He Started It

Portia didn’t understand what we were saying; she wasn’t even paying attention. We didn’t tell her, either.

She knows now, though.

It feels like it takes forever, but we finally cross the border and get out of Colorado.

‘Wyoming barely has enough people to be called a state,’ Portia says. ‘But at least it isn’t Colorado.’

She has talked more today than she has the entire trip because her soda cup has more than soda in it.

‘Remember last time we were here?’ she says. ‘We thought we were driving in circles.’

She’s not wrong. Wyoming is a state of empty roads, beautiful mountain views, and – now – a ton of fracking equipment. It wasn’t here before.

We make one stop for lunch at a deli, another in the afternoon for gas. The station and a variety of stores are all nestled within the hills, the only signs of modern life other than the road.

We get out to use the restroom and stretch our legs. Portia and I go across the street to the package store, which is the only place to buy hard alcohol in Wyoming. She stocks up on vodka.

‘You all right?’ I say.

Her eyes are remarkably alert given her daylong buzz. ‘Yeah. Why?’

I shrug, and add in snack cakes, chips, packaged cinnamon rolls, and cigarettes.

‘Nice,’ Portia says.

The man at the counter doesn’t glance my way, but Portia gets his attention. Could be the cutoff shorts, the long legs, or the fact that she’s carrying enough alcohol to kill a few people. Could be that she’s twenty-six.

She sees him look and she smiles at him. ‘Don’t suppose you give bulk discounts?’

‘Depends. Am I invited to the party?’ His voice is deep, his smile a leer. I don’t know how Portia can do what she does.

‘I’d love to invite you,’ she says. ‘But we aren’t staying. Just passing through.’

‘Your loss,’ he says.

‘I bet it is.’

He discounts our whole purchase by 20 percent. Now that, my friend, is power.

Outside, it’s warm but not hot. Eddie stands around waiting, the gas already pumped, while Krista sits in the car and ignores him. Felix is ‘in the bathroom’ and I already know what that means. While Portia climbs into the car, I have a second alone with Eddie. He motions for me to come closer.

‘You don’t really think I broke the rule, do you?’ he says.

So he is worried. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t make the rules.’

‘It was one night.’

‘You’re right. One night.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, nodding his head like he’s trying to convince himself he didn’t break the rule. ‘One night.’

We move on, and the roads look the same, the landscape looks the same, the only difference is the vodka in my soda. Portia rambles on about a club in New Orleans that none of us have been to, but at least her voice fills the air. Otherwise we’d be sitting in Krista’s anger and the faint smell of cigarettes.

The alcohol relaxes me a bit. I start to think – to hope – all the bad things are behind us. The guys in the truck are gone, Eddie is out of jail, and the car is working just fine. We’re still here, still driving, and everything is looking pretty good. Not that I want to jinx it, but I almost can’t help myself.

We’re north of Casper when we stop for the night. Eddie pulls into the Western Sun Lodge and for the millionth time Felix remarks about how everything is the same all over.

‘Agreed,’ Krista says. ‘I’m not convinced Wyoming is any better than Colorado.’ Her first words since we left that state.

Eddie doesn’t respond, doesn’t react. He goes to the back and starts unloading the suitcases. As I get out of the car, I hear Eddie say, ‘Guys?’

His tone is off. I may be intoxicated, but I know off when I hear it. ‘What?’ I say, moving a little faster. As soon as I step around to the back, I see. All the suitcases are out of the car, on the ground, and the spare tire cover is up.

The side compartment is empty. No wooden box, no anything at all. Grandpa’s ashes are gone.

Wyoming

State Motto: Equal rights

If you’ve ever wondered what would get you kicked out of a place like the Western Sun Lodge, start by losing your grandfather’s ashes. Follow it with a brother who loses his mind over said ashes.

‘Are you fucking kidding me? You left Grandpa in the car last night?’ he screams.

Portia. Slurring. ‘We were a little busy, given that you were in jail.’

Eddie turns to Krista. ‘You saw me bring that box in every single night and you forgot?’

‘Stop yelling at me,’ she says. Krista walks away, throwing one last bomb over her shoulder. ‘You’re the one who got arrested!’

‘Nice, you dick,’ Portia says.

‘I mean, she has a point,’ I say.

Eddie continues to yell. ‘What happened to watching the car?’

‘You missed your shift,’ I say. ‘You were in jail.’

‘So you just bailed?’

I hold up my hands, trying to halt the conversation before it gets more ridiculous. ‘Felix and I tried, but you know, people get tired. I may have nodded off.’

‘You nodded off?’ Felix says. He sounds annoyed at this.

‘Yes, I am human. I do sleep,’ I say.

‘ASSHOLE!’ Krista yells from across the parking lot.

Eddie punches the side of the car.

‘Stop,’ I say to him. ‘Listen to yourself. You think someone broke into the car and stole a box of ashes.’

‘That looks like exactly what happened.’

‘Have you looked in the suitcases?’

Eddie sighs. ‘Why would –’

‘Have you looked?’

He lays down the roller bags, opening each one in the quickest, roughest way possible, shoving aside the clothes in search of Grandpa’s ashes. I think about stopping him and doing it myself, but I’m too intoxicated and can’t be bothered. I was the one who suggested it, after all.

‘Nope … Nope … Nope …’ He says this over and over, like it’s a mantra.

Felix leans in and whispers, ‘You have to admit it’s pretty weird.’

‘I know.’

‘Don’t touch mine!’ Portia says. She opens her own suitcase and shows Eddie that there are no ashes hiding inside.

Eddie looks through the whole car, throwing out whatever gets in his way. Snacks, garbage, water bottles, sweaters. When he finds the vodka bottles, one empty and one half full, he looks at Portia. ‘Really?’

‘I didn’t drink it all by myself.’

‘What the hell?’

The voice doesn’t come from any of us. It comes from a very large, very shirtless man storming across the parking lot. He is unkempt in that just-woken-up way and not happy about it.

‘What the hell?’ he says again.

Portia is the only one stupid enough, drunk enough, to answer. ‘What the hell what?’ she says.

‘What the hell is all this noise about? For Christ’s sake, I’ve got customers here.’

‘You work here?’ I say.