The Hard Truth About Sunshine(5)

We've all got sob stories but none can compare to mine, so I don't care about theirs.

♦

When we decided as a group to drive across the country, Mags made it immediately clear that she was not going to be accompanying us. She told us she had other duties she couldn't ignore and that we were all adults-except for Connor, but he was almost there and she got permission from his parents for him to do this-and that we would need to make group decisions. I could see the triumphant gleam in her eyes that she would be forcing us to at least talk to plan the trip.

So, we had a few things we all had to agree on.

For instance, in whose vehicle would we travel?

That was easy and I believe my exact words were, "We'll take my Suburban, and no one drives it but me."

I expected a fight, because in the six weeks we'd all been around each other, that's all we did. Well, that's all Goth Chick and I seemed to do. Our specialty was mocking Jillian and Connor when they'd try to have a serious conversation. But no one seemed to mind my demand because they gave me blasé shrugs in response.

So I added on, "I'll also plan the route and decide where we stay."

Yes, I'm a control freak, so sue me.

Connor raised his hand tentatively as we all sat in the therapy group circle, indicating a need to perhaps argue with me about that suggestion. "Um …  Christopher, do you think we could maybe stay at campgrounds along the way?"

"Why?" I'd asked, bewildered.

Connor's parents had no qualms about giving him permission to go on this trip, despite him being a few months shy of eighteen. Their kid was dying, so they were going to indulge his every whim. They were also loaded with money and figured he could stay in five-star hotels if he wanted.

"Because I've never been camping before," he said with a sheepish grin. "Our family vacations were a little more refined. It's a bucket-list thing."

I'd snorted, but immediately given in to the kid's wishes. This whole trip was because Connor was dying. It was at the top of his bucket list to travel the country and see the West Coast. Turns out, I love camping and the outdoors. It's one of the things I miss the most about West Virginia.

"Looks like we're camping along the way," I said to the group, looking at each one in turn and daring them to argue.

Goth Chick had said, "I'm not pissing and shitting in the woods."

"Relax," I'd told her with as much condescension as I could muster. "Campgrounds have bathrooms and showers."

It was decided we'd camp a few times along the way, and other nights we'd stay in a hotel.

♦

The sun is hanging very low as we pull into the Bluegrass Campground. I stop at the main office, just inside the entrance gates, and try not to limp too badly as I walk inside to secure a spot. While I've never tried to diminish the obviousness of my disability, it still makes me feel less than a full man when I can't walk with the smoothest of gaits. But the long hours of driving have made me stiff and sore, and I just can't fucking help myself as my first few steps are more like lurches until I get my bearings and work the kinks out.

I pay an extra ten bucks for a place that sits on a creek that cuts an "S" shape through the middle of the campground. As soon as I get back behind the driver's wheel, I tell the others what their share of the cost is, including the groceries I had bought just before we arrived here. In another five minutes, I'm backing the Suburban up into the spot so that my tailgate faces the bubbling water that flows over rocks and a rotted tree trunk caught near the bank.

This is our first night, capping off the first day of our trip. We've been on the road for nine hours and by my estimate, if we bust our ass, we can make it to our ultimate destination in three more days. Let Connor have his peep at the Pacific Ocean and then hightail it back east so I can be done with these freaks.         

     



 

I pull bags out of the back of the SUV. To my surprise, everyone had packed light as I'd suggested. When we picked Connor up at his house early this morning, his father had helped lug out a massive tent bag that looked brand spanking new. Connor told me with a red face, "Um …  I didn't own a tent so my dad bought one. It's pretty big, but Jillian will share it with me as she doesn't have a tent either."

I had shrugged because I didn't give a fuck who slept where. Didn't even care that Goth Chick told me she was sleeping in the backseat of my Suburban, and equally didn't care that she brought her own pillow when I picked her up at her apartment.

Now, they all line up to accept their stuff. I throw Connor's large tent to the ground beside me and tell him gruffly while pointing to a spot, "I'll help you set that up in a minute if you take it over there."

I then hand him his duffle, a high-speed Under Armour bag that presumably holds his clothes and medicines, and a rolled-up sleeping bag that smells as new as his tent. Goth Chick accepts a large backpack from me that has stickers all over it that say things like "Acid-the ultimate high" and "Bite me, bitch". I also pull out a knotted pillowcase that she had thrown in there this morning that looks to be stuffed with clothes. She grumbles something at me, not a thank you for sure. I actually think she said "moron," but whatever.

And finally, Jillian's standing there, looking at me with those pretty blue eyes that are now the color of dark denim since the sun is setting and her back is to it. I turn away from her quickly because half the time, I'm afraid I won't be able to break eye contact with her, and pull out her rolled sleeping bag. Unlike the others, hers appears well used. I wouldn't have taken her for someone who likes camping, but I put that immediately out of my mind. I don't care what her background is.

"Thank you," she says sweetly as I hand it to her. I ignore her and turn back to the vehicle to pull her bag out, which is also duffle shaped, and is bright pink with black canvas trim.

"Christopher," she says from behind me, and her tone is soft and secretive. Almost embarrassed sounding.

"What?" I say gruffly as I wheel around on her.

"Um …  I sort of left my wallet at my house," she says, her eyes dropping to the ground where her foot kicks at the grass. And yeah …  her feet are pretty too. She's wearing flip-flops that have clear crystals on the straps and her toenails are painted pale pink. "And um …  I don't have any money on me."

"You're fucking kidding, right?" I ask in unamused amazement, because that's a colossally stupid thing to do.

She gives me a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry. I'm normally an organized person. I had it laying there on my bed along with all my other stuff I'd set out to pack, and I don't know …  I must have just overlooked it or something. I'll pay you back for gas and the campground fees as soon as we get back if that's okay."

"Why didn't you say something when you first realized you'd forgotten it? We could have turned back."

Her eyes cut away from me. "I didn't realize until it was too late."

"Wait a minute," I say, my eyes narrowing on her as my brain replays the various stops we made on our trek from North Carolina to Kentucky. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Because now I remember she didn't order anything for breakfast when we stopped at McDonald's a few hours into our trip. And she didn't buy anything at that gas station where she lit into me for calling Connor Dead Kid, although everyone else got a sandwich and some chips. I didn't pay any attention then, but I remember that now.

"Have you?" I ask again. "Eaten?"

She shakes her head and hastily says, "I'm good. I packed some protein bars to snack on."

"And what?" I sneer at her. "You plan to ration them out over the entire trip?"

Her face flames red as she snaps at me, "No."

I cock an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, fine …  I haven't exactly decided what to do, but I don't need a lot. I'll figure it out."

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're a mess," I tell her as I turn back and grab her pink duffle. I push it on her and she grabs it, looking at me with those half-mast eyes. I don't hold the annoyance from my voice. "I'll pay your expenses and feed you. Keep track of what you owe me and you can pay me when we get back."

She nods at me hesitantly, but I push past her before she can utter a word of thanks. I honestly cannot handle accept gratitude from her right now.         

     



 





Chapter 5





Not a kid but just a few short months of legally being an adult, Connor suffers from alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma. He had to repeat it three times in group before anyone could understand what he was saying. It apparently started as a tumor in his hand. He'd been through surgery, chemo, and radiation, but it came back with a nasty vengeance and spread to other parts of his body.

He summed it up nicely on that first day we all met in group, "They just can't kill it. The doctors are optimistic that I have about six months."

Hence the nickname of Dead Kid.

I have to mentally keep repeating the name Connor in my head the entire time I set up our campsite, afraid I'll inadvertently call him Dead Kid and earn another lecture from Jillian that will be rooted in pity rather than just generalized disgust. I set up his tent, which is roughly the size of the Taj Mahal, all while he watches with doomed keen eyes. I suspect tomorrow night he'll want to try to put it up himself.