Chapter Nine

 

“Hi, Lucas!” Brian’s noisy little-brotherness spills into the back of the truck and takes up the remaining space behind the seats. As I push my seat back into place, he spies Lucas’s trash. “Oh man, you guys went to Blake’s? I’m starving!”

My brain struggles to shift gears. Alive. Our fathers could be alive.

Lucas shakes his head. “No, sorry dude, that’s just trash from the weekend. How was Space Camp?”

“Cool! We saw this video of lightning filmed from the space station and watched the storm come. Did you know there are over a million lightning strikes every day? What did you guys do?” Brian catches my eye as I climb back into the truck. His brown eyes flicker with approval instead of this morning’s mockery.

“Art class and rain,” I shrug. “No Macaroonies. Sorry, B. But there’s jerky.”

“Don’t forget the driving,” Lucas reminds me.

“You were driving?” Brian’s eyes grow round with awe. “I thought Mom said you can’t ’til next year.”

“Mom wasn’t there,” I explain pleasantly.

“I won’t say anything. I’m no squealer.” He laughs at his own gangster-movie lingo, then asks Lucas, “How was it? Did she almost kill you?”

“No, she did pretty good.” He nudges me. “Want to show him?”

There is no traffic. A car and a van are parked down the block, but the street is otherwise deserted, as usual. I hesitate for a second, then shrug and say, “Okay.” After all, they say when you are learning something new, you’re supposed to repeat it until you get it right. Right?

Lucas gets out to switch sides, and I slide over to the driver’s seat. As I roll the window down to adjust the side mirror, Brian moans, “Our lives are in her hands,” and collapses back into the seat, immediately springing forward again to watch.

The sky is almost completely clear now. The sun has gone behind the mountain, but there are still another two hours of light. The only remnants of this afternoon’s storm are the wet street and the heady scent of drenched sage and mesquite that has settled sweetly across the valley. I shift into drive and roll down the street, staying in my lane and holding the wheel in a slightly-less-than-death grip. I’m almost going the speed limit of 30 mph when I pass the parked car.

“I can’t look.” Brian moans. I glance in the rearview mirror. He holds his hand over his eyes, peeking out between his fingers.

Lucas leans toward me—not as close as he did on the levee, but still. “Go down to the tire place, and we’ll switch back.”

I nod, wondering again if he always smells this good. I peek at him for a nanosecond. His hair is dry now, sticking out all over. A sudden urge to smooth it back with my hand seizes me. Then it happens.

I swear it’s not my fault.

The parked white van pulls out directly in front of me. I slam on the brakes and steer to the left a little, thinking I will either stop or go around him, but the wet street causes me to skid. As if in slow motion, the truck slides closer and closer, slowly but inexorably. Nonononono!

Helplessly glued to the view, I brace for the crunch. The right front fender glides into the back of the van, but there is no crunch—just a sharp tap as we come to a halt. It sounds just like the tap on the loading dock at Community College. No one says anything, and then we all start talking at once.

“Sorry, oh my God, sorry—”

“It’s okay, Vivian, it’s—”

“Whiplash! I have whiplash!”

Lucas pops open the glove box. “Vivian, it’s okay. Don’t freak out. I don’t think it did anything. You barely touched it. Wait here.” He grabs a white envelope with an insurance company logo on it, gets out of the truck, and walks around to the front.

“Oh, man,” Brian breathes, and I can tell he’s impressed. “Your first wreck.”

“Shut up, Brian.” I am absolutely mortified. Shaking, I do not inform him this is my second wreck in one day. “Don’t say anything. At all.”

He sits back and digs through my backpack until he finds the pack of beef jerky, which he holds up silently. I nod once, and he settles in, chewing loudly.

Lucas calls, “Back up a little,” and I carefully, perfectly, shift into reverse and back up a couple of feet. I turn off the ignition. He takes his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture of the van’s rear bumper. I can see the government plates… then it hits me. What if it’s the same van that sideswiped me last week? I sink further into my seat. Is this cosmic justice, or am I in even more trouble than I thought?

The van’s driver hasn’t gotten out yet. Lucas walks over to side of the van, holding his wallet, phone, and the envelope. All I can see besides him is a large, muscular forearm resting on the open window. Government muscle. Lucas shows him the phone, and the arm gestures calmly, briefly. No one gets out. Lucas heads for the truck, and as I climb into the passenger seat, the van drives away.

“Wow, that was weird,” he puzzles as he gets in. “He didn’t even want to get out and look at it.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, we just traded a little paint. There’s barely a tiny dent.”

“Are you sure?” I can hardly look at him in my humiliation. “Let me see.”

“Yeah. He didn’t want my name or number or anything.” Lucas shakes his head and hands me the phone. A short, vivid red streak, like a brush stroke, underlines the license plate. I hand the phone back, silent.

He looks at me. I can’t read his expression at all. “Vivian.”

Here it comes. I guess there won’t be any more driving lessons. I brace myself for the inevitable.

“You’re gonna need some more lessons.” He shakes his head, trying not to smile.

“Can I talk now?” Brian bursts out.

“Yeah,” Lucas cautions. “But remember, Brian, this is a need-to-know situation. And no one else needs to know.” He winks at me, and I can breathe once again.

“I know that. I told you, I’m no squealer,” Brian says, indignant. “But what about that? What’s that thing?” He points at the open glove compartment.

I glance to where Brian is pointing. There is the insurance envelope, the phone charger, a battered map—normal glove compartment debris. But resting under the map is a small flexible red tube, its translucent ends hooked together in a ring. Some other small, unidentifiable items are inside it, including a piece of paper with tiny writing.

Lucas leans over and looks. “That? It’s a snakebite kit. It’s for sucking out the venom if you get bit. There’s a little blade in there and directions.”

Brian exclaims, “A blade? Like, a razor? Cool! Why do you have it? Do you go camping where there are snakes? Did you ever get bit?” His eyes widen with curiosity.

“Nah, but a friend of mine did. We were up in the mountains, two hours from nowhere with no cell coverage. I was glad we had one, and so was he.” He laughs and starts the truck. “Una has one in her first-aid kit too. She volunteers at the wolf preserve near Santa Fe, and sometimes there are rattlers. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Brian’s eyes are big as golf balls as he nods and lets out an admiring whoosh of breath. “Yeah.”

I do not whoosh, but I, too, am impressed. “I don’t think I could just cut into someone.”

“You could if you had to,” Lucas replies as he turns the truck around in the street and we head back toward home.

Five minutes later, we park in front of our house. Mom’s car is here, and—thank God—there’s no sign of Jackson Connor. Lucas takes my bike out of the truck bed, setting it on the driveway. Brian lifts up my soggy, ruined sketchbook with a questioning look, but I shake my head and tell him to toss it in the trash. When he disappears behind the back gate, I turn to him.

“Lucas, I am so sorry about the truck. Twice in one day!” I groan.

“It’s no big deal. Really. We’ll go again.” He glances at the house, rubbing the toe of his boot in the gravel. “But I need to ask you something.”

“Sure, what?” I’m so relieved he doesn’t hate me for banging up his truck, I would tell him anything.

“Does anyone else know about the dreamwalking? Your mom?”

“Mom and Brian both know I have lucid dreams. I tell Brian about them sometimes, but he can’t do it.”

Lucas’s eyes are black, earnest pools. “Can you help me do it? Can you tell me what you know?”

“I-I guess so.” I consider the possibilities. “If you can teach me to drive, I guess I can teach you dreamwalking. I can try, anyway. At least there’s nothing to crash.”

He nods solemnly. “Good thing.”

I laugh. This has been an amazing-scary-annoying-awesome day.

“You could text me,” I hear myself suggesting, “and I can give you something to try. Later tonight, like after ten?” I totally don’t know how to do this. Is this the same as asking him for a date? We get out our phones and exchange numbers. Lucas looks at my flip phone, amused.

“Don’t even say it,” I warn, “I’m lucky to even have this one.” It’s getting darker, and Mom’s and Brian’s voices float through the open window. “Do you want to come in?”

“I do, but I need to go. Una’s on her way from Albuquerque, and I still have stuff to do.” He says that, but he doesn’t move. We stand, looking at each other without speaking. What happens now? We couldn’t stop talking all day, and now… silence. But it’s not awkward. An energy hums around us. From us. That sounds like something Mom would say, but sometimes Mom knows.

He takes my hand gently, and our fingers meld together. “Okay then. Ten o’clock?”

I nod, and he steps closer, then hesitates, glancing at the house again. My heart does a cartwheel as he leans in to hug me. He is warm and smells like soap and rain. It’s a quick hug. His arms and back are smooth and strong, and I could stand here for a hundred years breathing him in, but something big and furry rubs my leg and then winds its way between us as we break apart.

“Hello, Rufus,” I sigh.

“Meh.” The cat eyes Lucas speculatively, then strolls away.

 

 

[FILE 201 190614 SANTA FE (17:30)]

Trigger: Unable to acquire target. Contact with Unknown Subject, male. Black Sky traced the vehicle, and the truck belongs to—get this—the Wolfsong boy.

Raven: (pause). This complicates things, but I’ll handle it. Add him to your surveillance.

Trigger: Complicates things? You know what will happen if—

Raven: I know what’s at stake here more than anyone. I said I’ll handle it!

Trigger: (low whistle) You’d better.

 

 

Dinner is peaceful and fungus-free, except for the mushrooms in the spaghetti sauce. Brian eats three bowls and chatters about Space Camp and Lucas’s snakebite kit. True to his word, my little brother doesn’t squeal about my driving—or my wrecking. As he heads to the shower, I clear the table and make a mental note to get extra lemon Macaroonies for him tomorrow.

“How was the painting class?” Mom asks. She loads the dishwasher while I feed Ophelia half of an olive and a bit of crust from the organic whole-wheat Italian bread. “Did you get any ideas for the mural?”

“It was okay,” I admit. “The rain drowned my new sketchbook. But yeah, I do have an idea.” It has been brewing in my mind since we left Déjà Vu. “I think I want to use ‘Dreamland.’”

Mom smiles. “I think that would be lovely.” She dries her hands on a towel. “You seem to be getting along very well with Lucas.” It’s a statement, but it sounds an awful lot like a question.

“We have a lot in common.” Boy, do we—like possibly-alive fathers who talk to us in our sleep.

She nods thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose you do. Come here.” She hugs me and kisses my forehead. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay? Early day tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

At 10:00, we are all in our rooms. The sound of Brian’s radio, tuned to Riverwalk Jazz, drifts out from under his door. Mom is running water in her bathtub. The jacket sits patiently on the back of my chair. I pick it up and slip its smooth weight across my shoulders, then reach inside the liner pocket and carefully draw the feather out of its nest. Sitting cross-legged on my bed with my phone in front of me, I will it to buzz.

While I wait, I add up the scores for the day, starting with the Life Sucks Trifecta.

1. I found Lucas: Plus!

2. I now have a plan for the mural: Plus!

3. I got to drive three times, but I crashed twice. I decide to call it even.

4. Jackson Connor created a new Annoyance Trifecta all by himself, with a bonus. Minus, minus, minus.

5. Lucas held my hand three times. Three times—and we hugged. Trifecta Plus! I’m ahead for sure, and I vow to ask Mom about the jacket tomorrow. I want it to be Dad’s, but I’m afraid to want it too much. Of course it isn’t, but I need to hear it from her.

My phone buzzes. Lucas!

LW: Hey there.

V: Hi. Is your truck mad at me? Ugh, the lameness continues.

LW: Haha, no.

V: I was hoping my driving didn’t scare you away.

LW: Nope. I was actually hoping my life didn’t scare you away.

V: Our People don’t scare easily

LW: :-D

V: So what do you want to know about dreaming?

LW: Everything?

V: How about flying. Can you go places? Can you go where you want?

LW: Sometimes. I picture a place or a person, and I kind of end up there for a few minutes

V: It helps if you can picture the way there. Float up high, and kind of push your way there. Once you start moving it’s easier

LW: Like swimming?

V: Kind of. I imagine I’m a hawk. Oh. You have to keep your eyes open

LW: While you’re sleeping? How?

V: Not your real eyes. I just know that in the dream, I need to do that to go where I want

LW: OK, I’ll try it. Does it matter where I go?

V: Someplace easy. The Piggly Wiggly? :-P

LW: Hahaha! How about your painting? Can I go to Dreamland?

V: I guess? I’ll go there, and you see if you can find me

LW: OK. If I see a hawk, I guess that will be you

V: Lucas. Today was one of the craziest days of my life. Our dads, what if they’re alive?

LW: I don’t know. I’m thinking we can figure it out though. You working tmrw?

V: All day

LW: OK, I’ll txt you. See you in Dreamland

V: OK. Remember, push hard and keep your eyes open!

We text good night, and I sit there, enveloped in the safety of my jacket for a few minutes. The hawk feather is smooth and lustrous. I close my eyes and brush it across my face. I feel the same electric energy I felt with Lucas this evening. It hums gently in my hand and seems to leave an invisible trail across my eyelids, my nose, along my chin. The hum grows stronger and brighter. My eyes fly open, because suddenly, I know.

I can’t just keep waiting for Dad to come back. Maybe he can’t. Maybe something’s wrong. I have no idea, but I do know this: Dad is somewhere in Dreamland and I have to go find him myself.