NICK
As we drove, we went over the plan. We were on I-40, going west, still marked on every sign as Route 66. We ran the plans backward and forward and tried to predict every eventuality that we could. Every contingency and every last-minute aww fuck curveball that might come our way. I played devil’s advocate, which kind of pissed her off. But it was necessary, and I fucking loved getting the chance to fire her up. “All right, hot stuff. Security cameras. Hit me.”
“There aren’t any in the hallways,” she said, all sassy and confident.
“Bullshit,” I said. “You’re joking.”
She shook her head and pouted. “People just think there are cameras in the hallways. But people watch too much Ocean’s Eleven.” She roughed up the wig to give her hair a little more body. Va-va-fucking-voom.
But hang on, hang on. “You mean to tell me that there are no cameras in the hallways of the Ritz Goddamned Carlton?” I leaned back in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel. “No fucking way.”
Again she shook her head. “We checked when we were there. None. And fun fact: even on the Vegas Strip, only four out of the twenty-seven hotels use them, and those only to surveil the elevators.”
From there, we talked prints and logistics and escape routes. Some of it we couldn’t be sure about until we got there—timing, placement, how best to fuck up the guard’s hair and ensure he’d head straight for the shower.
In Gallup, we pulled off the highway to stop for gas and grab something to eat, waiting at stoplights that swung on wires in the ceaseless wind. We ate sopapillas with honey butter and drank watermelon juice from Styrofoam cups into which Stella etched our fake initials in arrow-struck hearts with her fingernail. We passed Defiance and Manuelito and crossed over into Arizona at Lupton. Somehow, passing the NOW LEAVING NEW MEXICO sign made shit get very real. We were doing this thing. And that seemed as good a moment as any to bring up the elephant in the room.
Money.
She was shotgun, holding Priscilla, scratching her tummy and playing with her paws. I kept one hand on the wheel. With the other, I gave Stella’s leg a squeeze. “Listen, just so you know, I’m not in this for the cash.”
She raised her sunglasses and turned to me. “I know that. I never thought you were. But if we share the risk, it’s only fair that we share the reward. I think half and half is what makes the most sense.”
Jesus Christ. Fifty-fifty was a fucking sweet offer, but way too generous. “I’m your pinch hitter, Stella. You can’t be paying me for the whole season.”
She smiled a little and rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dude. The going gets awkward and you lean on baseball.”
“Keep your woman-logic off my man-brain,” I said, totally unable to keep the smile off my face. “But seriously. What about Roxie’s son, Ruth’s plans, Mr. Bozeman? Your ranch? I don’t need the cash like you do.”
Priscilla nuzzled into Stella’s T-shirt. “But you’ve got bills of your own. You’re starting over too.”
I didn’t need the reminder. The Texan had texted me every day since I saw him last. The guy was like an incurable rash. But she was more important than any of that shit. “I’m doing it for you. You know that.”
Her cheeks flushed bright red, like she’d just run a mile. “Fine. Then forty-sixty.”
That still didn’t leave her with as much as I wanted her to have. “No dice.”
Now she was getting a little indignant, all flared nostrils and furrowed eyebrows. I liked her pretty, but I liked her pissed off too. “What? Who bargains backward? You want less than forty?”
“Yeah. Twenty-five. Split it four ways. That’s the most I’ll take. And it’s way more than I need.”
She sighed hard and looked out the window. “You’re a piece of work.”
Said the pot to the kettle. “That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
It took her a few mile markers to respond, but finally she did. “That’s more than fair. And the girls will be grateful.”
I had a very real feeling that I wasn’t going win a whole lot of arguments with her, so I reveled in this victory. “Good. So we got a deal?” I asked, and stuck out my right hand. Stella looked at it and laughed a little.
“Gonna leave a guy hanging out here? Shake my damned hand,” I teased her. “Hurry before I spit in my palm.”
That wonderful laugh filled the RV, but still, she didn’t shake my hand. Instead, she took my right hand in her left one. And squeezed.
We drove on like that, hand in hand, for miles. The horizon seemed endless, and there were thunderclouds in the distance. We passed a sign that said NEXT REST STOP, 170 MILES. Stella had her hand in mine, and Johnny Cash boomed from the stereo. She was singing along to “A Boy Named Sue,” bringing down the house. In other words, life was perfect.
That is, until I pressed the accelerator . . . and smoke started to pour out from under the Love Boat’s hood.
We pulled off on the side of the highway, near the exit for Canyon Diablo and Two Guns. I yanked the lever to pop the hood, while Stella thumbed worriedly through the handbook, which was cute as hell but wouldn’t help us at all. I didn’t tell her so, though, because as she read she leaned forward slightly, making her seat belt tighten across her chest. The Johnny Cash T-shirt was cut low enough to reveal the soft white inside curve of her right breast. It was like being hypnotized. Cash was flipping me the bird, and I didn’t give a shit. Not until she glanced at me did I snap out of it. “Jesus. Sorry.”
“Staring at my girls?”
“They’re like an eclipse, Stella. It’s impossible to look away.”
She made an embarrassed tsk and tucked the manual back into the glove box. Priscilla zoomed around the RV once, then tried to climb up into Stella’s lap, her hind feet flailing in the air. Stella whispered, “Think I better take her outside. Probably needs to t-i-n-k-l-e.”
I unbuckled my seat belt, while Priscilla danced around in circles because she definitely knew how to spell. “Be careful,” I told Stella. “Snakes and whatever.”
She snorted a little. “Do I look like the sort of girl who wanders off into the sagebrush? Even in boots?”
Actually, she looked like every fantasy I never knew I deserved to have, made real. I liked her in the wig, I liked her without. I liked her dark, I liked her light. I liked Stella Peretti every fucking way she’d let me have her. Tucking a few poop bags into her pocket, she slid out of the passenger’s side with Priscilla and sashayed her perfect hips down the side of the road. Priscilla galloped ahead, into the twenty wonderful feet of retractable leash freedom.
Stella knelt down to adjust her boot while Priscilla ran circles around her, winding the leash ever tighter. Even with the doors closed, I heard the laugh.
The part of my heart she’d already unlocked started talking. Is this what love feels like?
The part of my heart that hadn’t been unlocked answered. Hold your goddamned horses.
Except I didn’t want to hold them. Not at all.
I got out of the RV and climbed up on the front fender. A plume of smoke escaped from under the hood as I propped it open. It smelled hot, like a dusty electric heater. The whole engine was ticking and hissing, so I went back inside the RV and took a fresh dishtowel from where it hung on the miniature oven. Back under the hood, I wrapped it around my hand and undid the radiator filler cap. Using the flashlight I had on my keys, I tried to check the fluid level, but I couldn’t see shit. So I gathered up a mouthful of saliva and spat inside. It hissed back at me like a hot griddle.
Bone dry.
About fifty feet away Stella was talking to Priscilla, who was actually smiling up at her like a show dog as she pranced along the gravel on the shoulder. I saw the glint of Stella’s smile too, and she put one hand on her hip. The fall sun was blazing, and Stella tucked the edges of her T-shirt up, revealing her bare arm. Priscilla squatted and peed on a clump of grass, and Stella gave a few happy claps. Not too far past her, heat snakes shimmered up in the end-of-the-day shadows. It was like a mirage, and she was in the middle of it. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, and using the one bar that I got next to my roaming signal, I searched for nearby mechanics.
Even though I’d spent a lot of my life in the desert, I was pretty much a city guy. I was more in my element in Phoenix or Albuquerque or even Pueblo than in East Jesus, Arizona. Which is exactly where we were, according to Google.
The nearest mechanic was ten miles away, a lone pin to the west. The map identified it as Alvarado Auto. No stars, no posted hours, no nothing. But they had to have radiator fluid.
I heard the scratching of Stella’s boots on the pavement. Adorably, she had her sunglasses on top of her head and was shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “What’s the verdict?”
“Gonna dump a couple of gallons of water into the radiator. There’s a mechanic up that way.” I pointed at the straightaway ahead of us, which faded into the horizon. “You go inside. Have a beer or something. I’ll take care of this.”
But she beamed up at me. “I’ll get the water. Then you can show me what you’re doing.”
She could duplicate jewels, she could cook lasagna, she could make fake IDs, and now she wanted to learn about engine maintenance.
Diamonds were fine and everything. But this woman? What a fucking gem.
Alvarado Auto sat under a peeling billboard with a downward arrow that said FOR SALE. There was a sign in the window, a creased old piece of cardboard that might have been the top of a liquor box, that said BE BACK TOMORROW MORNING.
Cupping my hands to the door, I peered past the sign to see inside. The place was stuck in time, circa 1976, everything faded and out of date. There was even a cardboard cutout of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in short shorts next to a stack of tires. Right in front of the register sat a few cases of radiator fluid, definitely not circa 1976 from what I could see of the label. They were exactly what I needed. I gave the door a shake, careful to hide the move with my body. The pins weren’t fastened at the top or bottom; the only thing between me and what we needed was a single lock. It was hardly more than a bobby pin job.
If I’d been on my own, that shit would’ve been a no-brainer. But in the glass door, I saw Stella’s reflection as she tried to coax Priscilla out of the RV. Stella crouched at the base of the steps and slapped her hands on her knees. “C’mon, cutie! You can do it!” She opened her arms wide, the way moms do when their kids run toward them.
Fuuuuuuuck.
Priscilla tentatively made her way down the three steps, apparently not too pleased about the texture of the nonskid strips on each tread. When she got to the bottom one, she waved her tiny paw out in the air and sat down, as if to say, Can’t!
“You can do it!” Stella said again. “You’re so brave! Try it, little lady!”
Priscilla might’ve been fearless when it came to attacking stuffed hearts, but steps were out of the question. Defeated, she flopped over on her side to ask for a lift. Stella cooed and laughed as she picked her up.
Yeah, it might’ve been a bobby pin job. Except I wasn’t on my own now, and such a stupid risk would jeopardize Stella, the score, and everything else. So I turned around and raked my hand through my hair to think over the next step. Across the street was a closed café, and down the road was a grim-looking Motel 6 with a single car parked in the parking lot, and, inexplicably, a NO VACANCY sign flashing in the window. Fantastic.
But Stella wasn’t considering the motel, and she wasn’t paying attention to Priscilla either. Instead, she was facing slightly east, with the most serene expression on her face. Lost in thought.
“What are you thinking, gorgeous?”
She inhaled hard and turned to me, like I’d woken her up from a dream. “I didn’t realize it until I saw the address of this place on the window. Remember the place I told you about? My grandparents’ ranch?” She pointed out at the looming thunderclouds. “It’s due west. About fifteen miles.”
I looked out at where she was pointing. The far horizon was greener than everything around—the foothills that led toward Flagstaff. Over the hills, the thunder rumbled low and steady, and she smiled a bit sadly. She inhaled, and her eyes fluttered shut. I smelled it too. Desert rain. Hardly anything sweeter in the world. Except her.
A cool breeze kicked up from the west, catching Stella’s hair in the wind.
“Anybody out there at all? On that land?”
She was looking east again. “Nope. There’s the prettiest valley there, filled with apricot trees. I bet they’re full of fruit right now,” she said, like she was imagining something long ago and far away. “Oh well.” She sighed and shook her head a few times like she was shaking off those dreams. “What do you think? Should we see if there’s a campground or something?”
A thing happened in my heart that had never happened before. It was a warm, intense happiness, a peacefulness at knowing that at least for this second, in this place, I could make her happy. Really happy. And I wanted to give her all that and more. “You know how to get to the ranch?”
Her mouth fell open slightly. “For sure.”
We’d take it slow; the radiator would be fine. We had plenty to eat and plenty to drink. We had one another. We had everything we needed. “To the Big Wide Open it is.”