Page 89 of Heart of the Sun

I leaned my head back on the seat and stared out the passenger side window, mountains and desert moving past as Tuck went around a truck in the road.

What I did have to hold on to was that the bitterness between us had fallen away completely. We’d made peace. We’d made much more than that, but it was the peace I was going to attempt to take with me, even if I had to leave the rest behind.

But I didn’t need to think of that. Not yet, and so I held out secret hope that we would find a way.

It took us a day and a half to make it to Arizona, only traveling by daylight. We stopped to siphon gas when we needed to with the gas can and hosing Tuck had taken from the Garcias’ garage and put in the trunk, along with food, that we were still rationing, and water. I’d lost a significant amount of weight in the past two weeks. I thought about how the old me would have considered that a positive, and I wanted to grimace.The old me.This journey had transformed me, and I hardly wanted to think about what the next few years would do. Of course, that would depend on many factors, none of which were certain at the moment. For now, the entire country was just trying to survive, including us.

We made love at night, though not with the joyful abandon we had at the Garcias’ home. The sex in the back of the car in the pitch black was needier, more grasping, even if we managed to laugh about the ridiculous maneuvers made necessary by the tiny space. I’d wondered about whether we’d have made out in back seats had life as we’d known it not crashed and burned and so I tried to enjoy the reclaiming of what I’d considered lost. A smoothing of another one of those wrinkles in time.

After just such a back seat interlude on the second night of traveling, I climbed out of the car, mostly naked, and pulled a sleeping bag from the trunk. I wrapped it around me and then scooted up on the hood of the car and lay back. After a minute, Tuck joined me with the other sleeping bag, and we stared up at the stars.

“We could be in California tomorrow night,” I said. He’d shown me the route he thought safest on the map, and I’d been following the signs.

“If all goes well, I estimate we can get close before sunset. We’ll play it safe and cross the California state line the next morning.” I heard him look over at me but didn’t turn to meet his eyes. “Home,” he said softly.

So why didn’t it feel like that? Ofcourseit was home. I’d lived in Southern California all my life. My family was there. It was our destination, and we’d arrive in less than twenty-four hours if all went well. We should feel victorious. Sure, there were many unknowns, and a vast number of challenges before us. But we’d made it. We’d started out on foot two thousand miles ago and we were almost home! And all I could feel was sadness and fear. “Home,” I finally repeated, turning to him.His eyes were milky in the low light of the moon, and I could only make out the shadowy lines of his profile. “We did it.”

He reached over and grasped my hand. “We did,” he said. “Almost.”

Almost.Such a big word in a time like this. I craved more.Certainty. Predictability.“What do you think it’s going to be like there?”

“I’d imagine it’s going to be like it is here. Los Angeles is my worry.”

“Los Angeles. I thought we were going directly to my parents?”

“We are.” He paused. “I’m going to bring you to them, and then I’m going to go to Los Angeles and check on my uncle.” He was quiet again for a moment, and a pain shot through my stomach. “He was there for me when I needed him, even when I didn’t deserve it. I owe him. He might be in trouble, and I owe him.”

He owed him.To his mind, Tuck owed a lot of people. That had even been his motivation for helping me—and Charlie—get home initially. He’d owed it to my parents. It was his driving force. Repaying debts, making amends. And I wanted to be angry and resentful at him for that, but I couldn’t. He was honorable and good. But I was deeply worried that his honor meant more to him than I did. “If your uncle needs somewhere to stay, you know, out of the city…bring him to my parents.”

“Your parents might just have enough to get by—”

“Tuck.” I squeezed his hand. “We’ll make room for your uncle. And you too. You know that.” And though I meant it, I also hoped that if Tuck’s uncle was there at our farm, it would give Tuck even more reason to stay.

Pitiful, Emily. Desperately trying to give Tuck a reason to stay, other than just…you.

“I’ve also been thinking about my dad,” Tuck said somewhat haltingly.“We’ve been estranged for so many years but…he’s still the man who raised me.”

I could see his sadness and conflict. It was the first time he’d mentioned his dad since we started this trip. This new reality had changed perspective for everyone. Priorities had crumbled and shifted. How could they not? And Tuck had that deep thread of honor that wove through him.

“Florida’s gotta be okay, right?” I said. “So much sunshine…and all that fishing…”

“There’s no way to know. That’s been the hardest part. Even behind bars, we were never this cut off.”

I stared up at the twinkling stars, the sky so infinite above us. Yes, it was true we were cut off in so many ways, but in others, the world had expanded. There was so much to adjust to and relearn. I couldn’t even wrap my head around it all.

“Let’s get somewhere safe and then we’ll see what’s what.”

“That’s the plan,” he said and then he gathered me in his arms. An uncertain plan, but a plan nonetheless. I lay my head on his shoulder as a star shot across the sky, brilliant and beautiful and gone too soon.

Day Fifteen

We crossed into California the next evening, a little earlier than we’d estimated, and camped near a reservation that was completely still and silent, no evidence of people living there at all, though we didn’t enter the area.

We drove through Joshua Tree at daybreak, the sun a glittery yellow diamond rising behind the hills, pearly rays fanning over the desert. And it was so beautiful I nearly wept.

We drove around the city of Palm Springs, foot traffic now heavy even on the outskirts where many of the neighborhoods were primarily Airbnb’s. I looked over my shoulder at a group of women carrying suitcases who looked both shocked and scared,and wondered if they’d been here on vacation and then hunkered down as long as they possibly could before packing their bags and hitting the road. So many stories. So much fear and tragedy.

We drove on, heading toward home. It felt so close now, and so very far away. That feeling intensified when we saw the fire. “Holy shit,” Tuck said, slowing down.

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