Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
We shared the last pack of almonds and then Charlie and I fell in line behind Tuck. The sky was again cast in tangerine the way it had been the day before and gave off that same hazy glow that was both beautiful and bizarre. Haunting.
I hefted my suitcase higher, attempting to rest some of the weight on the front of my hip without disturbing my bandaged wound. “Here, babe, I’ll carry that,” Charlie said. I resisted, but not overly much because, God, it really was heavy and cumbersome and when Charlie took it, I sighed with relief. But when he transferred it to his other hand, I caught the fleeting expression of annoyance.
We continued walking, my guilt increasing with every step. Because what was the point of holding on to something that was supposed to represent independence, if it was causing my boyfriend to have to suffer under the weight? How was that independent? How did that signify girl power? You’re a sellout. And how long were Tuck’s angry words about me lacking talent going to repeat in my mind?
I stopped and so did Charlie, allowing me to grab the suitcase from his hand. “You know what? Fuck it,” I said, as I tossed it to the side of the road. “I can replace my stuff too. And I’m sick to death of lugging that stupid thing along.”
I brushed my hands together and began marching forward, Charlie caught up and slung his arm around me. “Being rich is freeing, right? Like I said, when we get back to LA, we’ll go on a shopping spree.”
“Sounds dreamy.”
Tuck had stopped and turned toward us when I’d chucked the luggage. Before he turned back, he pressed his lips together, and I swore I saw a tiny flicker of amusement move over his expression. Laugh if you will, Tuck. I’ll show you. I’ll show everyone. I had beat all the odds so far and I’d continue to do so.
We traveled, and walked, and walked some more. The sun rose higher, a yellow swath across the orange sky. At some point we ran out of water and so we stopped and gathered snow in our water bottles and then pressed the plastic against our bodies as we walked to melt it.
As I trailed Tuck, my mind roamed freely. And it was the weirdest thing because I realized that my mind hadn’t done that in…well, probably years. It was a sort of panicky sensation not to have anything to reel me back in. I kept reaching for my phone to distract myself, and each time I looked at its blank screen, a trill of fear would vibrate inside me. I saw Charlie doing the same thing, patting his pocket intermittently and then flinching.
The lack of search engines, and online maps, and the ability to call for help made it clear that, at the moment, the only things I could count on were the strong lines of Tuck’s body moving smoothly in front of me, leading the way.
Tuck looked back at me, and I realized suddenly that I was humming, snippets of song lyrics weaving through my brain, arranging and rearranging and then forming tunes. I went quiet.
“I’ve gotta take a leak,” Charlie said. I halted too and he stepped off the road and walked toward the woods. Tuck, just a few feet ahead, looked back and then came to a stop as well, opening his backpack and removing a bottle of water and taking a long swallow. I walked the short distance to him, honestly surprised he’d stopped. Over the past few days, he’d kept walking each time we’d needed a bathroom break and we’d had to hurry to catch up. We’d been walking for what had to be close to three hours now, and perhaps even Tuck needed a break once in a while. “You used to hum like that during those harvest mornings,” Tuck said, his gaze focused on his hand screwing the cap back on.
For a second, I was confused, but then his words brought forth a memory, the picture blooming so suddenly and so vividly that I swore the scent of orange blossoms infused the winter air. The workers at our grove had risen at the crack of dawn to avoid the heat of the day, and so had we, running outside in shorts and bare feet, with bedhead and sleep grains still stuck in our eyelashes. The oranges were so fragrant. If I closed my eyes, I could feel one in my palm, heavy with ripeness, and hear the small snap as it broke from the branch. It’d felt like a gift, the way the tree had so easily let go of its fruit with only the smallest twist of my wrist. A blessing. “I did?” I asked. I’d hummed as I’d picked? I didn’t remember that.