Hitchers

CHAPTER 39

I came back to myself, probably for the very last time. I was a little drunk. That was a good thing; it took the edge off the terror I felt, contemplating this as my last day on Earth. There was no turning back, though. I had decided. I grabbed a bottle of water and headed to the Maserati, praying I could make it to Tybee in time.

As I drove I had to keep wrapping my mind around what was transpiring. It was over. I couldn’t believe it.

What would Grandpa do now? Would he live out his life claiming to be me, or insisting he was himself? Would he marry and father children? If he did father children, would I be the biological father, or would he? Imagining my body carrying on in the world without me was like trying to picture two objects occupying the same space. I was dying, and I was not.

Fifteen minutes into the trip I realized I had overlooked a painfully obvious detail. The quarantine. I rolled to a stop in front of a roadblock on 1-75. A National Guardsman around my age, a pistol strapped at his waist, squatted as I lowered the electric window.

“Do you have transmittal papers?” he asked. Then his eyes brightened. “Hey, you’re the Toy Shop guy.”

I offered my hand through the window. “Finn Darby.”

He turned as he shook, called, “Hey, it’s the Toy Shop guy.”

Another uniform-clad guard came over, a chubby woman in her twenties, carrying a rifle. “You draw Toy Shop?” she asked.

“I do, yeah,” I said. “Listen.” I propped an arm on the steering wheel and leaned out the window, trying to channel my inner Mick. “Can you help me out? I’ve got business I need to get to, but I don’t have any papers.” I held out my empty hands.

They looked at each other; the woman shrugged. Grinning, the guy said, “Will you draw a couple of Wolfies first?”

I sketched my last two Wolfies, asked my new friends their names, inscribed the drawings to them, and I was on my way.

Fame. It didn’t suck. If only I was going to be around to enjoy it.

Ten minutes later I thought of something else that hadn’t occurred to me while I was planning my swan song. Grandpa would turn right around and head back to the city as soon as he took control. He wasn’t going to hang around the pier on Tybee for even a second to wait for me to exit. Even if I threw my car keys and wallet off the pier, it would make it harder for him to get home, but it wouldn’t keep him on the pier.

For the thousandth time I silently cursed my son of a bitch grandfather. Then, on second thought, I cursed him out loud so he could hear me.

I needed to lock myself to a bench or something. Handcuffs would be perfect, but I didn’t know where to buy them. I tried to picture the pier—were there benches? If not, the railing might work. Had it been made of metal or wood? If it was wood Grandpa might be able to knock the rail out where it was joined. The surest thing would be to lash myself to a piling under the pier, but then I’d be in the water…

An idea occurred to me. A sneaky idea. Heart hammering, I ran it over and over in my mind, examining it for flaws. When I couldn’t find any I went over it again, deciding if I really wanted to do it, and if I had the guts.

Yes, and yes, I decided.

I called information and got the tide line for Tybee. High tide would be in six hours. Perfect.

There was a Home Depot near the exit to Forest Park. Tires squealing, I flew into the parking lot. Inside I jogged up the lock aisle and grabbed a twenty-foot-length of chain and their best padlock.

Back on the road, I brought up Summer’s number, wondering if it would be Summer or Lorena who answered. I punched the number. The rings built one on top of another, then the familiar click as I was transferred to voicemail. I chuckled at the irony.

“Hi,” I said after the beep. “Hi Lorena and Summer. I’m about out of time. I don’t want to wonder each time I get a few hours if it will be my last, so I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I’m going to the spot where my sister died, and—” And what? Kill myself? That wasn’t right. “I’m going to stay with Kayleigh. Summer—” I hesitated again, I didn’t want Lorena to hear what I wanted to say. I decided it was too important to leave unsaid. “In a couple of weeks, if you find yourself in the same situation, maybe you’ll decide to join me. I’m guessing Kayleigh won’t be very good company by now. It would be nice to have a friend. My mother can show you where I am, if you decide to come.” I choked up, as the weight of what I was doing hit me afresh. I would never see my mother again. “I love you, Lorena. I love you, Summer.” The tears came in a flood. “Goodbye,” I managed to choke before disconnecting.

I took a few deep breaths, wiped my eyes with the back of my wrist. I had more calls to make.

When I’d pulled myself together sufficiently I called Mick’s land line. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey. I’m in the car.”

“Where you headed?” Mick asked.

“Savannah. Tybee Island. I’m going to be with my sister.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, finally, in a strangled voice he said, “I’m sorry, mate. I’d trade places with you if I could. I swear I would.”

“I know you would. Hey, my last months were so much better for knowing you. Thanks.”

Mick took a minute to compose himself. “Same here.” He sniffed. “Ah, Christ this is not fair.”

“I know. I don’t want to blow away and forget myself.”

“I won’t forget you, if that’s any comfort.”

“It is. Thanks.” But I was way beyond comforting.

I told Mick I needed to call my mom. We said our final goodbye, and the phone went dead. I called Mom.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Just taking a drive. Clearing my head.” She’d understand why I didn’t tell her the truth, once she got over the shock and grief. There was simply no way to spare her that grief, but I could delay it for a few hours.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Not so good, Mom. I don’t think I can hang on much longer.”

Mom sniffled into the phone. “I know you’re trying, sweetie. Hang on.” She took a big, shuddering breath. “He swears he can’t help what’s happening. Is that really true?”

I was tempted to lie, but if everything went as planned, I’d have the last laugh anyway. “Yes, I think he’s telling the truth.”

I wondered what it had been like for her, growing up with Tom Darby as her dad. She’d told me stories. Some of them were typical Grandpa, others surprised me. Grandpa used to take her fishing, just the two of them. And he spent money on her behind Grandma’s back.

“Come and stay here with me for a while,” Mom said.

“Maybe I will. I will, if I’m still here.”

The Maserati’s engine whined as I leaned on the gas even harder. Ahead there was nothing but grass, trees, and a line of concrete that disappeared in the distance.

Somehow Mom had managed to retain Grandma and Grandpa’s mental toughness without losing her warmth. She was kind of like Summer in that way.

“Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, sweetie.”

“Do you think Lorena was the right woman for me? Were we…I don’t know, were we meant to be together?”

She blew out another big breath. “It’s hard for me to say.”

“Mom, just tell me. I want to know what you really think.” I passed a big log truck like it was standing still.

“I love you. I love Lorena. You’re both wonderful people.”

“But.”

“But I don’t think she was perfect for you. She was the kite, and you held the string. You didn’t get to do much of the flying.”

Her words surprised me. I’d seen it; it wasn’t like I hadn’t, but I’d never thought it was a problem. “I’d always thought of myself as a string holder. I felt lucky to have such a fabulous kite.”

Mom laughed at the metaphor. “You’re not just a string holder, though. Sometimes you’re a string holder, sometimes you’re a kite. You’re a good balance that way.”

I wished Mom had met Summer. I wanted to ask if she thought Summer and I would have been a good match. I already knew the answer to that, though.

I wished I could tell Summer.

I didn’t want to say goodbye, didn’t want to face the empty car hurtling me toward my death, but we’d said what we needed to say. It was time to say goodbye, or raise Mom’s suspicions.

When we hung up, the road was deathly quiet, save for the thunk of the tires running over the grooves in the pavement.

“I’ll give up Toy Shop. Is that what you want? I’ll bring Little Joe back. I’ll print an apology and discontinue the strip.”

No answer, of course.

I was back to bargaining, the third stage in the dying process. I hadn’t realized you could move backward; I thought once you finished a stage that was it. I had been in the depression stage, and thought I’d been moving closer to acceptance with every mile I covered, but here I was bargaining again. Even if Grandpa had some control over what was happening, and all signs suggested he did not, why would he bargain now? He’d won. At least, he thought he’d won. I shut my mouth, resolved to follow this through in silence.

What was it Krishnapuma had written about dying? It had been strangely comforting when I read it.

You’re not forgetting yourself, you’re remembering. You’re just a tiny sliver that has split off and forgotten it’s part of something much bigger. This journey is about remembering. It’s all part of the dance.

I sobbed. I didn’t want to remember yet. In fifty years I might embrace it. Maybe it would be comforting to understand what was happening. But I had a lot of time left, or I was supposed to. Right now I didn’t want to take the ultimate journey into the godhead; I wanted the mundane things, the day-to-day. My work. My friends. Summer.

I tried Summer again. Still got her voicemail. I pushed the Maserati harder.