The image melts my heart. I want to rescue him from the wolves, but mostly I want him. I don’t think twice. I'm going after what I want. “Okay, so—” I blow out a long breath to psych myself up. This is harder than I thought. “Joe is more than a friend. He saved me, and more than once. He rescued me from actual scorpions. He saved me from myself. He let me camp on his property and he shared his shower.” That detail leads to a firestorm of comments that I have to ignore if I’m going to get through this. “Most importantly, he showed me that I'm allowed to choose a life that makes me happy. And, well—” I take a deep breath, picturing Joe’s muscular forearms to fortify myself, “I choose him.” I stare down the barrel of the camera, "I choose you, Joe."
Ashley is red-faced and teary eyed. She mouths, “Oh. My. Gosh!” as she fans herself aggressively with a piece of my junk mail.
One last comment comes in from Joe, and my heart swoops when I read it. I can almost hear the challenge in his voice, and I swear I can smell his cologne in the air. It’s like he’s right here, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “What are you going to do about it, Fox?"
I catch the glint in my eyes reflected on screen when I say, ”I’m coming back.”
Chapter 20
Deja vu.
I’m driving north on I-15. The driver’s side window of my van is rolled down and my dark red hair is whipping in the early morning breeze. It’s so early—these are Joe Pratt hours. I locked up my condo and loaded up my stuff when it was still dark outside. I had major ants in my pants and sleep was not happening. I laughed with shock when that same radio station played the same Twisted Sister song that was the soundtrack for my first escape to Utah. Now, I’m pushing The Hulk to its limits—which, full disclosure, is well under the posted speed limit—but I have less guilt about it now that I’ve made the vehicle trade with Bonnie permanent.
She could not have been more happy when I called her last night. I heard her boys whooping in the background when I offered my car in trade for her van. She resisted at first, but when I told her to consider it payment for helping me escape my life, she gave in. She said she had watched the Live and gave Miles a piece of her mind. She congratulated me on quitting my job and standing up for myself. She earned that Range Rover.
Of course, I’ll have to buy something more practical to drive once I find a place to sleep in Utah that doesn’t have wheels under it. But I’m never selling this thing. It’s a symbol of my emancipation.
“Atta boy.” I pat the dashboard as The Hulk groans up a mountain pass on the way out of California. “We’ve got this.”
It’s a torturously long drive at this speed. I stop for gas in Las Vegas and check my phone. I was out of service range for a while and a slew of messages came in all at once just outside the city:
SARAH: I heard the news. You’re welcome to stay here, and you have an open invitation to Sunday dinner. Can’t wait to see you again.
SUNNY: I am SO. HAPPY. Can you get here yesterday?
MERCER: Are you here yet? Where are you?
MERCER: Girl, drive faster
Sunny also sent a GIF of the old gal from the movie Titanic with the caption, “It’s been 84 years…” That one makes me laugh as I pull the gas nozzle out of the tank.
But Joe is suspiciously silent. I know he knows I’m coming. He was the one egging me on—right? The closer I get to Utah, the more I second guess myself. I have no idea what to expect from him when I get there, and I’m too chicken to text him again. I shot out a message late last night that said, “I’m serious, Obbs. I’m coming back” and he never replied. Besides that, our only interaction has been in public, on the Live last night.What are you going to do about it, Fox?That’s what he said. Well, I’m doing something.
At this point one might wonder,What are you doing, Indigo? You have no job, no plan, and the guy you’re driving toward hasn’t texted you back.Also,YOU TRADED A RANGE ROVER FOR AJUNKY 1980-SOMETHING VOLKSWAGEN VAN?And one would be absolutely right. I’ve had these thoughts as well. But I also have that feeling of solid ground under my feet after taking a step into the dark. I know I’m on the right track and I’m trusting that. I'm trusting myself.
I slam the door of The Hulk and get back on the freeway.
It’s late afternoon and I’m a few minutes from the exit that will take me to Nizhóní. The sight of the red cliffs and blue sky makes my heart rate pick up. I have two thoughts: One, how does this place already feel like home? And two, I’m in the same state as Joe.I want to crank down my window and let out a loud whoop, so I do. The smell of recent rain rushes around me as I drag my fingers through the warm desert air outside the van. I can’t believe this is my life. I’m free, and it’s a miracle. Pure, electrifying joy spreads through me from my head to the tips of my toes.
I take the offramp and pull onto the shoulder of the road that leads straight to Joe. This is it. I’m here. I still have no plan, but I stare out at the sagebrush and that feeling of home wraps around me. I’m giddy, with hours worth of pent up energy from sitting in this van. I can’t help myself. “I’m back, Utah!” I holler into the wind with a laugh.
“Welcome back!” a barrel-chested old guy on a motorcycle calls back at me from the other side of the street.
“Thanks! Didn’t see you there! Haha!’ I roll up my window with an embarrassed wave.
Okay, make a plan, Indigo.I pull out my phone.
INDIGO: Where are you?
JOE: In my office.
INDIGO: Be right there. I’m fifteen minutes away.
JOE: Wait, what?
JOE: No. That’s not how this is happening.
JOE: Meet me here.
