“Roger that.” He hops in the backseat, and I slide behind the wheel, waiting as Hope climbs in the passenger’s side.
Having her up front makes her harder to ignore, but I turn on the radio and roll down my window. We don’t have to talk.
We’re not five miles down the road when my brother sits up. “Tell me, Hope Eternal, you got a fella back in San Francisco?”
I’d tell him to shut up and sleep, but I want to know the answer to this question myself.
“While we’re on the subject…” She teases, glancing at me briefly. She’s still doing it, and it’s like water dripping, wearing me down, making me want to meet her eyes, touch her.
“I told you my story,” Scout counters, and she shrugs.
“I was kind of dating this guy in February, but we lost touch after everything happened.”
“Isn’t that a bitch? Same thing happened to me.”
Her lips part, and she looks over her shoulder. “You said somebody’s waiting back home!”
News to me. I glance at him in the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “I said I hoped. I don’t know if she’s waiting.”
“When’s the last time you talked to her?”
His voice drops, so I almost can’t hear it. “When I left Fireside.”
I’m trying to figure out who he means, and Hope turns to face him. “You haven’t even tried to stay in touch?”
“I felt like I’d be leading her on. Then things got all fucked up, and I wasn’t sure she even wanted to hear from me.”
Hope’s quiet a minute. She looks forward as if she’s thinking. “Are you friends with her on Facebook?”
“No.”
“Instagram?”
“I kind of got off all social media three years ago.”
“That can’t be great for your acting career. Everybody’s on social media now.”
“It’s a long story.” Shame suffuses his tone. “I’m sort of easing back into it…”
I know the story, and I wonder if he’s going to share his shining achievement with her. The “setback” he apparently spent three years trying to overcome.
When he doesn’t say more, I decide to throw him a lifeline. “I can’t drive the whole way. You’ll have to take over in a few hours.”
“Right.” He drops down on the backseat, pulling my cap over his face.
Hope’s full lips press together, and she turns to face front again. We ride for a few songs without talking, then she peeks over at me.
“So you were the star quarterback in high school?” She says it with a little smile.
My hands tighten on the wheel. “That was a long time ago.”
“Did you play in college?”
“Some.”
She’s quiet again. The Eagles are still playing in the background, “Life in the Fast Lane,” and I consider changing the channel, but their songs are like cold beer on a hot day. They just go down easy.
“Does it make you angry to talk about it?”
It’s a fair question. My mind trips back to those days, even before when we were kids. Dad pushing us to play the game; Mom teasing it kept us from breaking everything in the house.
I played because I was bored, but Scout would sleep with a fucking football for a pillow. It always meant more to him than it did to me. Our dad was determined we would both be stars, but we only played together.
“It doesn’t make me angry.” It makes me itchy, like a wool sweater on a humid day.
“But you don’t like it… Why?” Her voice is gentle, and I think about my answer.
“I guess it was all that came with it. My dad constantly pushing us. People who acted like they cared, but they just used us to get what they wanted. Or to get attention.”
She puts her elbow on top of the seat, propping her head on her hand and smiling. It stirs the restlessness in my chest.
“What?”
“That’s the most you’ve said to me this whole trip.”
“Wasted words.”
“So you let a bunch of selfish assholes spoil something you love?”
“I didn’t love it. I did it because I was good at it, and I didn’t have a choice. Dad wouldn’t let us stop. Scout loved it.”
She glances in the backseat briefly then seems to think. “Was the cheerleader one of the selfish people?”
“I don’t want to talk about her.” I wasted a lot of time being pissed at my ex-wife. Now I just want her to give me my son and go the fuck away. If that’s even possible.
“I get that.” She nods, shifting in her seat again to face front. “I was in love with this guy once. He wasn’t who I thought he was.”
“People usually aren’t.”
Her head tilts to the side, and she gives me that little half-smile. “You don’t mean that, do you?”
I look out my window again. “Yeah, I’m afraid I do.”
“Are you who you seem to be?”
“Depends.” This time I do look at her, straight on. “Who do I seem to be?”
Her blue eyes narrow, and she studies me until I start to feel uneasy. “You seem like a straight shooter. You clearly love your brother… I don’t know about the prison part, but besides that, you seem honest. Like a good guy.”
My eyes are on the road, and her words are like invisible fingers, tugging on the fist in my chest. It’s like she’s trying to get it to open, to release the rage. I glance at her again, and she’s still watching me, the wind from the cracked window pushing her light blonde hair around her cheeks. Hope Eternal…
“I won’t ever lie to you.”
That sweet smile relaxes her face, and my throat tightens. I push against the way she makes me feel. She makes me want to pull the car over and wrap her in my arms, bury my face in her hair, and just breathe.
I am so fucking tired.
My voice is rough as I flip on the turn signal. “Time to switch drivers.”
Hope
Scout has one arm on the window and one hand on the steering wheel. The wind pushes his blond hair around his face, and we’re flying down I-10, crossing southern Texas. The muscle in his square jaw moves like his brother’s when he’s thinking, but he seems so much younger.
“An out of work actor, a failed restaurateur, and an ex-con walk into a bar—”
My nose scrunches. “I don’t like being a failed restauranteur. I prefer suspended… or temporarily detained…”
“Doesn’t flow.”
“Frustrated restaurateur…” I suggest.
“Maybe.”
“You’re out of work. Why do I have to be a failure?”
“All actors are out of work.”
JR growls from the backseat. “Would you two shut up so I can sleep? We’re not going to a bar.”
We fall silent as Mr. Dark Cloud turns over on the seat, and I can’t resist. “Snarls the grumpy ex-con…”
Scout fake-coughs, “Asshole,” and I glance back, catching the ghost of a grin on JR’s lips.
It makes me smile. He tries to act so angry all the time, but he likes us. He’s talking to me now, and I want more. I want every word he has to say.