Page 11 of Victorious: Part 2
Still no signal.
Still no word from home.
Clover finishes her shots, and we move to the next outlook area, then the next. She’s getting some good content, but I see the effort it’s costing her. Every smile for the camera is forced. Every posed shot feels like a betrayal of everyone we left behind.
By the time we reach Kelso Dunes, the sun is starting its descent toward the western horizon, painting the massive sand dunes in shades of copper and gold.
“This is beautiful,” she says, but there’szeroenthusiasm in her voice.
“Yeah… it is,” I reply, my eyes drifting over her tiny frame.
Clover doesn’t see me watching her as she sets up her equipment with the same mechanical precision, but when shestarts filming, something changes. Maybe it’s the grandeur of the landscape, or maybe it’s just that she can’t fake it anymore, but her commentary becomes raw, more real.
“Sometimes you find yourself in places you never expected,” she talks into the camera, her voice thick with emotion. “Sometimes the journey takes you so far from home that you start to wonder if you’ll ever find your way back.” She’s not talking about the desert, and we both know it.
When she finishes, she sits heavily on the truck’s tailgate, and I join her. Dracula hops down from his perch and winds around our legs, purring.
“I can’t do this for much longer,” she admits, her voice barely audible over the desert wind.
“Do what?” I question, furrowing my brows.
“Pretend like everything’s normal. Pretend like I’m not dying inside, not knowing if Maverick’s okay. If Haven’s okay. Ifany of themare okay.”
I want to reach for her, want to pull her close like I did this morning, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the knowledge that if I touch her right now, if I let myself be that vulnerable again, I might not be able to do what needs to be done.
“We’ll know soon,” I say instead. “Once we get closer to Vegas, we’ll have cell service again.”
She nods, but the doubt is clear in her eyes.
We pack up as the sun continues its descent, and her movements become sharper, more agitated. And by the time we’re back on the road, heading for our next planned stop, she’s practically vibrating with nervous energy.
“Where to next?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“There’s a truck stop about twenty miles ahead,” she says, checking her phone for the hundredth time.Still no signal.“We can get gas, grab some food, maybe check if they have a workingphone.”
The hope in her voice when she mentions the phone squeezes my chest.
Not even the playlist is lifting her spirits anymore.
When we arrive, the truck stop is exactly what you’d expect—a sprawling complex of gas pumps, convenience stores, and fast-food joints catering to long-haul truckers and desert travelers. The parking lot is crowded with eighteen-wheelers and RVs, people stretching their legs and restocking supplies.Normal people living normal lives.
I pull up to a pump and kill the engine. “I’m going to fill up and grab us some drinks. You want anything specific?”
“Just water, and maybe something for Dracula to eat,” she states, already pulling out her phone to check for signal.
I watch her face fall when she sees the recurring ‘No Service’ message, and something twists in my gut. “I’ll be right back,” I tell her, but she doesn’t acknowledge me at all, just glances back at the damn cat for comfort.
Huffing, I take off for the convenience store. It’s a typical truck stop fare with overpriced snacks, energy drinks, and souvenirs nobody fucking wants. I grab water for Clover, a soda for myself, and some jerky for the roadand the fucking cat.The cashier is a middle-aged woman with kind eyes who looks like she’s seen every type of traveler the desert has to offer.
“You folks okay?” she asks as she rings up my purchases. “Your girl out there looks pretty upset.”
I glance through the window at Clover, who’s pacing next to the truck with her phone held high, trying to catch a signal. “Family emergency,” I reply, which isn’t exactly a lie. “We’re trying to get in touch with people back home. Cell service is a bitch.”
She nods sympathetically. “Yeah, it’s spotty at best out here. You might have better luck at the payphone around back, but Ican’t guarantee it works.”
A payphone. Christ, when’s the last time I used one of those?
“Thanks, appreciate it,” I tell her, pocketing the change.
