With the heater blasting in the postmonsoon mugginess, and only the Navajo Nation radio station, which was broadcast in Navajo, we were in for a long forty miles. Rusty had gone back to his former self and wasn’t much for conversation. But after a few minutes that felt more like a few hours, I gave it a try anyway.
“So, we’re gonna stop at your mom’s, then?” I said lightly.
Rusty nodded.
“She’ll probably be happy to see you, huh? Or have you seen her a lot since you’ve been at school? Flagstaff’s not that far from Sedona, right?”
He let me get out all my questions before he answered. “Nah, it’s pretty close. I don’t see her a lot, though.”
“Oh.” I glanced down at the temperature gauge, which had actually fallen a tiny bit. I wished I could feel the difference, even a little. I pulled my hair around to one side to get it off my neck. “Well . . . that’s good, right? That you’re seeing her and all? Because for so long . . .” I didn’t know how to finish this one off. For so long she hadn’t seemed to care, or want to, or try? “I mean—”
“Yeah, it’s good. We’re good.” He shrugged, then leaned over to check the gauge again. “Damn. Shouldn’t be that high still. You better pull over.”
I did, and once we were stopped on the shoulder, I could see a thin wall of steam rising from the front and sides of the hood.
“This, though, is not good,” Rusty said, eyeing it. He swung the door open and in one quick motion pulled his shirt over his head as he got out. I looked—okay, stared this time—at him just standing there, all . . . shirtless. Then I fumbled with my seat belt, wondering how I’d been so pissed at him back at the campsite that I didn’t notice how broad his shoulders had gotten or how defined his—
Rusty ducked down and caught my eye. “You gonna turn it off now?”
“The car? Oh—yeah. I was just . . .” Checking you out? I cut the engine and sat there a second after he walked to the hood, wondering what the heck had just happened in me to make me see him that way. Rusty. Finn’s best friend. Who was now shirtless, with his sandy hair grown out just enough to look like he didn’t care, and a stomach and set of shoulders that said he did. Oh, my good lord. In one of Gina’s little pamphlets she’d brought home from the hospital, it listed all sorts of ways grief could affect a person, and it had said something about irrational thoughts, but I was pretty sure this wasn’t what it was talking about.
I got out of the car, hoping for a little relief from the blasting heater and from my momentary slip into craziness. A cool breeze would be good. Something. But the air hung still and heavy as Rusty wrapped his shirt around his hand and reached for the radiator cap.
“You’re not s’posed to—” I backed away to avoid the boiling water that was about to come bursting out. Rusty slowly turned the cap and I heard a hiss of air, but that was it. I took a step forward again. “There’s no water in there?”
He leaned over but kept his distance. “Barely. It’s leakin’ pretty fast.”
I looked both directions, up and down the highway, at nothing but shrubby desert and windswept sky. “Can we make it on the rest of that water? To your mom’s? And then fix it in time? We have to make it to that concert.” Panic rose in my throat. Despite my doubts about going, it was still the only thing I had to hold on to at the moment. “Can we?”
Rusty sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe. We can put it in, run the heater, and cross fingers it’s enough to get there.” He looked over at me. “Unless you got a better idea. Or a phone.”
“Uh . . .”
I didn’t have any better ideas. I did have a phone, but it was useless, considering I hadn’t charged it in two days. On the other hand, the thought of running that heater on high for the next thirty miles made me wanna cry. And the water—I was so thirsty all of a sudden. “Maybe we should put most of the water in but save some to drink in case we get stuck out here or something.”
Rusty thought about it a moment. “Nah. We need every spare drop in Pala. Get a good drink and the rest goes in. We’ll make it. I’ll drive.”
“What—why? You—”
“I’m fine, H. Trust me. You drive her a little hard, is all, and right now she needs to be babied.” He gave the car a pat.
I rolled my eyes. Finn used to tell me that same thing, and I never understood what he meant by “driving hard,” especially when I didn’t see any difference in the way he drove it from the way I did. But fine. We needed to get going, and I was too hot to stand there arguing. And the driver’s side was hotter on your feet anyway. I went and grabbed the jug, took a good, long gulp of unrefreshing, car-warmed water, and passed it to Rusty, who did the same. Then we both watched as he poured every last drop into the radiator and capped it.
“Here goes nothin’,” he said.
He shut the hood, and I walked to the passenger door, eager to get my feet out of my boots. The relief was immediate when I did, and I leaned back in the seat with my eyes closed, trying to spread the feeling over the rest of me. I heard Rusty walk over to the driver’s side and waited to feel the seat bump when he sat down and settled in.
Instead, I heard a zipper.
I opened one eye and turned my head just in time to see Rusty standing behind the driver’s door, pulling his jeans down. “What are you doing?” I sat up and looked around, like I shouldn’t be seeing him or like someone else might see me see him and know how instantly hot it made my cheeks. Rusty didn’t answer. He was bent over, trying to get his foot out of one of his pant legs.