Always be River McFarley.
Always be River McFarley.
Aghast and somewhat irritated, I shake my head. I want to answer him, but he has left the motel room and is sitting on the Yamaha with the engine running. Quickly, I put the note into my pants pocket. I don’t know whether to find it spooky or concerning.
For a moment, I watch how he sits there with the helmet in his hands, his hair shining like gold in deep-black waters. Hesmiles, waiting for me, lost in thought. I shoulder my backpack, put the helmet on, and fish my phone from my pocket. The foreboding is growing stronger.
Dad, I text with flying fingers as I approach River, making him feel assured all is well.What’s the name of Chester Davenport’s older brother?
Chapter 20
That evening, we make it to Littlerock, a town of eight hundred people in the middle of a barren valley. There’s a motel that we check into and three restaurants. One owner is on vacation, the other is closed due to a death, and the third, the Knotty Oak, is hosting a karaoke competition.
Somehow, half the town seems to be gathered there. There’s a line to get it, but we still stand in it because River says he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t get a piece of meat between his teeth soon.
I take his appetite as a good sign, a kind of transitional phase between not sleeping and hardly eating and just sleeping. As we wait, I stare nervously at the floor. There are lots of chattering strangers around us, and I feel the old fear in my veins, but River grabs my hand. The feeling sinks as easily as a full vessel drifting to the bottom of the sea. He’s always there. He always sees when I need help. And even though everything is warped, getting darker, and coming to an end that scares me, I’m happy in a strange way. Every second with River feels like my blood has turned to liquid gold. There haven’t been many nice moments in my life lately; it’s always been more about holding my breath and worrying about what’s going to happen next. River revived me so I can breathe again.
Always be River McFarley.
Earlier, I briefly deactivated airplane mode and checked my cell phone. My dad wrote that he had to check with Clark Davenport because he couldn’t remember the other son’s name. Only then did I realize what conclusions my question could lead to. If Dad has to ask Clark Davenport, they might get the idea that we’re traveling together, no matter what lies Chester says. And River definitely doesn’t want our families to know about our trip together.
The question’s been solved,I answer as River buys a few chocolate bars at a desert gas station.
After waiting five minutes, we make it to the bouncer, who’s letting everyone in anyway. The Knotty Oak is a quaint establishment where all the furniture is made from rustic oak. River and I squeeze into a corner table with four older people, and I feel the curious eyes of the locals on us.
“New faces in Littlerock.” The bearded man nods at us. “What brings you to a place like this in the middle of nowhere?” He looks at me, and I automatically return the smile. My heart beats faster, but I don’t feel the usual panic.
Across the table, River puts his hand on mine. “My girlfriend doesn’t speak,” he says, looking me straight in the eyes as if to make sure it’s okay. I nod cautiously. “We’re taking a trip through the Southwest, checking out the national parks and Las Vegas.”
Lost Arrow Spirewhispers in my head, with a stopover at Mom’s.
Each of the four has something to say about Las Vegas, so my speechlessness goes unmentioned for now.
“A friend of my brother gambled away the house and farm there. Black Jack, a devil’s game!” The older lady with bright pink painted lips and the typical ’50s curls looks at River admonishingly.
“We don’t gamble, ma’am, don’t worry,” he says with a charming smile, and I feel him winning over the ladies at the table. I bet he could captivate anyone if he wanted to. Even though he’s wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans, like most people here in Nevada, he stands out from the crowd. The way he laughs, so confident and nonchalant, and his movements—even the way he turns his head—all seem like he knows he has charisma yet doesn’t come across as arrogant.Sometimes, I really hate myself, I hear him say, and in his darker moments, I would argue it’s true. But at the moment, I don’t see any of it.
It’s only now, as I’m thinking this, that I realize that I’ve rarely seen River interacting with others. He’s currently blowing the strands off his forehead and giving me a smile that sends a hundred fires through my veins. I smile back, feeling the longing to touch him, to bury my hands in his hair and kiss him. He winks at me and seems happy and exuberant. “Are you okay, baby?”
I nod, wishing he were always like this. Just like now, without thinking about highlines and starry night-eternities.
As we study the menu, River looks at me questioningly, and I point to the filet mignon.
He orders two, along with a large salad, a beer, and a Coke, and I feel the curious glances from both couples again. River talks to them the entire time and finds out that the bearded man and the lady with curls own the supermarket on the edge of town, while the gray-haired couple runs a gas station. It’s almost like he’s talking to people he knows, and I’m relieved that he’s more talkative again. It seems to me that the friendly people and the sociable atmosphere lifted a spell. We’re no longer completely alone with ourselves.
“May we ask why your companion doesn’t speak? Do you have an injury, my love? Did she perhaps have an operation?”The gray-haired lady with the grandmotherly smile peers at me with interest.
I shake my head. I don’t run away, and I don’t panic.
