Transcontinental (15 page)

But he’d figure it out when the time came. All he could do was wait. Leroy slipped a bent granola bar out of his bag and unwrapped it, grimacing.

* * *

As Ant exited the prison, spared of his sacrifice, he was overjoyed. He felt as if his soul would break the bounds of his body and shoot skyward.

It wasn’t all rainbows; happiness consumed him, but it spit him back up for shame and self-pity to poke at. He hadn’t had to think about what he’d done for a long time, and the wound was raw, even after all these years.

Ant took his forested shortcut again, the foliage taking on a new, refined beauty with his freedom returned. But even that couldn’t take his mind off his own stupidity. It wasn’t naiveté, it wasn’t curiosity, it wasn’t lust, it was stupidity, pure as the nature that surrounded him. He had been an idiot to gamble everything he had, which was a lot, on a student. Of all the millions of women in California, he had to choose one that would get him fired if it came to light. And no darkness can avoid the light forever.

He’d had plenty of time to examine his life, how it would be different if he hadn’t lit that one match that changed everything. He’d still be divorced, of course; the woman he’d married was a cheater and a horrible person. But his life would’ve been stable. He could’ve found another job, even if it was just at a community college. He could’ve made it work, he knew it.

And yet every time he’d gone through it in his mind, he always came back to the same conclusion: one way or another, he would have finagled his way out of stability. Some people were meant to live normal lives, and others simply were not. He was in the latter camp. Until today, it had all been a wonderful adventure. He’d be lying, however, if he said that he hadn’t regretted it a little in the face of a prison sentence.

Luck, karma, God, or the universe had favored him, though. He’d been given a second chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it by going against his nature. Ant was determined to continue living the wanderer’s life, the life he’d always been meant to live.

He smiled as the hospital came into view.

* * *

Desperate for a cold drink, Leroy had gone back into the hospital to fill his water bottles. The cranky receptionist had been replaced by a younger, cheerier woman who had greeted him when he entered and when he exited.

With a belly and two bottles full of cool water, Leroy had gone back to pacing. It was all he could do to not go crazy.

Then, he saw Ant.

Leroy grabbed the two bags off the bench, then sprinted toward Ant, wobbly under the weight. He was irked that Ant had made him wait so long, made him doubt Ant’s return, but also ecstatic that he was back. The two emotions battled inside him.

As Leroy neared Ant, he said “What the hell?”

Ant held his hands up. “I apologize for not calling you.”

So that wasn’t Ant who had called. Leroy had been beating himself up that whole time over nothing. “What took you so damn long?”

“Was I gone long? It seemed like the blink of an eye to me.”

“Did you talk to my dad?”

“I did.”

“So did you get her name?”

“I did.”

Leroy couldn’t hold back a joyful laugh bubbling up from within. A few minutes ago he’d been attempting to figure out how he’d be able to wrangle someone else into accompanying him into a prison so he could speak to a man he disdained, and now none of it mattered. He had gotten what he came for.
 

“Tell me,” Leroy implored.

“She is called Rehema Shepherd,” Ant said, taking his bag.

As if a safe had just sprung open, the words sent a whirlwind of memories through Leroy—his mother calling out to her, how he used to call her Rema, even a fuzzy recollection of Rehema teaching him to write their names.

In that moment everything he’d felt, everything he’d done to get there, had been justified. He had accomplished these things—with a little help from Ant, of course—and he instantly knew that he had it in him to finish the journey. There was no doubt in his mind.

Coming back down to reality, Leroy asked “You find out what he did?”

“You know, I forgot to ask.”

Leroy pursed his lips. How could he have forgotten to ask that? It was probably number two or three in a very short list of questions.
 

“What about the funeral?”

Ant paused. “He said the prison would not allow him to attend.”

Leroy nodded. He’d figured that was the case. He’d
hoped
it was.

“What… What was he like?”

“Big,” Ant started. “Well-fed. A little bit scary, to be honest. Yet surprisingly peaceful. As if there was nowhere he would rather be.”

“Sounds about right,” Leroy sighed. Unable to look, he said “I owe you.”

“We shall establish a payment plan later. The sun is setting. We need to visit the library, then get back to the jungle. It is best not to hitch after dark.”

“You said hitchhiking was safe.”

“I said I have never had an issue with it, because I am smart about it. Hitching at night, while not inherently dangerous, increases the risk.”

“Fine. Why the library?”

“We must determine where she lives.”

“And how do we do that?”

“The magic of the world wide web.”

Ant set forth.

Leroy had no idea what that meant, but if Ant knew what to do, that was good enough for him. He hurried to keep up with Ant’s lengthy stride.

* * *

Leroy followed Ant over to number eight, their assigned computer, the last one unattended in the cluster. He had no idea what the other kids, mostly teenagers, were doing on the computers; never used one himself, and didn’t see the appeal. He slid the chair over next to Ant and glanced at the computer. “White pages? Like the phone book?”

“Indeed. Except national rather than local.”

Leroy was impressed. That was definitely more convenient than flipping through a book with seemingly thousands of pages. Let the machine do the work for you. Amazing, he thought.

“Lucky for us, hers is not a common name.”

Ant typed the name into the website and clicked the mouse. A minute or so later, the site returned two names on the screen.

“Oh boy.”

“What?”

“There are two Rehema Shepherds. Which would not be such a problem if they lived even a little closer to each other.”

“Where are they?” Leroy leaned in closer to the screen.

“One is in Reno, Nevada, and the other is in Tampa, Florida.”

Leroy pressed his face into his palm. “Oh boy,” he croaked.

“The good news is Reno is not far from here. At least compared to Tampa.”

“Hope that’s the right one.”

“You know, I almost hope she lives in Tampa.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Come on! Where is your sense of adventure, your wanderer’s spirit? I know it is in there somewhere,” Ant said, prodding at him.

“I don’t need adventures! I want a normal life!”

Ant shushed him. “Leroy, this is a library. There are rules.”

Leroy fumed silently.

“You know, you have a bit of a temper.”

Leroy looked off.

“Some people are not meant to live normal lives.”

Ant continued before Leroy could respond.

“You should prepare yourself, mentally, I mean, for the possibility that we will literally have to cross the country to get to her.”

“We? You saying you’ll go to Florida with me?”

“Of course I will.”

“Why? Why waste the time and effort?”

“To satisfy my own wanderer’s spirit,” Ant remarked with a soft smile.
 

* * *

A kind alcoholic man on the back end of mid-life had picked up Ant and Leroy in his truck on their way to the highway. Throughout the ride, the man spoke of the differences between the west coast and his home state of Alabama. Leroy came to be glad he grew up in California.

Leroy felt guilty because he knew if he was the one driving, he sure as hell wouldn’t be picking random people up off the side of the road. But this man had done just that and, as he knocked back can after can of warm, cheap beer, had driven them to the nearest train yard, which turned out to be only halfway back to Sacramento.

When Ant exited the truck and folded the passenger seat forward, Leroy jumped at the chance to get out. He’d take hours in the camper with Jordan over just fifteen minutes with Dale Simmons, who had introduced himself in a slurred voice more than once. Leroy appreciated Dale’s willingness to give them a ride, but with each crumpled beer can his swerving had exacerbated.

Ant stood beside the car, leaning in through the open passenger window. “Thank you so much, Dale. We greatly appreciate your generosity.”

In his inebriation, Dale got choked up. “I’m sorry, I’m just sad to see ya go. I hope y’all can find that Remema woman, I really do.”

Ant smiled. “I would like to ask you a favor.”

Leaning toward Ant, Dale said “You go right ahead. Anything.”

“I implore you to abstain from drinking until you get where you are going.”

Dale turned away, an uncooperative look on his face.

“It is highly dangerous to everyone around you. If not for yourself, do it for Leroy, for those like him. Imagine, God forbid, something did happen. You could end the life of someone before they find
their
Rehema. How would you feel?”

Choking up again, Dale whimpered. “Not good.”

“So please. Just hold off for a bit.”

He wiped the corners of his eyes. “Suppose I could.”

“Thank you.” Ant stuck out his hand.

Dale grasped it firmly and held it, looking down.

“Be safe, Dale Simmons.”

“Y’all, too,” Dale said, begrudgingly letting go of Ant’s hand.

Leroy waved as the pickup truck swerved back onto the road. “That man’s gonna kill someone,” he said, dropping his arm.

“Life is tough, Leroy. We each deal with it the best we know how.”

They ambled down the street.

“That said,” Ant went on, “consequence is inescapable.”

The two statements seemed at odds with each other to Leroy. The former seemed to imply an omission of responsibility, while the latter imparted the permanence of it. He pondered how both could be true at once, but decided not to press the issue. He’d heard enough of Ant’s voice for one day.

Shortly, they came upon a small building Ant had informed him was used for crew changes. These spots, he claimed, were great for catching out as they were often unguarded, and had a jungle nearby. This spot was no different.

Beyond the building, palmettos fanned up toward the sky. As the land stretched back, trees grew sporadically until they finally formed a solid wall of leaf and bark. The jungle, fittingly, was just inside the boundary.

They poked around in the wilderness until stumbling across a glowering man in a pale green field jacket and vietnam boonie hat. His grizzled white hair and stubble made him seem older than he was. He leapt forward, shoving a bayonet knife in their faces.

Leroy jumped behind Ant as he halted.

“State your intentions,” he barked.

Ant snickered at the man’s combat boots. “I bet your feet smell awful.”

The man inched the knife closer to Ant. “Just gimme a reason.”

“Look, I am new to the area. I would have called in had I known I was approaching. The boy and I simply seek a place to rest until the next eastbound train. If I recall correctly, that is the purpose of a hobo jungle, is it not?”

He scowled at Ant in silence.

“I also have whiskey.”

Behind the man, a dumpy woman called out. “That’s the password! Let ‘em in, Gerald. They ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”

After a moment of further glowering, the man stepped aside, keeping a watchful, if not downright menacing, eye on Ant.
 

“Thank you,” Ant muttered to Gerald as he passed.

Leroy sat a few feet from the fire, and Ant knelt between him and the woman. This jungle was filthy compared to the one they’d shared with Ted and Cracker John. Crinkled beer cans, broken glass, and old food wrappers littered the ground, except for one pristine rectangular area with a sleeping bag laid out in the middle, on which Gerald sat. He placed the knife in the dirt next to him, pointed directly at Ant.

“I am Antoine Bevilacqua, and this is Leroy Smiley.”

“Maggie.” She turned to the aloof man beside her and slapped him, jerking him out of his daze. “Introduce yourself, stupid.”

“Eddy. Howdy.”

The woman turned back to Ant. “And you already met Gerald.”

“Indeed.” Ant glanced at the man staring back at him. “We are traveling.”

“Where to?” Eddy asked.

“Tampa, Florida.”

“Well,” Leroy started, “we’re not really sure—”