Southbound Surrender (18 page)

“What matters most in life to you, Piper?” she asks.

Piper pauses, looking at me before pushing the button. “That I’m happy. And that I live a life full of courage and take on every day like it’s my last because you never know when your number’s up.”

“Does Cash make you happy?” Jennifer asks.

Piper doesn’t pause this time. “Yes.”

“Then whatever he chooses to do for a living has no bearing on your happiness. And from the sound of it, you might have a boyfriend,” Jennifer says. “Or even better,
the one
.”

My eyes meet hers in a moment that takes my breath away. Piper doesn’t take her eyes off me while she lifts the transmitter back to her mouth and says, “It’s complicated.”

“Nothing’s too complicated when it comes to love,” Jennifer replies.

Piper inhales and brings the transmitter to her mouth but doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing she can say to argue the fact. She pauses for another second before pushing the button, “Thanks, Jennifer.”

“Anytime.”

Piper puts the device back and turns off the CB.

“What’s complicated, Piper? What’s stopping you from being with me? Why didn’t you leave any contact information when you left Appleton? Why didn’t you come and see me when you came back? If it’s your dad worrying about you being with someone like me because I’m not good enough, I’ll go to medical school. I’ll become a doctor. I’ll be a neurosurgeon if I have to –” I rattle off, the frustration edging in my voice. I’ll do anything to be with her.

“Why did you ask what color her eyes were?” she interrupts.

“What?” I stumble as my head still spins from her words that being with me is
complicated
. I turn the wipers on the highest level, the rain coming down in torrents. The rhythm of the rain is louder now, and we have to talk louder to hear each other.

“Why was her eye color important? Why does it matter?” she asks.

“Because -” My voice trails off because I’m unsure how to explain this to Piper. I’m not sure if I can even wrap my own head around it. This type of thing is Big Dave’s territory, but for me, it just doesn’t make sense.

“Because?” Piper says. She’s leaning over the seat now. I can feel the penetration of her stare, and I know she’s not going to relent. I take a deep breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I repeat and then start in.

“What are your thoughts on the universe?” I ask. I’ll start slow, I decide. Ease into this conversation to see if it sounds as crazy as I think it does.

“What do you mean, the universe? That’s a pretty loaded question. Like what do I think about existence? The planets? Saturn? The moon?”

“The universe as an entity. As a whole, you know,” I say, “Like how we exist in the universe and how she reacts with us.”

“Oh, like that universe.
She
.”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Well, I’m definitely not the existentialist kind of girl. I think while it appears that we have choices, we don’t have a say how the universe chews us up and spits us out. I think we all go back to the same path that the universe has already predetermined at some point. We may have traveled an extra couple miles here and there, but ultimately, we end up back where we belong.”

“So, you believe in fate?”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Even though science plays a huge role in determining people’s future? Like surgeons who eradicate brain tumors? If someone survives, you think that was the original plan for that person?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Do you believe in a spiritual path?”

“I don’t know what that is,” she says, “But how does all this universe stuff relate to Jennifer’s eye color?”

“I’m getting there. The spiritual path, according to Big Dave, is a journey that someone takes to get an understanding about the universe. There’s a union between the person and the universe. The path is full of experiences and signs that teach the individual about life and what his or her role is in it,” I say. I’m on the verge of shouting, the rain slamming against the cab. I ease up on the gas, carefully watching out for the red flashes of taillights ahead of me.

“You could have just asked if I believe in signs. The answer is yes. Absolutely, a hundred percent yes.”

“Okay, so you believe in the spiritual path,” I repeat, rubbing my hands against the steering wheel. “You believe in fate and destiny and all that bullshit.”

“Yes, I believe in all that bullshit. And I believe what goes around, comes around. I believe things happen for a reason. That’s why I never left you my contact information. I thought if it was meant to be, we would find each other again. I left it up to the hands of fate.”

“A phone number would have been a hell of a lot easier.”

“But it wasn’t meant to be at that time,” she says. “But what does this have to do with some stranger’s eye color?”

“It was a sign,” I say, knowing that as much as I don’t want to admit it, the four people we’ve encountered over the last twenty-four hours have to be what Big Dave considers huge, flashing signs with the big red arrow. Just like Hudson running into Piper.
This way, idiot. Do not pass go, do not collect a hundred dollars. Just follow the sign!

“A sign of what? So she had clear eyes. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m crazy. I don’t usually believe in this stuff. Actually, I try to stay far away from it as I can but being raised by a spiritual guru can muddy your sensibility. He’s been trying to fill my head with all his spiritual pathway and enlightenment stuff ever since I can remember. I’ve mostly pushed it away. I believe in science and the proven laws of nature and all that. I like to surround myself in a logical world. It makes the most sense.”

“I agree to some extent,” she replies. “Is this the point in the ride when you tell me that you’re going to make me drink the purple Kool-Aid and then cut my body into a million little pieces and scatter me across the highway?”

“God, Piper.” I run my hand through my hair. All of this is crazy.

“Okay, okay. I’m totally kidding. I get where you’re coming from. Let’s go back to the eyes. So Jennifer’s eyes are clear blue. What does that mean?”

“Do you remember the guy we saw at the very first truck stop? The guy in the orange jumpsuit who looked like Principal Watkins?”

A crack of lightning illuminates the dark sky.

“Yeah, the Lorax?”

“He had eyes as clear as glass. He winked at me and told me I picked the right girl.”

“Okay, coincidence so far,” Piper says. “It seems a little strange but still a coincidence.”

“Then there’s L. Her eyes were the same color. Two motherless kids end up saving a childless mother. What are the odds? Then Damion at the bar. Same color eyes and used the same phrase Hudson always uses. Then Jennifer on the CB.”

“Same color eyes,” Piper whispers.

“I know, right?” I glance at Piper wrapped up in the seat. She’s holding her legs, rocking them back and forth gently.

“It’s like Ebenezer Scrooge except we’re not dead or at least we better not be,” she says. “Quick, squeeze my arm. Am I alive?”

I take a long look at the road ahead before I reach over and grab her arm gently. “Can you feel that?”

It feels like more than just squeezing some girl’s arm. It feels warm and electrifying, like it does every time I touch her.

“Yeah, can you? What does it feel like?” she asks.

“It feels like an infinite amount of possibilities. It feels warm and right and exhilarating. It feels like you,” I answer softly.

She sighs and puts her hand over mine, and I breathe in deep, trying to stay focused enough to maneuver the truck on the road. I pull back my hand as much as I don’t want to and put it back on the wheel.

“You’re right, and as much as I hate it, I love it at the same time,” she says.

“You’re confusing as hell. How can you hate this?”

“It’s just that…” Her voice trails off, and I know that she has no intention of finishing her thought. She has no intention of breaking down this crumbling wall that she is desperate to keep rebuilding. It’s exhausting trying to kick down this wall, but I keep at it because I know what’s on the other side.

“As much as I hate to admit it, it has to be a sign. These people that we’ve come across…it’s too coincidental. Everything has been too coincidental. First, there was Luella. Then Hudson just happened to find you after I’d been searching for five years. It feels like the universe is trying to tell us something.”

“What happened with your mom?” Piper asks.

“The night before Hudson gave me your address, I found a box in the basement of my dad’s house. It was a box I don’t remember, but it was sitting there like it was waiting for me to open it or something. There was a heart on it that I must have drawn when I was little. The scribbled crayon was definitely one of my many masterpieces. The lines were hard and thick, like they always were and it even looked like I broke my crayon half-way through my shape. I was always pressing too hard and breaking crayons,” I say.

“So the box…” Piper says, circling her hands to move me along.

“The box. So naturally, I opened the box. There was an old cassette player with a tape inside. I didn’t think much about it and tossed it aside. Then I found some old folders with records and different paperwork from my mom. Her diploma from Cornell and a few pictures of her and Big Dave. Then there were a few pictures of her and me that I’ve never seen before. Then I found a picture of her with a bald head. It’s bizarre because I’ve only ever seen pictures of her with long, brown hair like this one.” I nod to the picture on the dash.

“No…” Piper breathes barely a whisper. A boom of thunder cracks.

“So I went back to the cassette player and plugged it in, not sure of what to expect. I thought maybe it would be a mixed tape or something that Big Dave made for her in college. You know, that apparently was a thing,” I say. “Or I thought maybe it was a tape of lullabies to put me to sleep or something. But it wasn’t. It was her.”

I pause, but Piper doesn’t say anything. She’s just motionless in her seat, her legs still pulled up as she hangs on to my every word.

“It was the first time I’ve ever heard her voice, at least that I can remember,” I say. “And it was beautiful and everything I imagined it to be. It was surreal hearing her voice and looking at her picture at the same time. It was the closest to meeting her I’ve ever been. So I sat in the basement for two hours, listening to her talk about nothing and everything.”

“What did she say?” Piper whispers.

“Do you want to listen to some of it?” I ask as I reach toward the dash. I pick up my phone and hand it to her. “I recorded some of it on my phone.”

“Yeah,” Piper replies. I hear the hesitation in her voice, but it doesn’t stop her from sliding through the screens on my phone and hitting play. Luella’s sweet voice comes alive in the cab.

“March 29, 1992. Well, I’m finally doing it. Today marks the first official entry in the Luella Audio Diary. This diary is for you, Cash. You’re probably wondering why I couldn’t be like any normal person and leave an actual written diary for you to read or why I didn’t go for the video diary. I get it. You want me to be conventional just like every other mom. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Cash, but I’m not. The first few things that you should know about me are that I’m completely awkward in front of a camera, have penmanship of a first-grader, and have stage four brain cancer.”

Piper stops the recording. The rain thrashes on all sides now, but I look over at her for a split second to see her staring at me with glistening eyes.

“No one ever told me,” I say, my voice shaking. Even though I listened to her hour long recordings two times already, the first entry still stings like a fresh wound. “And as much as I wanted to confront Big Dave with fists swinging the second I heard the tape, I knew there was a reason why he didn’t tell me. He always has a reason for everything he does, whether it’s his sock choice for the day or his blatant disregard of his college degree. He has reasons so I knew I needed to sit on this revelation before confronting him. And to be honest, I didn’t know if I was ready to hear why he hadn’t told me.”

“So you didn’t say anything to him, yet?” Piper asks in a small voice.

“Well, I did say something. It wasn’t much, but I mentioned that I found the box on my way to get you. I didn’t really hound him or anything, but I did ask why he didn’t tell me.”

“And?”

“He said that he didn’t want to worry me. He said I was always worrying as a kid, and he felt like this would be just another thing for me to obsess over,” I reply.

“Do you believe him?”

“I do. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me, but I just don’t understand why he would lie to me about it. I mean, she still died in a car accident,” I say. “And I still survived.”

“I’m sorry,” Piper whispers as she presses her hand against my arm. Her touch feels different now. It’s still warm, but it’s soothing and comforting now. “Do you want to listen to more?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind if you’re up for it.”

“I would love to.”

We listen then to all the recordings of Luella I have on my phone. There are ten entries total, some longer than the others. She talks about the first day Big Dave tried to convince her to go out on a date. It was during their senior year at Xavier after the first football game at the annual senior bash. Apparently, my parents were cooler than I was. She also talks about the beautiful fall weather at Cornell and the day of their wedding and how Big Dave was so nervous that he tripped on the steps on the way to the altar. She laughs then, a sweet melody that’s so contagious and real that Piper and I both laugh right along with her.

She mentions her cancer then and just briefly talks about how she’s feeling. It’s so clinical and distant and not once does she mention how terrible she feels. But I can sense it in the exhaustion in her voice as the recordings go on; the cancer has its fingers surrounding her throat, squeezing just a bit harder each day. She tells a joke then. Her voice is laced with a raw seriousness, but she doesn’t swear like the pirate Big Dave has warned me about. “Cash, did you know that diarrhea is hereditary? It runs in your jeans.” Even though this is the third time I’ve heard the joke, I laugh again. All three of us laugh.