“Nope,” I said. And I was glad.
“Water?”
I glanced down at the almost-empty bottle in the cup holder next to me and motioned at it. “That’s it, right there.” He grabbed it without waiting for my permission and swallowed the last sip.
“I didn’t say you could drink it. That was supposed to last me until the next stop.”
He rolled his eyes, then rubbed his forehead. “I’ll buy you a new one when we get there.”
I sighed and popped in a piece of gum, then threw one at him. “Here. Your breath stinks.”
He unwrapped it, bent it into his mouth, then leaned his head toward the window again, eyes closed, chewing slowly. “Your feet stink.”
“You’re smelling yourself.” He didn’t say anything. “What were you drinking, anyway? You’re sweatin’ it.” I tucked my free foot beneath the seat. He grimaced and slung one arm over his face, dismissing the question.
Yep. Bringing him had been a horrible idea. I reached for the tape deck and turned the volume up full, determined to drown out anything else he had to say, and it was perfect that Kyra was singing a song about a no-good, small-town guy who was just plain mean. I couldn’t have cued it up better myself.
Rusty lifted his arm off his face and gave me exactly the kind of look I’d expected. I was satisfied for less than a second before he leaned forward and hit the eject button and yanked out the cassette adapter. He held it up, my iPod dangling like it was some sacrilegious thing, and I grabbed for it.
“Hey—”
He shook it. “An iPod? This is a 1967 Chevy Impala. Are you f’in kiddin’ me?”
I flinched as he wrapped the cord around it and stashed it in the glove box, shaking his head at my disregard for the old rules. I knew what he was gonna say before he said it. Somewhere along the line, he and Finn had decided that the only music that could be played in the car was classic rock. The kind they turned up and sang along to and that I associated with people my aunt’s age but was probably even older than that. Secretly, I liked a few of the songs, but I never would have admitted it.
“Never do that again.” Rusty leaned forward and found their old radio station immediately, which I was surprised at, since we were almost to the New Mexico state line. He turned it up louder than I’d had it, and I recognized the song. I could feel him looking over at me, grinning like he’d just put me in my place. I rolled my eyes, but for just a second it felt like a flash of old times.
After an uninterrupted triple play of REO Speedwagon, we pulled in to a gas station that looked like something out of one of those movies where some old creep with missing teeth is behind the counter waiting for an unsuspecting customer to walk in. I yanked my boots on and ran around the side, to where I’d seen a bathroom sign. When I got back, Rusty was standing next to the gas pump, gulping down water from a gallon container. He set it down on the trunk with a thud, then popped open a bottle of aspirin and threw a few in his mouth, not bothering with any water to swallow them. I came around to the pump.
“Did you pay for the gas?”
“Yeah.” He still looked like hell, but I could tell from his eyes he was sobering up.
“Thanks,” I said, then stood there awkwardly for a second when he didn’t answer. “I’m gonna get some candy or something. You want anything else?”
He shook his head as he pulled the nozzle out of the tank and shut it. “Nope. I need to sleep this shit off.” Without another word, he screwed the gas cap back on, walked around to his side of the car, and got in. Charming.
A set of bells jangled on the door when I pushed it open, and a loud fan blew a cloud of cigarette smoke and perfume right at me. “Hi there,” a girl’s voice said from behind the counter. She was a few years older than me, and pretty—honey-colored hair, blue eyes, thick black eyeliner. The kind of girl Rusty’d probably hit on as soon as he walked in. Nowhere near the toothless old guy I’d been picturing. “Your fella out there’s in a bad way.” She laughed. “Still pretty cute, though.” I didn’t know quite how to respond, and it must have shown. She smiled. “Sorry. I get bored is all. You two are the most interesting thing that’s happened all day.”
I glanced around the tiny store, hoping for a candy rack. “I’ll bet.” She popped her gum and went back to her magazine, and I found what I wanted. I went ahead and grabbed a couple of bags of Sour Skittles, a pack of gum, and a box of Red Vines, because that’s what Finn always bought at pit stops. On the way up to the counter, I stopped in front of a display of little tree-shaped air fresheners. I preferred vanilla, but Finn loved the irony of driving around in the Impala with new car scent hanging from the dash, so I added the familiar blue tree to my haul and smiled. When I took it all up to the counter, the girl at the register set her magazine down, open to a full-page collage of pictures, all of Kyra Kelley.
“Oh, wow, can I see this?” She nodded, and I spun the magazine around so it was facing me.
She nodded as she punched the keys and popped her gum. “Just got it in the mail today. Her first interview in a long time, all about how she’s giving everything up. Walkin’ away, just like that. Crazy, you know?”
I looked at the shots, mostly candid, by paparazzi. Her walking out of a Starbucks, Frappuccino in hand, her going into a sushi restaurant, her in workout clothes and huge sunglasses, carrying a bottle of water. Her in the backyard of her newly purchased home, somewhere “away from the generic luxury of the Hollywood Hills” and closer to family—her words.