Page 43 of Catcher's Lock
“I’m not hungry,” I say. “I’m going to bed.”
And that’s the end of that.
In the morning, I move into the Airstream with Hals and start my new life as a full-time member of Big River Big Top.
Gem is gone.
And I can’t tell if I’m sorry or relieved.
15
Road Trip
Josha
Age 24 (Now)
“Poor baby,” Gem says, running a finger down the crack in the gas tank of his motorcycle. “I don’t think a hex wrench is going to cut it this time.”
With his shorn hair and his tats and his goddamned muscles, he looks almost nothing like the boy I met with the busted handlebars, but that conspiratorial smile—so bright it’s blinding—is the same.
“Go pay the man his money,” I say, smothering a return grin. “I’ll get ‘Bonnie’ loaded up.”
“By yourself?” He cocks a brow in amusement. “Can I watch? I haven’t had a chance to see those muscles in action yet.”
“I have a truck ramp, asshole.”
We spent most of Sunday scouring the thrift stores in Bakersfield until Gem found the perfect jacket to replace the one he lost in the fight. This morning, he took the world’s longest shower and then insisted on cleaning half the condo before Ifinally dragged him out of the house.
Seven more hours, and I can dump him back at Big Top and be free of him. Mostly. Sort of. At least he won’t be sleeping right down the hall. Shilo and Hals will be home with Milla in five days, and they can deal with him and whatever existential crisis is making him act like—my boyfriend—a crazy person.
“Are you gonna let me drive at all?” he asks when we stop for gas on the way out of town.
“I’ve seen what happened to your ride.”
“Then grab me a six-pack while you’re in there.”
“Not a chance, idiot.”
But at the last minute, I slide a box of orange Tic Tacs onto the counter.
He gives me another one of those heart-stopping smiles when I toss them on his lap as I climb back behind the wheel.If I’m not careful, I’ll get addicted all over again.
“We should jump over to the 101 and go up through San Francisco. Didn’t you say Rachael’s still living there?”
The casual question hits me like a knee to the gut.
“If I take the 101, we’ll hit the East Bay at rush hour. I’m not sitting through two hours of gridlock on the 580 so you can relive old times with my sister.”
“I was thinking more about hitting up Homeroom. Jalapeño-popper mac?”
“You’re stalling. I’m not going to help you avoid your family and prolong their torture for an overpriced bowl of mac ’n’ cheese.”
“Blasphemy! It’s totally worth the price.”
“Tell me I’m wrong, then. Tell me you’re not looking for a chance to bail. Have you even called to put them out of their misery yet?” I know he hasn’t. I would have heard from Shilo and gotten chewed out for keeping them in the dark. And eventhough I know he’s probably not gonna disappear while his bike is strapped to the bed of my truck, I can’t bring myself to trust him. Every time he gets like this and I let my guard down, he vaporizes out of my life like a phantom.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure it’s been hard, surviving without the walking disaster they created fucking up their lives.”
