Amy & Roger's Epic Detour (12 page)

We’re on the road to nowhere. Come on inside.
—Talking Heads

When we reached Eureka, one of the little mini-towns, it started to get dark. We hadn’t stopped to eat dinner—partly because there didn’t seem to be anywhere
to
stop and get dinner, but mostly because Roger seemed to want to get across Highway 50 as quickly as possible. We loaded up on more snacks at another little gas station mart, and I added some granola bars and trail mix this time, feeling like we should have something that was closer to real food than, say, Fritos.

We headed back on the highway, the sunset beginning with a line of pink at the bottom of the horizon, and then slowly taking over the whole sky. The car’s shadow was lengthening far in front of us, and I leaned my head back and took in the sunset.

“Amy?” Roger asked. I looked over to see that he was playing with the various buttons and levers around the steering wheel. “I don’t know what happened—the lights came on automatically last night. Maybe I turned that off….”

He was right; it was dark enough now that the headlights should have come on. “Let me see,” I said, looking over to see, but soon realizing I wasn’t going to be able to get close enough with my seat belt on. I unbuckled it and leaned over to Roger’s side, fully aware of how close together we now were. “Um,” I said. I looked at the buttons on my side of the steering wheel but didn’t see the light controls anywhere. “I think they might be on your side,” I said.

“Really?” he asked, looking down, causing the car to swerve slightly.

“Yeah,” I said. I took a breath and leaned over him, making sure to keep looking straight ahead, very aware that if I turned my head, we’d be close enough to kiss. I saw the dial that controlled the lights on Roger’s side of the steering wheel. “Hold on,” I said. I reached over, being careful not to touch him, and turned the dial to the setting for the automatic lights, and they came to life immediately, two spots of light on the dark road. I moved back to my side of the car and buckled my seat belt, feeling my heart beating a little faster than usual.

“Thanks,” Roger said, turning his brights on. The headlights were absolutely the only light on the road, but it wasn’t pitch-black out, because the moon was huge and bright above us in the clear, enormous expanse of sky. And the stars were even better than they were at Yosemite, because there seemed to be more of them, as the sky seemed much bigger than normal. Roger reached around behind his seat, and seeing what he was looking for, I reached back and grabbed his backpack.

“This?” I asked.

“Thanks,” he said. “Would you mind grabbing my glasses? They’re in a brown case.”

I unzipped his backpack and reached in, wishing it was light enough to see what was in there. But I found the glasses case, opened it, and handed him the glasses.

He put them on and adjusted them a little self-consciously. “I know,” he said. “I only wear them for driving at night. Well, and movies. Things in the dark that are far away, I guess.”

“They’re nice,” I said, taking in this new version of him. And they were—he now seemed a little more approachable, a little dorkier, and a lot less perfect.

“They make me look like a substitute math teacher,” he said ruefully. “According to some people, that is,” he added after a moment.

“But like the really
cool
substitute math teacher,” I said, and was rewarded with another of his booming laughs.

“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate the support.”

I put the empty case back in his bag and went to zip it when a small sketch pad at the bottom caught my eye. “You draw?” I asked, then realized he probably thought I was snooping. Which I kind of was, but unintentionally. “Sorry—I just saw it in there….”

“It’s fine. I draw,” he said, nodding. “Not well, though. It’s just something I do for fun.”

“Do you mind?” I asked, lifting out the sketch pad.

Roger laughed. “Sure,” he said. “But don’t mock me.” I held the sketchbook over the dashboard, flipping through the pages by moonlight. Almost every page was filled with small sketches. Roger had a cartoon-ish style, unless he was doing little miniportraits, when the drawings became more realistic. Most of the portraits seemed to be of a stunningly beautiful girl with long, light hair. I figured that this was Hadley but didn’t want to ask about it, feeling I’d pried enough for one night. I closed the book and zipped it back inside his bag.

“They’re good,” I said, but Roger just smiled and shook his head. “Are you an art major?”

“Definitely not,” he said. “I’m leaning toward a history major, political science minor.”

“Oh,” I said. Normally, this would have been when I would have said that my father was a history professor. I pushed away the impulse. It wasn’t even an option—I wasn’t talking about that. But the fact that I couldn’t even manage to make this simple statement caused a wave of sadness to hit me. I turned away from Roger and curled up, facing my window. I looked outside, to the endless empty landscape and zillions of stars above. Then I rested my head against the cool glass of the window and closed my eyes.

“Amy. Hey, Amy.”

I started and jerked awake—I’d been dreaming. It had been March, and warm, the grass freshly cut and sticking to my bare feet. I blinked at Roger, driving in the dark, the deserted highway stretching on and on forever in front of us. Right. I was on the Loneliest Road in America. Naturally.

I tried to turn my head, immediately feeling the pull in my neck. “Agh,” I muttered. It seemed that I had managed to find the most uncomfortable sleeping position possible. “Hey,” I murmured, rubbing my eyes. I looked at the clock and saw that it was two a.m. “Jesus,” I said, sitting up straighter. “Roger, shouldn’t we stop so you can get some sleep?” The road in front of us was still dark, and still utterly deserted, the stars shining as brightly as they had been a few hours ago. It felt a little bit like we were the only two people on earth at that moment, like it was just us and our car under all that sky, the stars shining for us alone.

“That’s why I wanted to wake you up,” he said. Even by dashboard light, I could see he looked exhausted. His eyes seemed bleary behind his glasses. “I want to make it to Utah tonight. I’m ready to be off this road, and if we can get to Delta, we should be almost to the interstate, and then we can definitely make Colorado Springs tomorrow.” Even though I appreciated this urgency, it was surprising, since he’d been the one saying we had lots of time. I wondered where this rush to get to Colorado Springs was coming from. “But I’m going to need you to keep me awake,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Sure.” I looked at him, waiting for more instructions. “How should I do that?” I saw the headlights of another car coming toward us. It looked miles off in the distance, but as the only light on the horizon, it was easy to spot. Roger turned his brights down, even though the car was probably a good five minutes from reaching us.

“Just talk to me,” he said, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Make sure I answer your questions. And if you could put some new music on, that would be great.”

“Okay,” I said, picking up his iPod. “But we can always stop in Ely and get some sleep.” On the map, it had looked like Ely was the last mini-town in Nevada before hitting Utah.

Roger shook his head. “We need to make it to Utah,” he said. Since it was my choice of detour that had gotten us off schedule, I wasn’t going to argue with him. “Something upbeat,” he said, gesturing to the iPod. “I didn’t make a new customized playlist, but I should have some older ones saved on there.”

I scrolled through it and saw that most of the playlists had very generic titles—“Mix #1,” “Mix #2.” I scrolled up to the top, figuring I would just have to look at them and try and guess what kind of music went with his oddly named bands, when I saw a mix titled “Had to be there …
” Figuring the smiley face was a good sign, I selected it and put the iPod back in the cradle. The first song that started playing was pretty and slow, with lyrics about a love-struck Romeo.

“What mix is that?” Roger asked sharply, and I turned to him, surprised.

“The smiley-face one,” I said. “I thought—”

“Something else,” he said, the edge still in his voice. I noticed his hands were clenching the wheel, and he no longer seemed tired at all.

“Sure,” I murmured. I hit pause, and the song stopped playing, leaving silence in the car. As I scrolled through the other mixes, the clicking of the trackball suddenly seemed very loud. I found one called “Mix #4,” hoped that was safe, and selected it. Some very upbeat horns started playing, and Roger’s hands unclenched. “Better?”

“Much,” he said. “Sorry. I should have deleted that one.”

I figured it had something to do with Hadley—which I now realized was probably part of the title—but I wasn’t about to ask. So I just nodded.

“It was a mix she made me,” he said after a moment. “Hadley.” Her name floated between us in the car for a moment, and I couldn’t help but notice that he’d pronounced her name differently, like her name, and only her name, contained all the good letters. “My ex,” he added unnecessarily. But maybe it was for his own benefit, since he seemed to be having trouble remembering that part.