Page 69 of The Accidental Text

“When do you work?” I ask him, wondering how we’ve gotten this far into our friendship and I have yet to hear about him going to work. Does he work from home? So many things I still don’t know about Chase.

“I … haven’t been. I go back next Monday,” he says. “They gave me an extended bereavement period because I was supposed to be in London and they don’t have all that much for me to do here until I’ve been trained,” he says.

“Oh, right.”

“But I’m doing some virtual training on Monday. It’ll be good to get back to it. Something to keep my mind on … other than …”

He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. It sounds nice on paper that the company he works for gave him so much time, but that much time without the normal daily grind might have made that first part even harder for me. We were all back at work a week after my mom passed. None of us wanted to sit home with our thoughts. It occurs to me that maybe this whole adventure thing might be Chase’s way of coping with that. It makes me want to do it even more. For him.

I yawn again and Chase tells me to get some sleep. We hang up and I turn over on my side, now staring at the white wall in front of me.

“Miss you, Mom,” I say. I wonder if she can hear me. I hope she can.

Chapter 19

On Saturday, Chase picks me up midmorning in his black Honda Accord for our first adventure. He did a bunch of research this week and made a decision. I told him to surprise me. The only hint I got was to wear jeans and a T-shirt I didn’t mind getting dirty.

I had a lot of ideas about what it would be, but driving an ATV around the Sonoran Desert wasn’t one of them. Bonus is, I’ve never done this before. I’ve ridden in ATVs, but more of the buggy-style ones that seat more than one person and come with roofs. My dad or Devon always did the driving.

But on this tour, I get to drive myself since we’re on single-person ATVs. They look more like a fat motorbike, with a bigger seat and four smaller, wider wheels. They don’t call it a quad for nothing. That’s what the tour guide, Gary, says. He’s had a lot of dad jokes up his sleeve.

First thing we do is get all our equipment, then we are taught how to drive the ATVs and all the safety mumbo jumbo. Then we practice for a bit on a large flat dirt area, which is full of tire tracks from all the other people who’ve practiced here before. After that, it is time for some off-roading.

Before we leave on our tour, I tell Chase about my mom’s tradition before we did something adventurous. She’d say, “Kiss for good luck?” and then give us a kiss. When we were little it was a kiss on the mouth, but as we got older it became akiss on the cheek. And when Devon was a teen and thought he was too cool for school, she had to give him a kiss on the top of his head. But he never turned her down. None of us did.

“A kiss for good luck? I remember you saying that in your texts,” Chase says after I finish explaining. He’s sitting on his ATV, holding his helmet in his hands, wearing a pair of dark faded jeans and a gray T-shirt.

I put my hand on my hip and give him my best death stare. “You’re not supposed to remember my texts.”

His lips pull into that little knowing smile he does. “I know. I can’t help my memory. I think we’ll have to bleach my brain.”

“That can be arranged.”

The other side of his lip pulls upward, his straight white teeth in full view.

“How about that kiss?” he says, and then gives me a wink.

“It’s on the cheek, creeper.”

“I’d expect nothing more.”

He turns his cheek and leans toward me, and I kiss him. Right on the apple of his cheek, where facial hair doesn’t grow. His skin is soft and warm under my skin, and for a second I think about leaning in and kissing him again. Just because it wasn’t what I was expecting. But I hold myself back.

The sunlight feels nice on my back as we travel through the Bradshaw Mountains, sagebrush and saguaro cacti on both sides of us. Flash floods have carved out most of the canyons in these mountains (another tidbit from Gary). We go slower through the most rugged parts but are able to go faster on the flatter parts of the trail.

Chase is in front of me and he whoops and hollers when we pick up speed; he’s loving every second of this. I’m enjoying myself too. This would have been right up my mom’s alley. Shewould have loved driving herself, feeling the wind on her body, with no reason to have her phone out. Well, I’ve had mine out to take pictures and videos of Chase acting like he’s never been allowed to go outside in his life. To use against him later, of course.

We stop at an overlook so our group of seven can get off and rest for a few minutes. I walk over to Chase, who’s just getting off his ATV. We’re both covered in dirt, except for our faces, which have been protected by our helmets and goggles.

“You seem like you hate this,” I say as I take off my helmet. Chase has already taken his off.

“Oh yeah, this is really roughing it.” He does that partial smile thing as he takes in the view around us.

The sky is a dreamy shade of blue, not a cloud to be seen. It makes a perfect backdrop behind the mountain peaks.

“My mom would have loved this,” I say.

“Yeah?”

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