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He twists out of my grip. “I think we should go back, Cameron.”
“No way. I’m not going back.”
“I can’t go back by myself, dude. I could be dying.” He pulls deep on his inhaler again.
“You’re not the one who’s dying, Gonzo!” I’d like to kick his ass all the way to Florida. He gives me that wounded-puppy look, effectively killing my karate fantasy. “Doesn’t she do this to you all the time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Scare the bejesus out of you?”
“She’s looking out for me, okay? You don’t know her, Cameron. I shouldn’ta left like that. Like my dad.”
“You ever think there was a reason your dad left?”
He kicks at a pebble in the road. It skitters sideways into the long grass and disappears. “Me.”
“Maybe it wasn’t you.”
“She’s the best thing in my life. I know that.”
I should just shut up. But I’m so pissed off—about the bus, about the cows, about Gonzo’s crazy mom, about everything—that I just want to slice and dice. “Well, that’s pretty damn sad, then. You ever think that maybe the best thing in your life would be to get the hell away from her before she turns you into a complete emotional cripple?”
Gonzo’s left eye twitches. His mouth goes slack. And then he comes running at me full speed, swinging hard. “Just shut up, man, shut the hell up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
He lands a solid punch to my stomach, and that sucker hurts. I’m doubled over, hoping my breath will have a return engagement with my lungs.
“Say you’re sorry, pendejo!”
“Sorry,” I squeak out.
He backs off, but he’s still way pissed. “My mom has given up a lot to raise me. She was supposed to be a singer.”
“Okay. I believe you.” When I’m able to stand, I hand him his backpack. He stuffs his arms angrily through the straps. “Did you ask her to do that?”
“Ask her to do what?” he says, giving a little hop to secure his pack.
“Give up her life for you.”
He looks confused for a second. “That’s not the point. Look, just drop it, dude.”
“It’s dropped.”
We start walking. In the field, I see the old lady, Mrs. Morae, from the hospital. She’s sitting in a chair, holding on to her IV pole, like she’s at a bus stop, waiting. Her face is grave. “Watch out,” she warns.
“I will,” I say.
She smiles at me. “In a house by the sea with the air scented of lilies.”
“Dude, who are you talking to?” Gonzo’s face is right in mine. I slide my eyes to the right, but the old lady is gone.
The pins-and-needles sensation burns in my legs. “No one,” I say. “Just keep your eyes peeled for a car or a bus. Something other than gravel and dust.”
We amble down the dirt road till we hit an old paved road that at least has a route sign. There’s nothing coming in either direction yet.
Gonzo’s still riled up. “I had appendicitis when I was eight, and she had to leave an audition to rush me to the ER. Okay?”
“I’m sure she’s a good mom.”
