“Yes.”
He proceeds to listen to my heart and lungs, rub around on my neck, look down my throat, up my nose, and in my ears.
“Okay, everything looks normal. What I’m going to do is have you do a complete workup. We’ll collect a urine sample and run a full blood panel. This’ll just help us rule everything out and get to the bottom of this. How’s that sound?”
“Peachy,” I deadpan.
“Wonderful. If you wait right here, I’ll have the nurse come take you. Once everything comes back—give us a few days—I’ll give you a call and get you back here.”
13
JOSIAH
“What do you mean, you’re driving to Utah tonight?”
“I need to go there for a few days, figure some things out. I’ll be back by Monday. Do you think you can watch the shop while I’m gone?”
Dylan, my assistant manager, is staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. And in all fairness, I feel like I have. It’s well known around my shop that I hate my hometown and avoid it like the plague.
“You know I will,” he grumbles. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, man.” I slap him on the back as I head toward the door. “It’s just a few days. Promise.”
“Alright. Well, drive safe.”
The drive from Nevada to Utah is about twelve hours, give or take, depending on traffic. I’m riding there on my bike, though, so I can bet I’ll be there in ten hours or less. Growing up, the idea of a road trip never really piqued my interest. Sitting in an enclosed vehicle for hours on end seemed boring. But there is something so freeing about flying down the open highway on a motorcycle, nothing but the wind in your hair and all your problems behind you.
Rolling into town, it’s already dark. I check into my hotel—the only one we have for miles—and drop my bags on the queen-size bed in the middle of the room. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do for the next few days. I don’t even know what I’m doing here if I’m being truthful with myself. Reliving those memories from my last trip here before her funeral the other night gave me a strange sense of dread and an overwhelming need to come here to see how things are… howheis.
I’m hoping I can fly under the radar all weekend, though. The idea of seeing my family sounds like the most unappealing thing I could do. For all I know, Segan could’ve left town. He and Lana always talked about leaving someday, like I did. When she died, nothing was left here for him. This trip could be a total waste of time; he could be long gone.
Unbuckling my coat pocket, I grab my phone, unlocking it. There’s one person in this whole town who I’ve kept in semi-regular contact with since I left—Chevy Baker, the doctor who helped Lana the night of her overdose. Pulling up my texting app, I find his contact and thumb out a message.
Me: Hey, man. I’m in town for the weekend. Want to grab some beers tomorrow night?
I toss my phone on the bed face down before stripping out of my clothes and heading to the bathroom to start the shower. For most of my trip, the sky was clear, but for a few dozen miles close to the Utah border, I was hit with some heavy rain. The hot water feels good cascading down my body as I run through what I hope to have happen while I’m here. However, I can’t find the right answer to that question. What do I want? Do Ireallywant to run into Segan? Even if I did, then what? Talk to him? Hang out?
Doubtful.
By the time I step out of the tub and dry off, I’m convinced this entire trip was a horrible, half-assed plan. I should go home before I make a fool of myself or dig myself into a grave I can’t climb out of.
Dragging a pair of black boxers up my legs, I grab my phone on the bed, seeing a response from Chevy.
Chevy: Damn. What the hell brings you to this neck of the woods? Hell yeah, let’s hit up Mickey’s tomorrow night. 8pm?
Me: It’s a long story. Well, not really that long. I actually don’t know what I’m doing here. But yes, that works. See you then.
Well, whatever happens these next two days, I’ll, at the very least, get to catch up with an old friend. So, maybe it won’t be a huge flop of a decision.
* * *
Mickey’s isthe one and only dive bar in this town. It’s a place where the miscreants and rejects hang out, the ones our parents warned us about. Occasionally, there’s live music, and there’re always killer drink specials.
Being it’s a Saturday night, the place is packed. I’m talking wall-to-wall bodies littering every square inch, leaving not an empty seat in the house. The juke box is blaring some classic rock song, and people are dancing in the middle of the small space. My eyes scan the area, spotting several familiar faces, but it isn’t until I glance over at the booth in the back corner that I find the one I’m looking for. As soon as my eyes land on him, he turns his head until he’s looking right at me, a huge grin sliding on his lips as he slides out of his seat, coming to meet me in the middle.
“Hey, stranger,” he drawls, wrapping his arms around me in a big, tight bear hug. “How the heck have you been?”
Returning the gesture, I slap him on the back a couple of times before we take our seats. “Pretty damn good, man. How ’bout you?”
