Trailer Trash(99)

“Did they have a place to stay or anything?”

“Nope. Not a thing. They slept in the car and drank like fish and ran out of peanut butter sandwiches before the end of the week, and came home smelling like vomit and stale beer, but they survived.”

“I can’t believe that! Dad’s always so . . . I don’t know, so serious and responsible.”

She laughed and reached for her glass of Coke. “Maybe now, but not when he was eighteen, no matter what he tries to tell you.” She took a sip of her drink and set it back down. “I have a feeling your plan isn’t anywhere near as reckless as that. So tell me, Nate.”

He did. And when he was done, his aunt smiled. “Okay. First thing’s first. You start school on Monday, but once you get home, you can call information. Get the number for the Iowa City newspaper, then call and request a subscription for the next month or two. That way, you can start looking for jobs. I have plenty of real estate connections there. I’ll make some calls, see if I can’t find you a place where the landlord won’t freak about two boys in a one-bedroom place.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure. You can take the car on my days off and drive out there. Maybe I’ll even go with you. It’s only three and a half hours. We can check out the schools and see what you need to enroll. Eventually, you’ll need a car. Or a bike, at the very least, depending on how far it ends up being from your apartment to work and school. But for now: graduation, job, apartment, college, in that order.” She held her hands up, smiling. “I don’t see any reason it can’t work.”

“Really?” It was funny how hearing those words from an adult seemed to make a world of difference. “What about my dad?”

She leaned across the table and patted his hand. “Don’t you worry. All he needs is a bit of time.”

Nate wished he could believe her.



Nate found a job working evenings and weekends at a Baskin-Robbins within walking distance of Cora’s house. Each weekday, he caught the city bus to school, grateful that it ran on time, and that a student pass was cheap. His new high school was enormous—bigger even than the one he’d attended in Austin—and Nate loved it. With a student body almost as big as the entire town of Warren, nobody cared about one new kid. He kept his head down, did his work, and walked away with a diploma. He didn’t bother to attend the ceremony—his dad couldn’t get the time off work, his mom wasn’t talking to him, and it seemed silly to expect anybody else to travel that far just to hear his name called—but he sent out announcements at Cora’s insistence, and to his surprise, money began flooding in. Relatives he barely remembered sent him five-, twenty-, and fifty-dollar bills.

Cora just smiled and said, “Told you the announcements would pay off.”

He talked to his dad weekly. The conversations started out awkward, but gradually began to feel normal. Graduation weekend, his dad surprised him by telling him he’d try to bring his truck to him before winter. Nate would have preferred his Mustang, but his dad insisted he’d need four-wheel drive in Iowa as much as he had in Wyoming. He also told Nate he’d still help pay for school.

“That’s what the money was always supposed to be for,” he said. “I guess it doesn’t matter if the school’s in Iowa or Chicago, as long as you go.”

Nate increased his hours at the ice-cream shop, saving as much of his pay as he could. The Iowa City newspaper arrived daily, and Nate carefully went through the want ads, circling any job that looked promising.

Eventually, he drove there with Cora. They scoped out the community college and picked up an application package, along with a map of the town, and she introduced him to the man who would eventually be his landlord. He was thin and slightly effeminate, but his smile was warm and friendly.

“I think half the gay men in town live in this apartment complex,” he told Nate. “It’s not quite Boystown, but nobody’ll give you trouble.”

Nate filled out job applications, feeling like each one he handed in was a little ray of hope.

The pieces began to fall into place. The only thing missing was Cody.

Nate mailed letters at least twice a week, pouring his excitement into them, hoping to infuse Cody with the same bright optimism. At first, Cody answered, but it wasn’t long before the letters stopped completely. Nate’s heart grew heavy every time he checked the mail. He called Cody once, with his aunt’s permission, since the call was long-distance. Cora had a bright-orange metal stool next to the phone made from an old tractor seat, and he perched on it, his heart in his throat as he waited for Cody to answer, sure that Cody had changed his mind about everything.