I list the people I might ask to go with me. There’s no one in town. I’d never ask Tricia, and the Garcias are obviously out. The friends from school, never all that close, have fallen away. Who else? Sharon Devonne?
Maybe the Cascades people. Except Alice is still working at Mountain Bound. Harry is in Korea until mid-August. That leaves Stoner Richard. It’s not the worst idea in the world. He’s home in Boise for the summer, and that’s on the way. I could catch a Greyhound to Boise, and we could drive from there.
There is one other person. And as soon as I think of him, I understand that there is no other person. Because he is somehow as linked up in all this as I am.
His voice mail is still on my phone. I never listened to it, but I haven’t deleted it. I listen to it now. All it says is this: “Cody, what do you need from me?”
Words can have so many meanings. That question could be harboring exasperation, annoyance, guilt, surrender.
I listen once more. This time I let myself truly hear that familiar growl of fear and concern and tenderness behind his words.
Cody, what do you need from me?
And so I tell him.
31
Ben offers to come pick me up at home, but I don’t want him to come here. We arrange to meet in Yakima, outside the Greyhound station, at noon on Saturday. Then I call Stoner Richard.
“Cody, long time, no hear. What’s the latest and greatest?”
“What are you doing Saturday night?”
“Are you asking me out?” he teases.
“Actually, I’m asking if I can sleep with you,” I tease back, before explaining that I’m heading out on a road trip and need a place to crash Saturday night in Boise.
“There’s always room at the Zeller homestead. Just be prepared: if you come for a Saturday night, the rev might want you to do things the Jerry way on Sunday.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure what the Jerry way means, but figuring it’s some Jerry Garcia reference. “Also, there’s a slight catch.”
“Isn’t there always?”
“Ben McCallister’s going to be with me.”
I hear Richard inhale sharply. Either in dismay, or he could be taking a bong hit. “Are you and him, are you guys . . . ?”
“No, no! Nothing like that. I haven’t even talked to him in more than a month. He’s just helping me out.”
“Helping you out? I’ll bet he is.”
“It’s not like that. It’s about Meg.”
“Oh.” Richard’s voice goes serious.
“So can you put us up? We’re leaving here around noon, so we should get there around six or seven.”
“Easily. Speed limit’s seventy-five on I-84, but no one goes slower than eighty. You’ll make good time.”
“So, it’s okay for us both to stay?”
“There’s always room in Reverend Jerry’s manger,” Richard jokes. “We’re used to having lost souls camped on the floor. For you, we might even scrounge up a couch.”
“The floor’s fine.”
“So long as it’s a separate floor from McCallister.”