The Lies About Truth (17 page)

Max knocked on my window at six thirty a.m.

I’d come home from Willit Hill and napped.

“Hop to it, Kingston,” Max told me when I raised the window a crack.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.”

I rushed around for five minutes doing the necessary things—like putting on clean underwear and deodorant, and packing essentials—and five minutes doing totally unnecessary things, like changing clothes and hairstyles several times. I shoved Big, what was left of him, deep in my bag.

“We’re not going to the third world,” Max said from his perch in the window when he saw my bag.

“Cut me some slack. I rarely leave my street.”

He kissed my cheek and said, “Speaking of. You’d better
tell them”—he pointed toward my parents’ room—“where we’re going.”

I wrote Mom and Dad a note that could warrant either a high five or a
What the hell?
and left it on the bar. They wanted my driving status out of neutral, but St. Augustine wasn’t exactly one city over. As far as they knew, I hadn’t even made it to the bridge by myself, and that was only down the street. So in a moment of overkill, I added a big smiley face to sell them on my mental state.

I’m happy. I’m good with this. I can drive ten hours round-trip.

I expected a phone call in T-minus soon.

As Max and I drove the Spree down our street, the first hint of sunbeams struck the pale-gray sky in a brilliant effort. The houses glowed like color cards at a paint store in shades of peach, tan, blue, and aquamarine. There was a white stucco house shaped like a dome that had been rebuilt several times. Some places still had blue tarps secured to the roof with two-by-fours, the aftermath of the storm that tackled the dome.

But they were all still here.

So was I.

And in a few minutes, I’d sit behind the wheel and drive to St. Augustine. When I was a kid, I marveled at airplanes and space shuttles. I watched fighter jets from Eglin Air Force Base run routes out to sea, leaving white traceable contrails against bright blue skies. Dad had even taken me to Cape Canaveral once to watch a launch. Those crafts seemed like impossibilities hurling through space. Cars had never dazzled me. They
didn’t look like miracles with their wheels, engines, and speed. They were made of logic.

Until the accident.

Every day, the people around me got into vehicles and hurled their bodies down the road at high speeds. Didn’t they know that more people died in cars than in airplanes? Didn’t they know Trent was one of them? That Max and I almost were? I didn’t think they did. They texted and talked on the phone and ate take-out and changed their iPods from one song to another.

Driving needed a little more formal dining room and a little less backyard toy box. That fear was what started me running. My feet felt pretty damn safe.

But I couldn’t walk to St. Augustine.

“You’re quiet,” Max said.

“So are you.”

“Might be a quiet sort of day,” he said.

Gina and Gray were parked outside Metal Pete’s gate when we arrived. I’d left it to Gina to explain the day to Gray, and she’d promised me he was on board. We greeted one another cautiously. There was none of the humor of chicken-fighting and camping as we walked into the yard.

“Why can’t we just go in Gina’s car?” Gray asked.

“Because I want to drive.”

Everyone stopped in the middle of the dirt lane. Even Max.

“Why did you think we were here?” I said, jangling the keys as I walked my friends down the first row toward the S-10.

“No idea,” Gray said.

“Ritual,” Max said cautiously.

I read his mind. He clearly thought I was making the other two see the Yaris before we drove off together.

“I’ve been practicing.” I left out the
for two days
part.

Gina wrapped me up in a hug and said, “You
can
do this.”

“Thanks, buddy,” I said, allowing the praise to give me courage.

My practicing didn’t seem to quell Gray’s or Max’s fears. The discomfort amped up again when I showed them the extended-cab truck that was our vehicle for the day.

“You want us to ride in
that
for ten—” Gray stopped himself.

If the tone had been lighter and the circumstances had been a little different, his agitation would have been funny. Here and now, it annoyed me, and he knew it. The four of us climbed into the truck, Max and me in the front, Gina and Gray facing each other in the back. The space was so tight, their knees touched. When I fastened my seat belt, Max checked on me.

You okay?
he mouthed.

A posse ad esse
,
I mouthed back.

He nodded, and I turned the key.

“You guys ready?” I asked.

No one answered. Verbally or nonverbally. No one breathed when I backed out of the space. As I put the truck in drive, it felt as if someone had tied my throat in a knot. A cold bead of sweat slipped down my back. My knees trembled so fiercely, I
was terrified to take my foot off the brake.

Gray was the one who broke my panic. He leaned into the space between the two headrests and said, “God, I hope no one
needs
Gina’s tires or hubcaps while we’re gone.”

We all laughed nervously, and I put my foot on the gas.

Driving was much harder to do when other cars (that moved) were involved and there was an audience. By the time I got to the I-10 ramp, I still hadn’t gone more than forty-five miles per hour, and no one had said a word.

Max occupied himself by drumming out rhythms on the window. Gina sang along to the radio, and Gray sat so close to the window that I couldn’t see him in the rearview, which was probably a good thing. Mostly, I gripped the steering wheel for dear life and prayed every prayer I knew. Fear was awkward. It was hard to be scared of something that everyone else was comfortable with.

“You’ll have to go faster on the interstate,” Max said carefully.

I knew that.

I just didn’t know if I could.

Every time I accelerated, we lurched forward so fast that I took my foot off the pedal altogether. With all the starts and stops, we moved like a broken ride at the county fair.

“I’ll try,” I told him.

Mom chose that moment to call.

“Want me to answer?” Max asked.

I nodded, and he rummaged through my bag until he found my phone in the bottom. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Big. On what must have been the last ring, he hit the button and said, “Hi, Mrs. Kingston. This is Max.”

Mom said something. I couldn’t hear what, but Max told her, “She’s driving right now.”

I heard her squeal. Bad squeal? Good squeal? Angry squeal? I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road to see Max’s response.

A semi roared by me, shaking the truck. Behind the semi, a woman driving a Hummer laid on the horn and jerked into the middle lane.

“Shit. People are crazy,” I yelled.

Max cupped the phone. “Your mom says, ‘Language.’”

I exhaled a very weak laugh, and drove over the rumble strip and into the emergency lane. Releasing the wheel wasn’t easy. My knuckles ached with the strain of the few miles we’d traveled.

Max handed me the phone. “Hi, Mom,” I said, once I had my voice at an even keel.

“Sadie, where are you guys?”

“On I-10.”

Because my mom was terrible at whispering, I heard her repeat this to Dad. He was equally bad, so I heard my dad say, “Ask her if she’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

Saying it almost convinced me.

“You’re sure?”

“Honey”—Mom’s voice was made of rainbows and puppies—“we’re proud of you for doing this.”

Whoa. Off-script. Weren’t they required by parental law to say they were worried and ground me for trying something so ridiculous and dangerous? Two days ago, I’d been selfish and rude for going off on my own. Two days ago, I’d been sent to therapy.

“I . . .” Didn’t know what to say.

Mom continued. “Call if you need us.”

“O-kay,” I said.

She hung up.

I stared out the window. Dust stirred and cotton fields rose up like seas of cumulus clouds. Azaleas the size of mobile homes waved in the breeze.

The azaleas jogged the memory of Trent and me lying in a field, talking about things that mattered.

“I want to matter. I want
this
to matter,” I told the group.

They all nodded.

Even though we were a long way from St. Augustine—especially if I never drove more than forty-five miles an
hour—I eased the truck toward a rest area. When we were parked, I told Gina, Gray, and Max the whole story of Trent and Callahan. Gray wondered if Trent was ever attracted to him. I told Gray no, not that I knew of. Gina asked if Callahan loved him. Max answered that with a resounding yes. Max said how we all felt: some people are hard to understand and easy to love. That was Trent.

That was all of us.

“Why didn’t we do
this
a year ago?” Gray asked.

Max had an answer. “We were all in different places then.”

I added to it. “We were different people.”

“I guess we were,” Gray said.

Gina nudged my arm. “We should get on the road. You still okay?”

To answer her, I reversed from the parking spot and headed toward the ramp with increased speed in mind. Ten miles per hour. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

Max sighted the traffic for me. “You can get over.”

I followed his voice onto the interstate.

Fifty.

Fifty-five.

I thought my heart might explode.

Sixty.

Sixty-five.

Max watched the needle climb. “Hit the cruise,” he said.

Cruise.
(n.) my first successful drive on I-10.

We got gas in Tallahassee, and I took a ten-minute walk to settle down and stretch. By Jacksonville, my frazzled nerves sat on the end of their ends.

I was so close—forty-one miles, according to the signs on the interstate—I could practically taste Ponce’s magic spring water. Those forty-one miles might as well have been a thousand. We holed up in a McDonald’s parking lot, eating french fries, sweating, and avoiding the obvious problem.

“Will one of you drive?” I finally asked.

“I’ll do it,” Gray said quietly.

I felt his hesitation and his courage. The last time he’d driven somewhere when we were all involved was a year ago. Maybe he needed to get behind the wheel as badly as I had. Maybe he just wanted out of the cramped backseat.

We played musical chairs, swapping places in the truck. Gina and I were snug in the back, even though my legs were not nearly as long as Gray’s.

Max amped the radio and turned on a playlist he’d made of Trent’s favorite songs as we pulled out of McDonald’s. Amos Lee, Ben Howard, the Head and the Heart. Music was a two-way street where nearly everyone traveled. Those songs were more than music; they were good memories. As Gray drove east, I rested my head against the side glass and let the motion of the highway thrum through my body like the songs.

Somewhere on the outskirts of St. Augustine, Max slid his hand backward between the seat and the door. As I reached for his fingers, a glare of white greeted me from his passenger side door pocket. Envelopes. At least three of them. I couldn’t be sure they had my name on the front, but I suspected they did.

I curled my hand into his, eyes still on the envelopes, heart still curious. Max turned in his seat, a smile on his face, and invited me into a whisper.

I brought my ear as close to his mouth as I could. “You did great at driving. I’m really glad we came on this trip,” he said.

“Me too.”

When he turned around, I slid the envelopes into my bag.

Gina saw me do it, raised her eyebrows, and nodded toward the front seat.

Toward Max?

Toward Gray?

At this point, I didn’t want it to be either of them.

Gray braked and wound through the streets of St. Augustine. The oldest town in the United States wore its age like a classic movie star. As we neared the inlet, Gray lowered his window and warm, salty air filled the cab.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park and announced, “We’re here. Man, I’ll bet old Poncey wished there’d been a sign like this back in the day.”

Trent would have said the same thing. I realized Gray had been trying to fill in Trent’s gaps for a while.

Gina clinched my knee and smiled before I climbed out of the truck. The bright afternoon sunshine forced me to grab a straw hat to add to my sunglasses. I glanced in the mirror and harnessed my courage. Slipping off the long-sleeve shirt, I exposed Tennessee and the
Peter and the Starcatcher
T-shirt
Gray had bought for my sixteenth birthday. It had been my swimsuit cover-up a year ago today. I’d found it in the hall closet this morning, where Mom and Dad had stowed the stuff they’d removed from the Yaris.

“Nice shirt,” Gray said as he walked by toward the ticket counter.

Max beamed and tugged on the short sleeve. “Good for you.”

Gina stayed close as the boys wandered toward the sign. She helped me lather special SPF into my pallid skin and said, “You’re going to get some extra vitamin D today.”

I tossed the sunscreen into the truck. “Gotta start somewhere.”

Gina spun in a loose circle, taking in as much of the park as she could see from the parking lot. “I can’t believe we’re actually here.”

Our trip had been a year in the making. We were four instead of five, but we were here. “We made it,” I said.

Gray heard me. He shook the fatigue from his legs and stretched toward the sky, rolling his thick neck in a circle. “Thank God. World’s longest trip.”

Gina came to my defense. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Both Max and Gray laser-eyed her, and she corrected. “It was long, but it wasn’t bad.”

Gray tried again. “World’s longest year?”

“Amen,” we all said at once.

Luckily, the park didn’t appear too busy. Only a handful of
vehicles were in the lot. The high humidity had probably sent tourists and visiting families to the mall or the movies. At the ticket counter, each of us forked over the price of admission. Eyeing our water bottles as if they were vermin, the counter lady handed us a park map and a coupon for some genuine Fountain of Youth water.

“Have a nice day,” she told us.

Told
us. She wasn’t a lady who made suggestions.

“Back at you,” Gray said jovially.

Then he turned to us and said, “That old gal needs to drink a gallon by herself.”

“That’s what people probably say about me,” I muttered.

Max’s head tilted and his eyes grew sad at my self-deprecation. “Not today.” He tapped the front of my hat. “You look great.”

I ducked my head and pocketed the receipt, unsure of what to say. Reflexively, Gina slipped her arm through mine. I wondered how much she knew about the envelopes. Did everyone know except me? Could Max and Gray have sent them together, and that’s why she nodded toward the front of the truck, rather than to one side or the other? I hadn’t considered that possibility before.

If my mind was in darkness, hers had both feet anchored to light.

“We should skip,” she said, chin up, decision already made.

“Skip?” I asked.

“It’s the Fountain of frickin’ Youth. Come on.”

Gray cut his eyes at Max. “If you want to skip, you’re shit out of luck.”

Gina didn’t wait on me to agree. She tugged my arm and body along for a ride until we skipped and smiled and were young girls again.

I could half see us ten years ago with pigtails and cotton dresses on the playground at Coastal Elementary, eating Lunchables and talking about how stupid the boys were. That was back when we said things like
You’ll be my best friend forever and ever and ever and ever. No matter what.

We’d believed it then.

I started to believe it again.

After we passed through the archway entrance, fifteen acres of green space, statues, forts, and artifacts stretched out in front of us. Somewhere beyond them was the bay where Ponce de Leon had landed in search of gold and a legend. Not far from us now was the old Spring House, which sheltered the Fountain of Youth. For something I’d waited so long to see, it felt a great deal like other parks I’d visited. Part of me expected to see grandparent-aged children frolicking through Roman-style marble baths.

I wasn’t sure where to start, but everyone looked at me to decide.

“Spring House?” Max asked.

I hesitated. “Let’s save that until last.”

“Statue?” Gray asked, but he’d already started in the direction of the old conquistador.

Gina let go of me and caught up with him. Likewise, Max settled into the space beside me. We wandered along the paved paths and sometimes off them. I allowed myself the freedom to feel everything and remember whatever I wanted, like a parade marching through my brain.

Gina. Skipping. With her arm looped through mine.

Gray. The vase of history I’d buried in the pine needles.

Big. An empty stuffed ostrich.

The anniversary. Today.

The list. Shrinking.

Max. Invader. Explorer. Culprit?

When I looked up, the golden statue of Ponce, mounted on a large stone base, loomed over me. I stood in the conquistador’s shadow and imagined him landing here for the first time.

The early explorers were cruel and ruthless. They were also brave sons of bitches. I envied the hell out of them for their small Earth and expanding maps. What was left to discover these days? Fashion trends and the next social media quick fix?

As I stared up at that big statue, I wondered how long it had taken him to get his land legs back under him after his voyage. Did he kiss the ground and thank God and the king for traveling mercies? Did he look for an immediate fight with the natives? Or did he wonder the same thing I was wondering now?

Was there really healing in all this water?

“What do you think Trent would have said?” I asked Gina.

“Probably something like
‘Sadie May, what shall we
explore next? Machu Picchu? Angkor Wat?’”

Her impression was dead-on.

“You nailed that.”

“I knew him pretty well.”

She did. I was glad she remembered that.

“He’d have laughed when I told him those places were a long way away.”

She tilted her head to the sky. “I can almost hear him.”

I thought I could too.

Max chimed in. “The height and depth and width of the universe—how immeasurable it was—always energized him. I wish he’d had a chance to travel.”

Even that sounded more like Trent than Max. No one added to his statement. We drifted away from one another. Drifted into our memories.

Someone touched my shoulder.

“It’s just me,” Max said, jumping back as I jerked.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

“I was coming to ask you the same thing,” he said.

I consulted the park map and yelled to Gina and Gray that Max and I were walking toward Ponce’s landing spot. He slipped his hand into mine.

I wondered if we’d ever walk this way again.

I hoped we would.

I’d forgiven Gina. Gray and I had been civil all day. I could forgive Max if I needed to. Right?

When we were bayside, I chose a bench and sat down
cross-legged, facing sideways. The sun-heated wood warmed my skin through my jeans. Max sat across from me. Sweat gathered in the edges of his sideburns. It was pretty damn hot out here, I thought, tugging at the middle of my shirt.

“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry,” he said, and then clarified. “That I doubted we should all come here. This was a good choice. You’ve wanted to forgive them, and this is a huge step in that direction.”

I couldn’t hold on to the words any longer. “I saw the envelopes in the truck.”

He flipped his hat from backward to forward—his eyes disappearing as he wiggled in his seat. “What envelopes?”

I shuffled through my bag and placed all three in front of him. As if the action itself would demand a response.

Max scooted back into the armrest, picked up the one on top, and read my name. “Sadie Kingston.”

Before I drew a conclusion, someone behind me spoke.

“It wasn’t him.”

My hand found its way to my mouth.
Gray.

“I’m really confused,” Max said.

“No, I was really confused,” I said. “Gray—”

“Made another mistake,” he filled in. Gray gave Max a sympathetic look. “She’ll explain it all to you soon, Max. Would you mind maybe giving us a minute alone?”

Max looked as confused as I felt. Still, he stood, respecting Gray’s request.

I grabbed Max’s hand.

He double-squeezed. “It’s okay.” Then he winked, and walked away.

Gray took his place on the bench.

We let our hearts speak one-on-one.

His heart: “I sent them because I didn’t know what else to do. You wouldn’t hear me.”

My heart: “I wasn’t ready. I
couldn’t
hear you.”

His heart: “I thought you might hear yourself.”

My heart: “I wish you’d signed them.”

His heart: “If you’d known it was me, you would have thrown them away.”

My heart: “I guess you’re right.”

His heart: “Sadie . . . did they help at all?”

My heart: “In the craziest way, yes. The past wasn’t all bad, was it?”

He knew the answer to that question. It was one of the things he’d held on to with an iron grip. It was why he’d sent the envelopes.

My heart: “I’d forgotten that.”

His heart: “Then I’m glad I reminded you.”

More followed. Why he’d chosen those particular memories. How he’d done it. For a laugh, he and Trent had gone through Big during last year’s Pirates and Paintball.

“You always told us they weren’t really secrets. Our curiosity got the better of us,” he said guiltily. “I really liked the stuff you wrote. The little pieces of us you captured.”

He explained how he and Trent had taken phone shots of
a few—some he’d loved, like us jumping off the bridge, and a few he’d hated, like me and Trent skinny-dipping.

“Your gun didn’t misfire at Pirates and Paintball, did it?” I asked, remembering that Trent had been on our team last year and Gray had been the one to
accidentally
shoot him in the face mask.

Gray gave me a solemn nod. “Reading that made me furious. He didn’t have any right to see you naked before I did.”

“Just so you know, he never saw me naked.”

Gray sighed. “It’s not like it would have mattered if he had—not now—but I didn’t know that then. End of the day, I used all the memories, because all those slips added up to the girl I fell in love with, and I missed her.”

I teared up when Gray explained how the idea of sending the letters came to him. He’d been sitting across the street from my house missing me. Worried about me.

“I saw you there,” I told him.

“Probably not. It was early,” he said.

“It was right at sunrise.” The image of him squatting on the curb, underneath my mailbox, sharpened in my mind. “You were wearing a light gray hoodie, the one I used to steal, and jeans.”

I’d written to Max about seeing him.

“I guess you did.” Gray inched closer, and opened his palm. I lay my hand on top of his.

“You were hurting, Sade. Shutting down. Withdrawing. I had to do something to reach you, and it was the best I could
think of. Honestly, I was kind of proud of myself for doing something Trent would have done.”

Gray was right. From the very beginning, the letters had reminded me of Trent, which is ultimately why I’d suspected Max instead of Gray. Gray Garrison still had surprises up his sleeve. That made me happy for him and whoever came after me.

“You could have told me on the beach. The day I helped you put up chairs. Or at paintball. Or anytime.”

“Would we be here right now if I had?” he asked quietly.

I guess we both knew the answer to that.

Gray Garrison leaned forward and said, “Even if you hate me, seeing you drive, seeing you take off those damn long sleeves, seeing you here”—he looked around—“that was worth it for me.”

“I don’t hate you, Gray.”

“I meant what I said. I still love you, Sadie.”

In a weirdly mistaken, human way, he’d more than demonstrated that.

I tiptoed through the minefield carefully. Clocks didn’t run in reverse, and neither could we.

“Gray.” My voice fell heavy between us. “I still care about you, too—”

He retracted his hand. “But—”

“The past has to stay the past,” I said. “And not because you cheated on me. Because we changed, and that’s okay.”

A chorus of ghostly hands clapped when I said that. It felt
like we’d come to the end of a long amusement park ride. I imagined an announcer speaking into a shoddy microphone.
Ladies and gentlemen, carefully unbuckle your seat belts and exit to the left. Thank you for riding the End of Us.

Gray scratched his head and closed his eyes. For once, I knew he wasn’t closing out the picture of me. He was closing out the picture of us.

“I really thought we’d make it,” he said.

“We did. Just not in the way we thought we would.”

“True,” he said.

“True,” I said.

The truth was finally a beautiful thing.