Arizona Heat (9 page)

I’m driving again, surprised at how content I am behind the wheel, lost in my own mind. Reagan strums guitar strings and mutters lyrics underneath his breath. He nods every so often like he has answered a question correctly or shakes his head as if he is wrong. I’m itching with curiosity to see what he has written but I fear he’ll stop if I ask him about it.

Reagan strikes up a conversation every so often about anything and everything. From my favorite color to my biggest fear. He listens and nods thoughtfully, only talking about himself when I ask. It’s refreshing.

We drive for a couple of hours, stopping for lunch outside Denver. Once we pull over, I get a chance to check my phone. Francesca is, of course, blowing it up with eight missed calls and twenty text messages. God, I love her and hate her at the same time. I notice that my dad and a number I don’t recognize have called, but nothing from Simon, not even a Facebook message. Weird. He must
really
be mad at me. I see that I have a voicemail and click play to listen to the message.

Josie, it’s Mr. Lewis.

Wow, he sounds worried.

Reagan isn't answering his phone. Could you give me a call?

I see Reagan on the phone by the door and guess that he must be talking to his father now. He looks frustrated and I wonder what the commotion is about. I hope nothing bad happened.

Giving Simon a call, I feel annoyed that he hasn't even bothered to message me back. I know he checks his Facebook every few hours in-between games. There is no way he hasn't seen it.

When Reagan returns to the table, he looks flustered. I try and ask him about it but he just shakes his head, assuring me that everyone at home is fine. There is no point in pressing him, he just pushes into himself further.

What I would do to get inside that brain. I can see the wheels turning behind those dark eyes constantly and erratically, like an artist. I’ve heard about artist types in an arbitrary sense: brooding, damaged, and beautifully complex. Honestly, I always thought of it as a crock of shit. People are people and that’s all there is to it. That is what I believed until I met Reagan.

His eyes are so deep, I think I might fall into them at any second. I crave to know the depth of his consciousness as much as I fear it. There is someone behind those eyes I need desperately to know, and yet, I don't think I’ll ever know enough to understand. He looks at me like nothing else in the world matters, and I am someone worth spending time with. I haven't felt that way in a long time. He seems so rich in thought and don’t get me wrong, I’m an intelligent person, but he has this wisdom about him. The only word than comes to mind is enlightened. It’s as if Reagan knows something that I don’t and it doesn't matter as long as he keeps looking at me like that.

We drive with only the radio waves interrupting our silence. The highway splits in two directions and I panic at which way I’m supposed to go.

“Which way?
”
I ask frantically. Reagan looks up at the road signs and shrugs.

“Which way feels right?
”
he asks.

“I don’t know!
”
I yell. “I’m tired of making decisions.”

“You haven’t steered us wrong yet,
”
he says reassuringly.

“Um, uh, um,
”
I stutter, approaching the literal fork in the road.

“Just choose,
”
he says. My mind rushes to Simon and my heart races as I contemplate between him and Reagan. I know this isn't what he is asking me to choose but it feels that way in the moment. “Josie, it’ll be okay. I don’t care where we go.”

“I don’t want to choose wrong,
”
I gasp.

“Josephine,
”
he whispers with adoration is his voice. “You won’t choose wrong.
”
He said my full name. No one has ever said my name like
that
. I come undone and veer left, unsure of what decision I just made. My heart is beating out of my chest and I have to consciously steady my breathing. Reagan notices and places a light hand on my thigh. It doesn’t help. He shakes his head like he is having an internal battle and removes his palm. I almost whimper at the loss of contact but focus on the road.

“Okay, I chose. Where are we headed?”

“Nebraska.”

“Nebraska?
”
I gasp, regretting my decision.

“It was that or Kansas,
”
he shrugs. Okay. Good. Nebraska is surely better than Kansas.

“So I made a good choice?
”
I ask with hopeful eyes.

“Between Nebraska and Kansas? Is there a good choice?
”
he asks with a smirk.

“I guess not,
”
I shrug, not knowing much about either state.

“Well, if you went toward Kansas then we would have probably ended up in Missouri.”

“Now that we are going through Nebraska that puts us in…”

Reagan pulls out an atlas with a furrowed brow, as unsure about the geography as I am.

“Iowa,
”
he says, sounding deflated.
Oh, shit.

“If we go north?
”
I ask with hopeful eyes.

“South Dakota.”

I groan out loud. At least if we had ended up in Missouri, we would have had Kansas City or St. Louis to keep us occupied, but in Iowa or South Dakota? I don't know which is worse.

I keep heading east for a few hours before Reagan makes me stop to use the bathroom and refuel. He insists on driving after that and I let him, exhausted from the strain on my eyes and general tiredness. It doesn't take long for my eyelids to feel heavy and I drift to sleep.

Somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, I jerk awake. The sun is starting to fall over the horizon and my stomach grumbles so I know it must be dinnertime. The noise in my belly gets louder and I flush with embarrassment. Reagan chuckles under his breath and I shoot him a glare.

“We’d better stop and get you something to eat. I’ve been looking for someplace for a few miles but I haven't seen any campgrounds or even a decent motel.”

“My dad told me that Walmarts are camper friendly,
”
I suggest with a bright smile.

“What do you mean?
”
he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“You can park your camper in a Walmart parking lot and they are totally good with it.”

“Where have you been?
”
he asks suddenly, wide brown eyes searching my blue ones.

“What do you mean?
”
I ask, shyly.

“What kind of girl is okay with spending the night in the parking lot of a Walmart?”

“This kind I guess.
”
I look at him and shrug, unsure of what he wants from me.

“You’re amazing,
”
he whispers so quietly that I wouldn’t have heard him had we not been in complete silence. I don't say anything. Instead I wait for him to speak, which he doesn’t. The agony of his lingering words haunt me until we pull into a Walmart and I smile.

“My castle?
”
I ask with a sly smirk.

“Versailles awaits,
”
he states proudly with a thousand dollar smile. Scratch that, million dollar smile.

I blush and follow him out of the RV, stretching my legs. Solid ground has never felt so good. We have spent most of our time together cooped up in the confines of a tiny vehicle and the funny thing is, I feel freer than I ever have. Talking with him, siting with him, and just flat out being in his presence lowers my blood pressure. I feel like anything could happen when we are together.

We walk side by side through the automatic double doors and are greeted by the familiar smell of retail and plastic. There is something about Walmart and all the possibilities held within. From a new car stereo to baby diapers, Walmart carries it. Overwhelmed with a sense of childish wonder, I take off down the aisles, looking for anything and everything that we might need. Reagan follows behind me, walking at a normal pace and still manages to keep up with my unfortunately short legs.

I grab an abandoned cart and run through the isles, grabbing anything from snacks to a few new CDs. I find myself in the health section and see a selection of razors. I didn't pack one because it didn't seem necessary but now I have to wonder if maybe I should at least shave my legs, just in case. Reagan rounds the corner and I quickly try to hide the razor and shaving cream underneath a plush blanket I impulsively grabbed out of a sale bin.

“Whatcha got there?
”
Reagan asks, moving some stuff around in the cart to find the razor.

“I’m about to be verging on Sasquatch territory,
”
I say, holding my hands up defensively.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,
”
he offers with a knowing smirk. I can see the wheels turning in his head and it makes me blush. Reagan approaches me slowly, with a distinct sparkle in his eyes as he rests both arms on my shoulders. Our faces are two inches apart and suddenly I feel really short, and slightly suffocated. He wants to kiss me, I know it. Instinctively, I turn my head away but quickly realize I can’t escape his grasp.

“Reagan,
”
I plead, looking everywhere but in his eyes.

“Josie,
”
he says, amused.

“What are you doing?
”
I ask, not really wanting to know and yet dying to know the answer.

“Looking at you,
”
he answers with the utmost confidence. I mistakenly glance into his eyes and get caught in the depth of his chocolate irises. He looks at me in a way that I’ve never been looked at before. His expression is curious, excited, but most importantly, adoring. This is the way people dream of being looked at.

“I’m not interested.
”
Lies
. Big, huge lies.

“Oh,
”
he mutters, dropping his arms to his sides.

“Sorry,
”
I shrug, grabbing ahold of the cart for support.

Stupid, stupid, idiot. Why did I not just kiss him? That’s what I want, right? I let responsibility and doing the right thing get in the way of everything. All I can think about is how it would hurt Simon if I cheated on him, like, really cheated. As of right now, I’m in shady territory, at best, but I haven't crossed over. I haven't succumbed to my feelings yet and I want to keep it that way, at least until I talk to Simon.

“Are you going to share those?”

“Um, these are Cheetos. So…No.”

Reagan pouts as he leans against the mesh wall of the camper bed. It’s simply adorable so I offer him a handful of my Cheetos. We nestle into a dark corner of the RV with a small TV settled against the wall in front of us. It’s probably not safe to have it propped up on top of the covers but sitting in the tiny camper bed with “Pulp Fiction
”
is my idea of a great night. With a bed full of eye candy, bags full of popcorn and other cheesy carbohydrates, I can’t imagine anything more perfect. Even after a tiff in Walmart, we sit side by side, laughing and munching snacks as the opening credits role.

I can’t concentrate on the movie, obviously. The sound of Reagan’s breathing is all I can focus on. His eyes are glued to the TV with a nonchalant expression. Meanwhile, I’m trying to not sweat profusely and keep my fidgeting to a minimum.

“You okay?”

“Fine, why?
”
I ask, my voice a little higher than I intend.

“You keep moving around like you are uncomfortable.
”
He looks a little hurt and I know it’s from what I said earlier.

“I’m good,
”
I say with as reassuring a smile as I can manage.

After about forty-five minutes of concentrating on sitting still, I finally wear myself out. My eyes begin to flutter and I absentmindedly let my head fall onto Reagan’s shoulder. He doesn't flinch or really seem surprised by the gesture even though I said I wasn’t interested in him. He must see through my lie as much as I do.

Unfortunately my mind drifts to the fact that Simon still hasn't called. I meant to call him when we got back from the store but then I got distracted by Cheetos. There are about a hundred missed calls from Francesca who probably thinks I ran off into the sunset and will never hear from me again.
I wish.
Tomorrow I will call her first thing and make some private time to call Simon. My stomach flips at the thought of having to speak to him. Should I admit my feelings to him? Is that a good idea since I haven't quite figured them out myself? I imagine how mad he must be and shiver at the idea of him screaming at me. All things to worry about in the morning as I drift away into peaceful oblivion.

The morning sun shines through the window, making me squint as I reach out and touch my phone’s screen.

“I missed your beautiful face so much,
”
I say.

“You better have bitch. You have some explaining to do.”

“I’m sorry,
”
I pout.

“Whatever, just don't drop off the face of the earth again. Are we clear?”

“Yes, mom,
”
I say with a sarcastic eye roll.

“You’re grounded when you get back.”

“If you say so,
”
I laugh.

I’ve missed Francesca and her antics so much. Reagan tries and fails to contain his laughter as he drives us down the open highway. Mid-rant I turn the camera so Francesca can see how beautiful he looks with a suppressed grin and movie worthy hair blowing in the wind. She starts to stutter and I can’t help but to burst into laughter.

“I’ve seen fifteen year old girls hold it together better than you Francesca,
”
Reagan says.

“Well…I…Uh…”

“Go on, where’s your snappy come back?
”
he challenges.

“You’re not that hot,
”
Francesca mutters with a pout.

“I’m sorry, I couldn't hear you.”

“I said you’re not that hot Lewis!
”
she screams at the top of her lungs.

“Your friend disagrees,
”
he says with a smirk, making me blush.

“Well she has terrible taste so–”

“Hey!
”
I interrupt.

“You agreed to marry the first guy you had sex with. Your track record isn't great.”

“Goodbye Francesca,
”
I say, cheeks the color of a tomato. Why did she have to say that? I was doing a really good job at seeming cool up until this point. Only having sex with one person is nothing to be ashamed of, but with Reagan’s experience it makes me feel like a child.

Thankfully, he doesn't say anything as we cruise down the interstate toward the Iowa state line. There are fields, upon fields, upon fields, of farms and hills. The greenery is breathtaking and I’m surprisingly not bothered by the occasional smell of livestock. We decide to stop for a late lunch at a diner just off the highway. Reagan goes inside to use the bathroom and I instruct that I will follow in after. Time to call Simon.

Ring.

Don’t pick up.

Ring.

Please, don't pick up.

Ring.

“Hello?”

“Simon, hey.
”
Could I sound any guiltier?

“Josie?”

“Who else would it be?”

“Nobody. Nothing. How are you?
”
He sounds surprisingly chipper and I’m skeptical.

“Fine, how are you?”

“Great,
”
he says a little too enthusiastically.

“What have you been up to?
”
I ask, trying to hide the suspicion in my voice.

“Hanging out with the guys a lot.”

“Since when?
”
I ask in disbelief.

“Since a few days ago.
”
His voice tells me he’s irritated but so am I.

“You didn't answer any of my calls or my messages.”

“I figured you were busy.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

“What?
”
he asks, playing stupid.

“Do you even want to be with me?
”
I ask, not sure where it came from. Maybe I’m asking because I’m second guessing our relationship or simply because I’m pissed he doesn't seem to care. He hasn’t put any work into our relationship for years and I stupidly thought that putting some distance between us would change that.

“Of course,
”
he says, feigning confusion.

“Then act like it.”

“You know I love you.
”
He says it so monotone that I want to punch him in the face for insulting the entire history of love.

“You don’t even miss me. You haven’t called or texted and you're not even jealous that I’m gallivanting around the US with
another
man. Seriously what kind of fianc
é
wouldn't get jealous of that? I’ve been battling with my guilt this entire time but you don't even care.”

“You’re mad because I trust you?”

“I’m mad because you haven’t even noticed I’ve been gone.”

“I think some space between us has been a good thing.”

What?
“Really, how?
”
I scoff.

“It has given me some time to think.”

“About?”

“What I want.”

“Which is?”

“I want to be a better man for you. I know I’ve been, well, absent these past few years and I want to make it up to you.”

Okay. Not at all what I was expecting. Can I really believe that he wants to change? He says he has been going out and doing things so I guess that is a good step in the right direction. If he is reentering the world of social normality then that is what I wanted all along, right?

“Well, not making any effort to contact me isn't a good way to fix our relationship.”

“I know, I’ll do better.”

“Fine,
”
I sigh, exhausted and confused.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?
”
he says, his voice dipped in hope.

“Okay,
”
I say quietly.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

This is what I wanted, right? If it is, then why do I feel overwhelmed with dread? He didn't even bother to ask where I was or what I have been doing. The entire conversation was covered in bullshit, I know that, but after everything we have been through, I have to give him another chance.