People asked me all these weird questions about the book. It’s like they want every word to be so meaningful. Truth is, I don’t think it means anything at all.”

Fran exhales. “Whoa. You know, this is
not
a good time to have a crisis of faith.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“What do you mean?”

Deep breath. “Look, I wrote most of
Hallelujah
in the days after we won the debate competition. Andy read a couple pages at the church retreat and said I should keep going, but I couldn’t write the same way anymore.”

Fran must realize this has something to do with her, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“Anyway, when I finished it, Andy sent it to Pastor Mike. And Pastor Mike sent it to an editor he knew.
Everything happened so quickly after that. It wasn’t until we were halfway through editing that I realized how much of it meant nothing to me. I asked if we could cut stuff, but my editor said no way. Now it doesn’t even feel like my book.”