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“The Great Tremolo. The master of love in any language.”
The Great Tremolo starts to sing in his high, shaky falsetto and that’s it. Gonzo is officially gone. He’s crying he’s laughing so hard, which of course makes me laugh, too. The Great Tremolo goes for a high note and we nearly piss our pants. Balder has chosen to ignore our immaturity. He’s stretched across the backseat with his eyes closed, probably taking a little gnome snooze.
“Dude, where did you find this?” Gonzo chokes out.
I wipe away tears. “Wait—turn it up. This is his big ukulele solo!”
Gonzo slaps his leg, chortling. “He’s tearing that uke up! Go, badass girly-singing man!”
“I bet the women throw their underwear,” I crack.
“I want to throw my underwear! Pull over so I can take it off!”
A rumble of thunder rolls over us. The first big splats of rain hit the windshield, a heavy one, two-three. Four. The Great Tremolo sings out from the rigged boom box.
“Hey, Gonz, what’s he saying?” I ask, catching my breath.
Gonzo snorts in disgust. “I don’t know, man, it’s Portuguese. I’m Mex-i-can?” he says, drawing it out. “This may come as a shock to you, pendejo, but not all brown people are the same.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I still wish I knew what he was saying.” And for the first time, I really do.
“Eu considerei a sua cara e sabia a felicidade,” Balder murmurs from the backseat, his eyes still closed. “I looked upon your face and knew happiness.”
Without further warning, the sky opens up and cries.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Of What Happens When We Take a Detour Through Hope (Georgia)
It’s a soaking rain, and I decide it’s better to pull off and wait it out rather than risk the Caddy’s mostly bald tires on the slick highway. A sign advertising a rest area blinks white and blue in the gloom. And just behind that is a little white sign that says HOPE, GEORGIA, TWO MILES. There’s a feather emblem next to it.
“Dude, why are we here?” Gonzo asks. “You know I was kidding about my underwear, right?”
“Just seems like a good place to wait out the rain,” I say. I’m not mentioning the feather. Maybe it’s the state mascot or something.
“Okay. I’m crashing. Wake me up if anything happens,” Gonzo says, joining Balder, who’s been snoring for the last half mile.
If I’m supposed to find something here, I can’t imagine what that could be. There’s not much to Hope. It’s a one-stoplight kind of town. They don’t even have a strip mall, which I think might actually be against the law. I drive slowly past an old clapboard Church of the Nazarene. A closed gas station with a tire yard next door. A couple of houses tucked away far off the road so all I can see of them is a snatch of white or a glimpse of brick. The road veers off to the left and becomes a narrow lane that runs past a dilapidated hardware store with a chipped sign: PARTS SOLD HERE—NEW, USED, NECESSARY. And that’s it. The street dead-ends at a guardrail and a wall of pine trees. There’s an old man sitting on the front porch of the hardware store, his hands on his knees. I pull over and ask him how to get back to the interstate.
“What yo’ lookin’ fo’ is just over yonder,” he answers, pointing a shaky hand straight ahead at the DEAD END sign.
“There’s no road there,” I say.
“You can leave yo’ car heah. Yo’ friends be safe. You go on yonder, now. Got things to see.”
“We really have to get back on the highway,” I say, wishing Gonzo’s door wasn’t unlocked. “Thanks again. Have a nice day.”
I step on the gas in reverse, and the Caddy shudders and dies.
The old man shuffles over and pops open the hood without even asking. “Go on, now. I’ll take a look at yo’ car.”
For a second, I wonder if I should leave my friends here with a stranger. But this guy is eighty if he’s a day. The worst he could do is take out his teeth and inspire us never to neglect our flossing.
I step over the aluminum guardrail and duck into the trees. The rain’s slowed to a blue-gray mist that sticks to my jacket. The ground’s soft with pine needles and the occasional crunch of a cone. The air smells like it’s just been born. Light bleeds through the spaces between the trees. At first, I think it’s the sun coming out, but it’s brighter, like someone just turned on the lights in a stadium. The water droplets on the trees; the brown carpet of pine needles under my feet; my jeans, shirt, and hands—everything glimmers in that strange white light, and then I see the small, worn path off to the right. I follow it through the maze of pines, the light getting stronger all the way, till I find the source of it—a ginormous ash tree, big as a house.
“Whoa,” I murmur. The tree takes up the whole clearing. A tangle of branches sticks out in every possible direction, and every one of those branches is alive with about a million different scraps of paper.
“Hola, cowboy.” Dulcie steps out from behind the tree. She glows like she’s a part of it. I’m so happy to see her that I have the urge to scoop her up into a big bear hug, but I don’t know if full-body contact with angels is cool or not, and it’s not one of those things I feel like testing.
