Trust the Focus (6 page)

Like you tell him all your secrets?
A voice in my head said.

When he turned back to me, a mask had slipped over his face, muting his features like some shaded Photoshop layer. And I wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing.

“Lan—” I started to apologize, plead, I didn’t know what.

But he cut me off. “All right, I think they know we’re in here. Maybe one of us should create a diversion or something.”

The change of subject spun my head, but Landry’s eyes were squinted, like he dared me to discuss the bulges in our pants. I didn’t take the dare. “Um, a diversion? Lan, this is a fucking amusement park and those kids are no older than ten. We aren’t fighting the Taliban here.”

“Those kids are terrorists.”

“Christ, Lan.”

“Well, what do you think?”

I shook my head and then held my hands up to make the classic gun shape. “For a moment there, I thought we were in trouble.”

“Oh my God, are you quoting
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
?”

I grinned. We’d watched it all the time as kids. Robert Redford and Paul Newman, Western bank and train robbers on the run from the law. Lan always said he wanted them to make out with each other. “Best movie ever,” I said.

He readied his “guns
.
”

“We are such dorks.”

“Yep.”

And then we busted out of our purple playhouse, pretending to shoot the kids with our gun hands as they stared at us like we had gone crazy.

***

We walked out of the park, squelching sounds announcing our presence with our wet feet in our shoes, dry shirts in our hands.

We didn’t speak.

Back at the RV, I took a shower, then Lan did. We hopped back on the road to get a couple hours of driving in before we had to stop for the night.

We didn’t speak.

It was like that moment in that stupid playhouse had poisoned our friendship, infecting every aspect until we couldn’t even talk about which music to play while we drove. We were on the edge of that roller coaster. We hadn’t slipped back but we weren’t screaming down the hill, either. And I didn’t know which way I wanted to tip. Or when.

I pointed to a sign for a rest stop when I couldn’t take the silent driving anymore, and Lan nodded.

When he finally spoke, I wanted to cry with relief.

“How long do you think Sally will last?”

“What do you mean? On a tank of gas?”

“No, I mean, how long? Another five years?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. She’s built like a tank. I think she could last indefinitely if we kept up with her. She might have all new parts, but she’d still be Sally.”

“Mmmm . . .” He hummed, turning his head to look out the passenger window.

“What?”

He tapped his long fingers on his kneecaps. “Wish we could just keep going. Crisscross the country, go to Canada, down to Mexico, just keep going until we can’t go anymore.”

I tried to swallow around my dry tongue. “That’d be the life, right?”

Landry’s head thudded on the headrest. “Yeah. Yeah it would.”

***

May 15

[Picture]

That’s me waving good-bye to Idaho. Justin and I stopped at an amusement park while there. We ate our weight in crap food and then puked it up after riding this ride called the Claw (don’t ask).

So, we’re on our way to Wyoming to some place called Devils Tower. I made a ring out of Twizzlers wrappers and I’m pretending we’re on our way to Mordor. I asked Justin to be the Samwise to my Frodo and he said no. HE RUINS ALL MY FUN.

Anyhow, we have quite a drive, but Sally’s holding strong for us like the righteous bitch she is.

I’ll post again after we toss my Precious into the fire and defeat Sauron.

1 Down

11 To Go

—L

Comments

Trenton: Dude, Landry, you’re weird.

***

May 20

[Picture]

We just left Devils Tower and now we’re on our way into Colorado.

I’ve been checking the stats of the site and I can’t believe how many visitors we’re getting. Please keep sharing with your friends. And also, I think this trip and the memories are starting to really get to Justin. I’m doing everything I can—getting his favorite foods and trying to stay positive—but somehow, I just think I’m making it worse. Can you all leave some comments showing your support? Don’t tell him I asked. But I’ll read them to him and hopefully it will lift his spirits. He’s been . . . down.

Okay, so I’ll see you once we’re in the land of the Rockies. Thank you to all of you for sharing this journey with us. We appreciate it more than you know.

2 Down

10 To Go

—L

Comments

Mia: You can do this, Justin. Proud of you!

Tomás: Hang in there, buddy.

Trenton: Man up, dude!

Mrs. Jacobs: You boys stay safe and our thoughts are with you on this journey, Justin!

Chase: I’ll rally the team to visit the blog, all right? Proud of you, man.

I trudged, one foot in front of the other, dust swirling under my soles.

Clomp. Clomp.

Clomp. Clomp.

Again and again, I marched, matching my steps to the beat of my heart.

I squinted through the viewfinder of my camera.

Click. Click.

The shutter whirred as I took in the sites along the trail to Pikes Peak in Colorado. According to the brochure, Pikes Peak was 14,115 feet above sea level and was the farthest east peak in the Rocky Mountain chain. The Pikes Peak Highway to the summit was paved, so we’d driven Sally most of the way and then walked the rest to get some pictures.

A yellow-bellied marmot—according to a small placard along the trail—peeked out above a rock and blinked at us.

I raised my camera.

“Hey, little buddy,” Landry said, and the rodent took off, my shutter clicking a second too late.

I whirled around. “Damn it, Landry, can’t you shut up? I missed the shot.”

The smile withered on his face. His jaw clenched and his eyes blazed, but then the fire died. “Sorry,” he whispered. And my self-loathing escalated on the scale to about 150 percent for killing his light.

I was such a bastard.

A self-hating, frustrated, closeted bastard who had been taking out his anger on the one person who deserved it the least.

I didn’t even apologize, I just turned around and kept walking. Landry’s footsteps behind me sounded heavier, like he’d picked up an extra fifty pounds in the last minute.

Fuck me.

I’d been an asshole the last couple of days, but ever since that moment on that fucking obstacle course, the equilibrium of our friendship had been completely off. Now every time Landry bumped his shoulder with mine or brushed his fingers along my skin, I wanted to scream, each touch like the needle of a tattoo gun piercing me again and again like a permanent fingerprint.

I don’t know if he was actually hovering more, or if I was imagining it, but I was ever aware of his presence, like a big talking, living pink elephant in the room.

He probably thought it was the grief getting to me—and it was—but my mood was caused by the sum of everything. The loss of my dad and the dread of my future and the weight of my life crushing me.

When we reached the top, I placed the urn on a flat spot on a rock. I remembered when Dad told me about his visit here. He’d loved the scenery and the deep breaths of cool air. It was one of the many places he’d promised he’d take me. Which never happened.

I took pictures of the urn and sprinkled the ash, watching as it washed over the rocks and carried away on the breeze. The whole time, Landry’s breathing was loud in the still, quiet air, like waves crashing over my head, every movement of his seeming to block out the sun.

Finally, I turned to him. “Can you just . . . go away? Or something?”

His eyes grew so big, I thought he was going to cry, and I wasn’t that much of an asshole. “I’m sorry, I mean, I just want some time to myself. With Dad. That’s all. Okay?”

He bit his lip and nodded. Then he smiled, the muscles of his face straining with the effort. “Sure, Jus. I’ll be waiting for you at Sally.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He waved weakly and turned on his heel, hands shoved in his pockets, head down and shoulders slumped as he walked away.

Could I just launch myself over the cliff now? I really wanted a jutting branch to the face.

Instead, I sighed and collapsed on a nearby rock, squinting into the sun with Dad’s ashes on my lap. No one was around. Just me, a marmot or two, and Dad.

So I ran my fingers over the lid of the canister and talked. I said all the things I had planned to tell him after I graduated. When I still had hope.

“I miss you. So much. Every day. I miss your postcards with your barely legible handwriting and funny anecdotes. I miss your presents, not because I actually wanted presents but because it meant you were thinking of me during your trips.” My voice lowered to a whisper. “I miss knowing I had someone in my corner.

“Mom created a home where I couldn’t tell her what I am. Couldn’t be it. Could barely think it. And you created a relationship where I knew you were just waiting for me to be myself.

“And I was going to tell you. I was, I swear, but then college happened and . . . I sort of lost control of my life. So I was going to come clean after I graduated, hoping maybe you’d help me with a life and a job and then . . .” My throat closed. I clacked my teeth together and blinked to hold the tears back. “Then you fucking died.

“And now I’m stuck, right? I mean, what the fuck choice do I have? I don’t know what it would do to Mom’s campaign. I don’t want to be responsible for her losing the election. She’s got employees and . . .” I shook my head and resisted the urge to overarm toss the canister at a rock because he wasn’t fucking answering me.

“I wish you could tell me what to do. I wish I could tell Landry, but God, it’s not so easy anymore. He’d be pissed at me for lying and keeping it from him for this long . . . actually, pissed isn’t the right word. He’d be livid. And he’d have every right to be.” A tear slipped down over my nose and dropped on my jeans. “When did my life get away from me and get this fucked up?”

No answer.

A breeze scattered some dust and pebbles and a bird chirped.

That was the only response to me spilling my guts.

***

When I reached Landry, he was fiddling around with Sally, checking the tire pressure or something, judging by his crouch at a back tire. He took one look at my puffy eyes and pressed his lips tight. I walked past him without a word and listened for his footsteps behind me as I stepped up into the RV. They followed.

I didn’t deserve for Landry to remain steadfast by my side. I should tell him to catch a bus and go home.

But I kept my mouth shut for the thousandth time in my life.

We continued driving, and we made it into Kansas as the sky had darkened, mirroring my mood. We found a truck stop to pull over for the night. I flipped some frozen burgers in a pan and we ate in silence. Until Landry broke it.

“So, did you like the shots you got today?”

“I guess.” I poked at my bun. The bottom was soggy. I hated that.

“You wanna look through them? You can tell me which one to post—”

I stood up, threw my uneaten burger in the trash, and then tossed my melamine plate in the sink. The clatter of it on the stainless steel echoed in the small cabin of the RV. Landry flinched. “Just pick whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Landry’s face paled. “Justin, don’t get mad, but I need to ask. Did I do something or is this trip just taking a toll on you . . .”

His voice trailed off and I hated the uncertainty I put there. “It’s not always about you. I lost my fucking Dad, Landry.”

If I had a nickel for every time I made Landry flinch in the last couple of days, I’d be rich.

This time, he didn’t back down. “Look, I’m sorry. But I don’t know this Justin. I wish you would talk to me—”

“I’m going for a walk.”

I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t stand there in this tiny space next to him, feeling the hurt on his face in my own heart. I grabbed my phone, threw open the door, and walked out.

I didn’t go far. I meandered among the trucks and listened to CB radios cackle and hoped Landry locked the door behind me because it was getting late and this was fucking Nowhere, Kansas.

And to top off my day, my phone rang.

Mom.

“Hey.” My voice sounded irritated and raspy as hell. Dread settled in my gut. I should have let it go to voice mail. I was in no mood to deal with Sheila Akron.

“Hello, Justin.”

I didn’t speak.

“How’s your trip going?”

Horrible.
“Fine.”

“Did you read the e-mails I sent you?”

No.
“Yes.”

There was a pause, probably where she expected me to comment on the e-mails, but since I only clicked them as read and didn’t actually
read
them, I couldn’t comment.

Finally, when the silence stretched into awkwardness, she cleared her throat. “I guess we’ll discuss them when you’re back.”

“Great plan.” My voice snapped out sharper than I intended.

Another pause, then, “Where are you now?”

“Uh, someplace in Kansas. We’re going to the Monument Rocks natural area next. Looks pretty cool. If you want to follow along, Landry has that blog up. I e-mailed you the link, right?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, you did.”

Her voice sounded funny. “Okay. Uh, are you following it? Do you like it?”

“Are you sure you want him doing that blog? I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“Well, it’s just, Landry can’t help being Landry and I don’t want other people to think . . . that you’re like him.”

I tried to pretend the words didn’t hurt, that the cut she made wasn’t painful, but I could imagine my blood dripping on the faded asphalt in the moonlight. I gritted my teeth and ignored the growing puddle. “Like him? You mean a good person?”

A heavy sigh. “You know what I mean.”

I was tired, oh so tired, the weight of my life and my lie sitting on my chest, constricting my breathing. The sheep’s clothing I wore had grown hot, itchy, and way too tight. I wanted to slough it off, reveal my wolf’s fangs.

“You know, Mom? I do know what you mean but I’m still going to need you to say the word before you pass judgment on him.”

“Don’t start with me, Justin. You have responsibilities soon and I want to make sure you’re living up to them.”

“How is this not living up to my responsibilities? What are you even talking about?”

She sucked in a breath. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Did I?

“Don’t lose sight of your goals because of things that are shiny just because they’re different.” Each word was sharp and pointy like a spike to my frontal lobe.

I almost laughed. Landry wasn’t shiny because he was different. He was shiny all on his own, and because he was just like me.

More than anything, I wanted to say “Fuck you,” but I didn’t, I couldn’t. So all I said was, “Yes, Mom.”

“Be safe, and I’ll call again soon. And study those e-mails.”

We said our good-byes and hung up. Then I trudged back to Sally. My head pounded and my back ached and my body vibrated with restrained anger. The hot lava of my blood simmered below my skin, the bubbles popping and itching, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I blew. And I was scared of what or who would be caught in the blast.