An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes (21 page)

Sam believed it at the time. Thinking back on it now, though, he begins to have his doubts.

Sam checks the time on his phone and considers trying Sarah again. But he looks up to find Mari, Archie, and Dante standing next to him. Mari wears a sympathetic expression.

“What's up?” Sam asks.

She holds her phone out to him. “Read it.”

It's a long text, split over several messages.

From Sarah.

He reads:

Sam lifts his eyes from the screen. Smiles. “She said she loves me. She misses me.”

Mari snatches back her cell. “Are you an idiot? Did you read the entire thing?”

Sam hops off the car. “You guys ready?”

“Sam,” Dante says. “We need to go home.”

“Game over,” Archie says.

Sam shakes his head. “This is just the low point in the story. The final test of the hero's resolve.”

“Unbelievable,” Mari says.

“I'm going to call Sarah and tell her I still love her, too. I'm going to tell her that nothing can stop me.”

Sam starts dialing Sarah's number, but Mari slaps him in the side of his head. He drops his phone and it clatters onto the pavement.

“What the fuck?” he asks. He spits out his cigarette, and he picks up the phone. “You broke it.” He shows her the screen, now a web of cracked glass.

Mari snatches the phone from his hand, and tosses it into the tall grass. “It's for your own good.”

Dante runs a hand over the top of his head. “It's over, Sam. We need to go home. I'm sorry.” He puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, but Sam shakes it away.

“No. We can't turn around. We can't give up. Not when we're almost there. I haven't won her back yet.”

“Let's go, buddy. The psychosis will pass,” Archie says.

“Leave him,” Dante says. “He just needs to calm down.”

Archie, Dante, and Mari walk through the wet grass toward a picnic table.

“Please,” Sam begs. “I need to get to Seattle. I need to get to Sarah.”

He follows after them and grabs Mari by the arm.

“Just wait, I—”

But before he can finish his sentence, Archie rips his hand off Mari's arm and slams his fist into the side of Sam's head.

Sam stumbles backward and trips to the ground. He stares at Archie. Rubs the spot where his friend struck him.

People turn to stare. A small dog barks at the end of a leash. Nobody moves to help Sam.

Mari turns on Archie. “What the hell?!”

“He was going to hurt you!”

“No he wasn't—you didn't need to hit him. I'm not some damsel in distress here for you to save!”

“You should be thanking me,” Archie says, shaking off the pain in his hand.

“And you,” Mari says, ignoring Archie and addressing Sam. “My mom has cancer. She might die. Her life might end. And what are you so pissed about? Your girlfriend dumping you? Boo-fucking-hoo. She doesn't want to be with you, and showing up on her doorstep isn't going to change that—we're not in some movie. But you know what? Even though you're a colossally self-absorbed, whiney jackass, you're only eighteen. You will meet other girls. Chances are, some of them are going to be dumb enough to like you. So move on. This isn't the end of your fucking life.”

Noticing that Dante is moving to help Sam, Archie turns his anger on him. “Why are you helping that asshole? What—are you in love with him?”

Dante stares at Archie in disbelief, realizing for the first time that his confession was not lost in the storm. But Dante needs to hear someone say it aloud.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dante finally asks.

A shadow passes over Archie's face. “You know what it means, fag.” The word leaves his mouth like an arrow unloosed.

Dante's shoulders sag. His eyes lose their light.

Archie turns around. He puts his hands behind his head, and watches the cars rushing by on the highway. He knows it was wrong, but his anger is too fresh to apologize.

Mari shakes her head and walks away from everyone.

Unnoticed, Sam rises to his feet.

He walks back to the car, and he pulls the keys from his pocket.

He opens the driver's side door and climbs behind the wheel.

He starts the car.

Sam peers at his friends through the windshield and sees their faces colored with shock. They're looking at one another, uncertain of what is happening, of what they should—or can—do. As they start to wander toward him, he waves goodbye and pulls out of the parking space. But he only travels a few feet before Archie leaps onto the hood, his body sprawling across the windshield like some gigantic, bespectacled bug.

Sam continues driving but clicks on the windshield wipers. They only swing a few inches before flapping uselessly against Archie's side.

Archie pounds on the windshield with a fist. “Stop the car, dickhead!”

Sam hears Mari and Dante making a similar plea from somewhere nearby. He glances in their direction but cannot see through the plastic bag that now serves as the side window.

Despite the fact that Archie blocks most of his view, Sam accelerates.

Archie clings to the window, holding on with all of his strength. “Are you insane?!” he shouts. “Stop!”

“Sam!” he hears Mari shout. “There's a kid in front of you!”

Sam slams on the breaks. The car skids to a stop. Archie tumbles off the hood and rolls across the pavement. Mari rushes to him.

The window cleared, Sam's eyes scan the area for the child he might have hit.

But there is no kid. Anywhere.

“There's no kid,” he says to himself. He slams his fists on the steering wheel. “There's no kid! You lied to me!”

Dante rips open the plastic covering the side window, reaches inside, and plucks the keys from the ignition.

“Get out,” he says.

Sam watches as Mari hunches over Archie's crumpled form. People gather around. Some look inside the car at Sam, wondering what the hell is going on. Others take out their phones trying to determine if they should call the police.

Archie stirs and slowly sits up. He shakes his head. He gropes the ground for his glasses. Mari finds them and places them in his palm. He puts them on. One lens is cracked. He flashes everyone a thumbs-up. Mari says something to the small crowd, and they begin to disperse.

Dante repeats his command to Sam. “Get out.”

When Sam neither replies nor moves, Dante climbs into the passenger seat.

Sam hangs his head. They sit together in silence.

“Is it true?” Sam asks. “You're gay?”

Dante sighs. And then nods.

“That's cool. Sorry, about last night, though. I can't remember all of what I said. But I'm sure at least some of it was ignorant.”

Dante lets the apology hang in the air.

A line of cars begins to accumulate behind them, honking with gathering impatience. Dante hits the hazards, reaches his uninjured arm through the broken window, and gestures for people to drive around.

“I don't know what I did wrong,” Sam says.

“You hit Archie with your car.”

“No, not that. I mean with Sarah.”

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Then tell me why she dumped me, Dante.”

“She moved.”

“Bullshit,” Sam says. “If she loved me, then she would have at least tried to make this work.”

“It's not that simple.”

“It is.”

“It's not. We always think we know what's going on with other people, but we don't. We can't.”

They watch Mari help Archie to his feet. He throws one arm over her shoulder and she helps him limp over to the car. Archie slides into the back seat, and Mari climbs in on the other side. She smacks Sam on the back of the head.

“You could have killed him.”

“Sorry,” Sam says.

“Why are we still in the middle of the parking lot?” she asks. “Let's go home.”

Dante holds up the keys and looks at Sam. “I'm going to put these back in, but don't take off for Seattle. Park, so we can talk this through.”

Sam nods. Dante inserts the key and starts the engine, and Sam does as requested.

Everyone gazes out the windows for a long time, watching the cars and people come and go. Nobody speaks because nobody knows what to say anymore. Nothing seems right. Words seem dangerous, as if to speak would be to light a match in room filled with gas.

But Sam eventually does. “I wasn't asleep,” he says.

“What are you talking about?” Mari asks.

“Back there. When we pulled over in the storm. I was awake.”

“Then why didn't you get out of the car?”

He shrugs. “I just thought, like what's the fucking point? Sarah was the only person who ever cared about me.”

All of their minds go to the window that is no more. They had found it busted after they returned to the car once the storm had passed. A mangled, old muffler sat on the front seat amidst the pebbles of broken glass that had not been carried away by the wind.

That was where Sam had been sitting before Dante pulled him out of the car. His head had been leaning against that window.

Dante says, “We care about you.”

Sam shakes his head. “It's not the same.”

“So does that mean it doesn't matter?” Mari asks.

Sam shrugs.

“Whatever. We do care about you. But we need to go back home, Sam,” Mari says. “I need to be with my mom.”

Sam says, “There's nothing waiting for me at home.”

“There's nothing for you in Seattle, either,” Mari says. “And you're not the only one in this car.”

“Then I'll go the rest of the way on my own,” Sam says. “I'll hitchhike. Like Sunshine.”

“No,” Archie says, avoiding Dante's eyes, avoiding Mari's. “I think we should keep going. We're nearly there.”

Mari turns to Archie in disbelief. “What's the point?”

“I couldn't care less about helping this asshole anymore. But the sooner we go back, the sooner I have to move in with my father.”

“And the sooner I have to face my grandparents,” Dante adds, avoiding eye contact with Archie or anyone else. “If you couldn't figure it out, I'm in trouble for some reason because I'm gay. I'm not ready to deal with that yet.”

“Three against one,” Sam points out.

Mari leans back and folds her arms over her chest. “You damn well better pay for that window.”

The next thousand miles pass in near silence as Mari, Archie, Sam, and Dante fall into a rhythm.

They drive in three- or four-hour shifts.

They stay in one place only long enough to accomplish necessary tasks. Bathroom. Food. Gas. Repeat.

They pass through the northern plains where the mind-numbing flatness is dotted with grazing cattle. The sparseness is interrupted by small towns consisting of a handful of houses clustered around towering silos. Everything seems to repeat, like the looping background in some old cartoon.

When not driving or sleeping, Mari writes in her notebook, Archie works math problems, Dante contemplates life while watching the landscape slide by, and Sam reads the book Sunshine gave them.

They rarely speak, and when they do, it's only to convey what gestures cannot.

They're over adventure. The destination no longer excites them. It is as if they've brokered a fragile truce to accept the remainder of their trip as mere escape. They're stuck in orbit.

As the sun sets, they approach the mountains of Montana. There's a brief argument about the radio when Sam tries to turn it up while Mari is driving. But Dante quashes the bickering, and the car settles back into its purgatorial silence.

Night falls.

Archie brings the car to a complete stop. The glowing red line of taillights stretches so far into the night that he cannot see the source of the backup.

With the plastic over the broken window no longer flapping, radio music rises to the surface. It's some old folk song. Archie listens. He considers changing the station. But he doesn't.

Dante and Sam are asleep in the back, Mari in the front.

After several minutes, there's still no movement ahead. Archie sighs.

He glances at Dante in the rearview mirror.

He sighs again.

Mari stirs. She slowly comes to and takes in the situation. “What's going on?” Her words are thick with sleep. She sits up and stretches. Puts her glasses back on.

“Traffic.”

“Looks bad. Know why?”

He shrugs. Leans back.

Mari turns the radio to the AM band and begins scanning for information. Late-night talk radio cuts in and out, rambling about weather or sports or God or politics. Finally, the dial hits a traffic report.

After listening for a few moments they learn of an accident a couple miles up the road. Both westbound lanes are closed.

“I hope everyone's okay,” she whispers.

Archie kills the engine and rolls down the window. The soft sounds of idling engines and distant music drift through the air.

“Why'd you say that back there? To Dante?” Mari asks.