Speed of Life (25 page)

And then a wave of nausea rushes over me as I remember Han looking up at her with those exact same eyes. Immediately, I want to run to the bathroom and throw up the tamales, but I can't move. My legs are like lumps of iron weighing me down. I swallow back the vomit.

“No . . .” I say into the pillow I'm suddenly clutching to my chest. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” But the memories won't stop now. It's too late to block them. Once the thought of Han's blue eyes has slipped through a gap in the brick wall I've put up, it starts to crumble fast. Big chunks fall, hitting me in my most tender spots.

An end-of-summer party at our cousin Jade's house. Me and Amber walk. It's only a few streets away and that way we can both drink. It's hot and she talks me into being a girly girl for once. I borrow a denim miniskirt and a lacy tank-top. We're all in the dark backyard—​me, Amber, Jade, Han—​drinking beer, smoking pot and cigarettes.

And then I'm waking up in one of the dank rooms in Jade's house. And . . .

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God . . .
This can't be true. But I know it is. And Han has known it all along and never said a word.
He never said a word.
He let me say I didn't know who the father was. And the weird thing is, I'm not sure I did know. I mean, I must've because we weren't that drunk. But until this very moment, I couldn't remember that night at all. In my head, it's been dark, and black, and a mystery.

And then I missed all those periods. One after the other. By the time I was three months gone, I knew, but I kept it a secret until I was almost five months pregnant. One day Amber walked in on me in the bathroom as I got out of the shower. After years of berating her for being easy, I was the one who had carried on the family legacy of getting pregnant in high school. Amber had counted on me to get us out of the family rut, to build us a new life, but I'd let her down.

I hold the motel pillow as close to me as I can, squeezing it, wondering what to do with this new information. After a long time, some of the shame recedes and I think I know. I fall into a dreamless sleep.

I wake up in the morning on top of the cactus bedspread, disoriented, hot, and thirsty. I have no idea when I fell asleep or what time it is now. The bedside clock has stopped at 2:45. I know what I have to do, and oddly, now that I've decided, I'm okay with it.

I pick up the phone, and it takes me a minute to figure out how to get the operator. Once I do, I give her the number and wait.

He answers on the first ring. “Yo?”

“I have a collect call from Crystal Robbins,” a computer voice says. “Will you accept the charges?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Go ahead.”

“Hey,” I say, unsure where to start. “I'm in trouble.”

Like he's done every single time I've asked him for help, he doesn't even hesitate. “Tell me what you need.”

Whenever we've needed something for the baby, Han came through. All this time I told myself he was just a nice guy who liked the challenge of scoring stuff for cheap. Now I know why he's been hanging around, and I owe him, but before I can do anything to make it up to him, I need his help again.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“Somewhere in Nevada. In a motel.”

“Did something happen to the Mustang?”

“No. Something happened to me.”

“Shit! Are you okay? If anyone—”

“No, it's nothing like that. I'm okay physically. But . . . I can't drive. I don't trust myself.”

“I don't understand.”

“I know. I'm not making sense, but I need your help. I need you to come and get me. Please?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “I'll get there. What's the name of the place where you're staying?”

I look at the sheet of guest rules and regulations by the phone. “It's called the Three Cacti Motel. I'm in room eight.”

I can hear his fingers tapping on a keyboard and then he says, “Okay. I've got their website up. Stay right where you are and I'll call you back in ten minutes.”

“Okay. And, Han?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I'll call you back.”

I sit there by the phone, waiting and feeling stupid. Ten minutes go by, and then fifteen. My underarms go all prickly, and it's not from the heat. It's cool in the motel room. My discomfort is more from embarrassment. What was I thinking? I'm about to call him back and tell him to forget it, that I'm fine, when the phone rings. I grab the receiver fast.

“Do you think you can drive yourself to Reno?” Han asks. “It's not that far.”

“What's in Reno?”

“My mom's cousin works for the airline, and she can get me a stand-by ticket for thirty-five bucks.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slow. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He must hear the doubt in my voice. “If you don't think you can, I'll get to you somehow.”

“No, it's okay. I can do it.”

“I don't know when I'll be able to get there, but I booked you a hotel room in Reno for tonight. It's cheap, but the reviews say it's safe.”

“Thanks.”

“Stay there and wait for me.”

“I will,” I say. “And Han? Don't tell Amber, okay?”

“I won't. I promise.”

He emails the hotel information so I don't have to write it down, and we hang up. After I check out, Mrs. Gomez gives me a packet of foil-wrapped tamales for the road. “Drive careful,” she tells me. “Let me know you get to Reno okay.” I promise and she gives me a strong hug.

The drive to Reno is hot and slow. And startling. When I was driving before, everything was a blur, distorted by emotions and memories. But now, for the first time, I really see the landscape around me, and it looks as strange as if I've landed on the moon . . . dusty, barren, unfamiliar. The desert stretches in every direction like an abandoned blanket—​muted browns, golds, and pinks, lonely and bare, but hauntingly beautiful, too. The vast emptiness adds to the ache I already have in my heart.

I stay five miles under the speed limit and listen to music, making myself sing along to 1950s pop songs so all I can think about are the lyrics and not what's going to happen when I meet up with Han. I drive so slow and careful that by the time I reach the hotel, Han's already waiting out front, baking in the heat. I worry he's a mirage at first, but he waves to me and I know he's real.

“How'd you get here so fast?” I ask him once I've parked.

“The first flight I tried had a seat.” He acts like he's going to hug me, but I step back, afraid to touch him, and he drops his arms. “Let's check in,” he says.

He's only booked one room, but it has two beds, and I toss my stuff on one and he throws his bag on the other. We sit there looking at each other. I guess he's waiting for me to talk, but I'm not ready.

“We could hit the road now,” I say.

“Maybe we could chill for a day. I've never been to Reno.”

“Sit by the pool?” I ask, half smiling.

“Why not?”

I can't imagine having time to sit around a pool. I always have so much to do—​work, school assignments, the baby.

Oh, God.

Natalie.

I miss her so much the hole in my heart opens wider. “How's Nat?”

“She's good. I saw her yesterday.”

“How come?”

“Amber called to tell me they stayed.”

More like to tell him her side of the story and win him over. Me and Han sit there for a while, lost in thoughts and awkwardness. I know why he's here, but I didn't really explain myself to him over the phone.

“So how far are we from Kansas, anyway?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I'm not going to school.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need you to drive me back to Portland.”

“But what about college?”

“I don't know if I'm still going. I have some things to do at home first. And then . . . maybe.” Tears well up, threatening to spill over.

“Let's get some food,” Han says, jumping up, his face panicked. “I'm starving.”

We spend our “rich people's day of leisure,” as Han starts calling it, in air-conditioned shopping malls and at all-you-can-eat buffets. For a skinny guy, he can really pack away the food. I don't do too bad myself. Everything's really cheap in Reno because they want you to gamble, but we're too young to get into the casinos. There are slot machines everywhere, though, even in the grocery store where we go for pop.

“You know what I'm gonna do?” I say. “I'm gonna play ten bucks for Mom.”

We pick a slot machine and Han watches while I play. I've never gambled before, mostly because Mom does enough for all of us, but also because it always seemed stupid. At least until I start winning, and then it's kinda fun.

“No wonder she likes this.”

“Yeah, it's great when you're winning.”

“And I'm gonna keep it that way.” I'm up to eighty bucks before I start losing. I quit when I'm forty-seven dollars ahead.

“The lady wins,” Han says. “Take that, Reno!”

“Mom'll be able to tell everyone she won big in Nevada now.” I head to the register. “Unlike if she was really here.”

Mom doesn't end up getting her winnings, though, because when I try to cash out, the clerk wants ID to prove I'm twenty-one. I don't have it, and he tries to confiscate my ticket, but Han and I run out of the store, laughing, the paper clutched in my fist. I'll give it to Mom and maybe Aunt Pearl can get her money on her next trip.

“It's the thought that counts,” Han tells me.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

That night, we hang out by the pool. There are
NO SMOKING
signs every ten feet, but no one's around, so we risk lighting up. God, it feels so good to smoke again. At least, right now. I don't miss the hacking cough in the morning. I think most people have to smoke for years before they develop a cough, but me and Amber got it almost right away. We've always had trouble with our lungs. Mom says it's 'cause we were preemies, but I think our bedroom's too damn cold in the winter. After my first drag, some of the tension I've been carrying around in my shoulders eases, and ironically, I get that deep breath I've been needing for days.

I exhale the smoke, relishing the rush like a guy on death row. We're heading back to Portland tomorrow, so I won't be smoking much longer. I inhale again and let out the breath real slow. It's time to say what I need to say. I didn't get Han here just so he could drive me home.

“Hey.” I try to keep my voice light. “You're gonna have to quit smoking.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you're Nat's father, and No Smoking's one of the rules.”

Next to me, Han sits up straight on his lounge chair, but I stay frozen, afraid to look over at him. “Her father?” His voice breaks on the word. “You mean it?”

“If you want to be,” I say, carefully casual. “It might be good.”

“I thought you didn't . . . didn't know. That's what Amber told me.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I can feel my face flush. “I didn't remember it was you until last night. It's like I blocked it or something.” I can feel him looking at me, and my heart rate speeds up. “I don't know exactly what happened at that party. Some of it's coming back, though. And I realized . . . you and Nat have the exact same eyes.”

“Yeah. We definitely do.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Wow. I wasn't expecting this. But this is great. I love that kid.”

“Me too. And she really likes you.”

“She said my name,” Han reminds me.

“I know.” I can't help laughing at how proud he sounds.

Someone comes out of the hotel and turns off all the lights. “Pool's closed,” he calls to us.

“We're not swimming,” I call back.

The worker goes inside. The only lights on now are the ones underwater, giving the pool area a nuclear glow. Above us you can see the faint trace of stars in the darkening sky. Searchlights crisscross overhead, making me feel like I've landed in the world's biggest car lot.

“I don't want you to think you have to—”

“I thought you hated me,” he says.

I shake my head. God, this is so hard. Me and Amber haven't even discussed it. Every time she tried to bring it up, I refused to go there. “I never hated you.”

“That makes me feel a little better.”

I want to stop talking, but Han deserves more. I go on. “The day after that party I convinced myself I hadn't done anything.” My voice is shaky, and I hope he can't hear how nervous I am. “And then, well, I was pregnant . . . so I kind of had to admit something must've happened. But I felt like such an idiot. I couldn't think about it. I was supposed to be the responsible one. I swear I didn't remember it was you until last night.”

“You're making my performance feel very memorable,” Han says, trying to crack a joke, but it falls flat.

“I'm sorry. But I want you to understand I wouldn't have shut you out like that if I'd remembered. You've been so good to us. You can't even imagine how much I hate myself right now for what I did to you.”

“Don't.”

We sit there, smoking in the semi-darkness, not talking for a while. I guess Han has a lot to think about now too. But there's one more thing I have to know about that night.

“Did you know it was me?” I ask.

“As opposed to . . . ?”

“Amber.”

Han's body shoots up in the chair again. “I'm not stupid. I've always been able to tell you two apart.”

But there's still a big gap in my memory, and if I can't remember it, then he's going to have to fill me in. “I know,” I say. “But then . . . why'd we do it? We were never like that . . .”