Kiss the Morning Star (9 page)

Shaggy shrugs. “About a hundred an’ eighty miles, I guess. Takes two and a half or three hours to get up there.”

“Maybe we could rent a car,” says Kat.

“And anyway, I was just running my mouth, you know. Things change. People change. I mean, look at Sammi.”

I realize I’m chewing on the side of my index finger, and I pull it out. My side hurts, a dull ache like a sunburn. The kind of change that Shaggy’s talking about—the kind where nasty high school girls mature into reasonably kind and accepting people—that kind of change isn’t about losing a hundred pounds and getting a nose job.

“Maybe we should see if we can find their car,” Kat says. “You remember what kind it was, Anna?”

I search through my brain for details, but it feels kind of like an office building after hours, with lights clicking off on all the floors, one by one. I muddle around in the dark for a bit and come up with, “It was light blue. And it had two doors.”

Kat laughs. “Well, that ought to help. Let’s settle up with Shaggy and then go out and see what we can find. I’m up for a walk, anyway; maybe a little fresh air would wake me up.”

“Okay, lemme grab my wallet.”

I grab my backpack from the floor behind Shaggy’s desk and unzip the main pocket. Where’s my wallet? I try to recall the last time I had it—the pizza place, I’m pretty sure. Yes, I paid for the pizzas, for all four of us. I breathe deeply, forcing myself to stay calm as my fingers reach around the bottom of the backpack, making sure before I check the smaller pocket. Nothing. I pinch the zipper pull for the small pocket, the whole time racking my brain for an image of myself paying the bill. I have almost zero hope of the wallet being in this pocket, but I check anyway.

Empty. My stomach plummets. My hands shake. “Hey, Kat?” My voice quivers pathetically.

Kat stands by the door, peering out for a sign of Casey and Sammi. “Yeah?” She doesn’t turn to look.

I can’t bring myself to say it. I mentally run through all of the wallet’s contents: about two hundred dollars cash, an ATM card for the account where Kat and I have all our money for this trip, my driver’s license, a credit card for my father’s account that I’ve been instructed to use only in case of dire emergency. Some photos. A gift card for the coffee place at home.

Kat senses the emergency and comes to me, concern on her face. “Anna babe, what is it?”

“My…wallet. It’s missing.” I sit down on Shaggy’s wheeled chair, closing my eyes. I have photocopies of both sides of all the contents of my wallet in the car, in the glove compartment. All the numbers to call in case things get lost or stolen. All two hundred miles away.

“No way.”

Shaggy comes out of the back room. “Still no sign of them, huh?” he says. He sees the way we’re staring at each other. “Whoa…what’s going on?”

“They stole Anna’s wallet!” Kat looks ready to kill.

“Well, maybe not.” I can’t jump to that conclusion, not yet. “Maybe I left it at the pizza place. Can we call them and ask?”

Shaggy shakes his head. “It’s four in the morning, sweetheart. They won’t be open until noon tomorrow. Wait. Tomorrow is Sunday. I don’t think they open until two.”

“No,” Katy says. “I’m
sure
you put it in your backpack after we paid for the pizzas. I’m sure you did.”

“I—I can’t remember.” I hate my pathetic, anguished voice.

“You didn’t leave it anywhere,” says Kat. “You put it back in your bag, I know you did. You’re always completely organized, Anna. They took it. They must have.”

I feel the tears fighting to the surface. How the hell are we going to get back? And then I remember Shaggy. “We’ll figure out a way to pay you, I promise.” The tears win, and once the dam is breached, the flow is heavy and fierce. I search my pockets for a tissue, sniffling. I am such a mess.

“Hey, hey, here you go.” Shaggy holds out a handful of tissues and pats my arm awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’ll pay me. It’s okay.”

Kat is pacing, her eyes full of fury. “I’ll kill them,” she mutters. She turns back to me. “I cannot believe this, Anna babe.”

A sort of resignation settles over me in the face of Kat’s indignation. “Do you have my phone?” Maybe this is it: our car broken down, our money gone. Maybe we’ll have to wave a white flag and wait for Kat’s parents to come and save us.

No. That last is too much. Kat tosses my cell to me, and I slide out the keyboard and begin typing. “
Bad things are not a punishment
,” I write. “
Bad things are just bad things
.” Things we can’t control.

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.” I don’t feel like sharing. I turn back to Shaggy. “You’re being so nice to us.” I can’t even believe how embarrassed I am. Looking at him is painful. “Can I ask you one more quick favor before we get out of your hair?”

Shaggy grins and hands me something. I look down at my hand to find a twenty-dollar bill. “What’s this? No, no, I can’t
take
your money. I need to
give
you money.” I can’t believe this. “I was wondering if I could use your computer for a second.” Maybe I can look up my bank account; maybe there’s a way to contact customer service. That’s not my main reason for wanting the computer, though. My main reason is both more and less important than that.

He pushes the twenty back into my hand and offers me the chair in front of the computer. “Seriously, Anna, I know you two are going to pay me back. I just wish I could help out more. I mean, if I knew someone who was driving up to Gillette, I’d totally figure out a way to get you up there. But this”—he nods at the money—“this is the least I could do. Maybe get some breakfast or something.”

I force myself to smile. “Thanks, Shaggy. You’re awesome.” I log in to my bank statement and discover that my account balance is untouched, so far. There is a twenty-four hour customer service number on the Web site, and I jot it down. At least I still have my passport, but only because my mother always told me to keep it separate from my wallet.

“Any luck?” asks Kat, standing by my shoulder.

“Well, they haven’t used the debit card.”

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m curious.” I type a couple of words into the search engine.

Kat laughs, the sound loud in my ear. “Anna babe, how many times do I have to tell you?
We did not kill anybody in South Dakota!
”

I look quickly at Shaggy, but if he hears our
Thelma and Louise
drama, he doesn’t let on. “All right.” I find nothing in my search, not a single mention. “I believe you, okay? I just…had to check.”

“I’m sick of waiting for them to come back.” Kat tugs at the strap on her satchel, pressing her hand against the bag. “You want to take a walk, see if we can figure out what to do next?”

Shaggy perches on the edge of his drafting stool, sketching. He’s giving us room to figure out what we need to do. Looking at him this way, knowing how kind he has been, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. Instead of his stringy hair and ragged skinny jeans, his faded black metal band T-shirt and his scruffy face, I notice the fine bones in his hands—the effortless way he sweeps his pencil across the page. He looks up at me, and I am humbled by the kindness in his hazel eyes.

He mouths his tongue stud thoughtfully. “Um, you girls could crash at my place,” he says. “I mean, it’s only a room at my brother’s place, but I’ve got a futon.”

Kat and I exchange a glance. She looks as though she thinks it’s a good idea. She’s tired. I look back at Shaggy, with his delicate hands and his kind mouth, and…I think about what this might mean—sharing a futon with Shaggy. What if I ended up sleeping with him? This question comes to me out of nowhere, like a fortune pulled from the remains of a cookie, and the thought makes me crumble a little inside. Is that what I want?

It would be one way to do it, to get over my stupid virginity. It wouldn’t be the worst of ways, either. And then it would be over. I shrug. “I guess…” I say, my eyes on his. “I mean, are you sure?” I remember how Kat said that maybe we’d get laid on this trip. Was this the kind of thing she meant?

He doesn’t look away, and I can see he’s had the same thought. “It’s up to you,” he says.

I put my hand on my side, where the new tattoo feels tender, hot to the touch.
Forever
. “No, I…I think we’d better go.” My voice shakes. My legs tremble as though I’ve been running, and I wish I could run away right now, the faster the better.

Kat looks from me to Shaggy and back again, her eyebrows raised. “Okay?”

“Okay,” says Shaggy.

“Can I get your address and stuff, so I can send you the money?” I take out my notebook and scribble down his information, keeping my eyes on the page—and away from his hands.

“So what was that all about, anyway?” Kat leans back against the granite bench. “We could be sleeping on a futon right now instead of curling up in a dark graveyard.”

Dark graveyard is somewhat of an exaggeration, really. It’s bright enough to read in this cemetery, thanks to the streetlights, and it isn’t as though we’re snuggling up against some mossy headstones from the sixteenth century. On the edge of a wide path, we found a bench that is big enough for both of us to recline on, although the granite is proving to be cold and uncomfortable.

“You want to read a little more of the dharma?” I’m not quite ready to discuss what happened at the tattoo shop. I don’t know if I can ever discuss it.

“Sure,” says Kat, and she takes the book out of her bag and hands it to me. “I left off right where he was sleeping by that little river bottom in California.”

I find the spot and read out loud, stretched out on the bench with Kat’s feet on my lap, my own feet tucked in behind her. We commiserate with the troubles that go along with being homeless, the truth of it biting a little deeper than either of us like.

“‘Either side of the border, either way you slice the boloney, a homeless man was in hot water. Where would I find a quiet grove to meditate in, to live in forever?’” I shift on the cold stone bench.

“Ha! So true,” says Kat, laughing humorlessly. “Here we are cowering in a cemetery, two sad little dharma bums, just like Jack.”

I shrug, but I keep my response to myself. I’m not sure we really qualify as dharma bums. I mean, maybe right now, at this exact second, we’re closer, but, you know? Even now, we’re one phone call away from someone jumping on an airplane, scooping us up, and carrying us back home like helpless children.

I pick up the book and continue reading; for a while, we’re quiet, focused on the story. I move around, trying to get feeling back in my legs. “This bench was a stupid idea.” I can say so because it was my idea. “Here we are, surrounded by soft grass, and we go for the most uncomfortable place to sit down, just because this fits our idea of something to sit on.”

Kat laughs. “Oh, Anna, you’re starting to sound like Kerouac. Pretty soon you’ll be saying that the bench doesn’t exist, and comfort doesn’t exist, it’s all emptiness.” She stands up, offering me a hand. “So, what’s next? If we want to be true dharma bums, I think we should hitchhike.”

I stretch, yawning. I’m so tired. “I dunno, Katy. I think hitching rides now is different than it was when Kerouac was roaming around the country. I mean, maybe there were fewer psychopaths back then. Or people were just generally nicer? I’m not sure.”

“People
are
nice,” says Kat. “I mean, look at Shaggy. Look at Pastor Shepherd.”

“Look at Casey and Sammi. Look at those freaks at Sage Creek.” We walk aimlessly along the path, stomping our feet against the pins and needles.

“Leroy and his wife. They stayed late on a Saturday night just to get us all settled. It’s not their fault that Little Sister is a klepto.”

“There are good people and shitty people.” I suppose it’s a pretty even balance between the two, really. But so what? “That means we’re just as likely to get picked up by a serial killer or a rapist or…a cannibal as we are to get picked up by a nice person.”

“Actually, I think the odds are skewed more toward the rapists and maybe the serial killers,” says Kat. “Nice people are scared of picking up hitchhikers. I’m not all that nervous about cannibals.”

“All I know is that I can’t walk to Gillette, or even hitchhike to Gillette, feeling the way I do right now. I need to sleep, and soon.” I wish we could find a nice spot in the woods where we could sit down next to a twin pine like the guy in the book. I’d learn to meditate. After I sleep for like twelve hours, I mean. I yawn again.

“So where to now?” says Kat, leading the way out of the cemetery. “It’s starting to get light.” It’s true; the sky is fading to a grayish purple like a black shirt washed too many times.

“Oh, I don’t know, Katy. Maybe if I could have a cup of coffee and wash my face, I’d feel a little more human.”

We walk in silence, past blocks and blocks of closed-up shops and dark houses. Everything looks desolate—the doors barred. My feet are tired and pinched in these stupid flimsy canvas shoes I was wearing in the car, back when our only concern had been a stripped oil pan plug, and finally I stop and sit down on the edge of the curb. I slip the shoes off, and even though the early morning air is cool, I swear I see steam rise off my toes.

“I don’t know where to go.” My voice borders on a whimper, if the truth be told. “I’m sorry, Kat. I should have said yes to Shaggy.”

Kat puts an arm around me in that easy way she has, resting her head softly on my shoulder. “I dunno,” she says. “What would you have been saying yes to?” She turns her face until I can feel her breath on my ear. My own breath catches; I lean down to fiddle with my shoes, a nervous laugh spilling out.

She knows. It shouldn’t be a surprise, really; Kat always knows my secrets, sometimes before I do, drawing my thoughts out like witching a well.

“I could have done it,” I whisper. “At least we’d have had a place to sleep.” Kat doesn’t answer, doesn’t move at all, just waits. There is nothing but the sound of us breathing in tandem.