Instead, he spent his weekends restoring an old Jeep Wagoneer. He loved any excuse to drive it. When I was seven and the rivalry between Texas and A&M still meant something, we took it down to Austin for my first football game. There was never any doubt that I would go to Texas one day. Both of my parents went. It’s where they met. I knew, even at seven, that one day I’d be a Longhorn.
My dad always said you were taking your life in your hands every time you got on I-35, so we took the long way down from Dallas to Austin on 281. In the spring, it’s covered in wildflowers, but even in early fall, it’s a beautiful drive. I remember when we went to that first football game, we left while it was still dark out so we could make the 11:00 a.m. kickoff. Wrapped in a burnt-orange fleece blanket with light limning the dashboard of the Wagoneer and dew shimmering along the fields, I watched the sunrise over the Texas Hill Country. Liz had just started walking that summer, and it felt like neither of my parents had any time for me—always chasing after my newlymobile little sister. Dad especially guarded his time alone, so it felt like a bit of a miracle that we would have so much of it together on this trip. I loved him for it.
My father’s secondary motivation for taking the long way to the game—beyond his somewhat dubious claims of physical safety—was dessert. It gave us an excuse to drive through Marble Falls and stop at the Blue Bonnet Cafe for pie. We pulled into the diner at 8:30 a.m. and slid into a gray vinyl booth. My dad ordered a coffee, a hot chocolate with whipped cream, and two slices of coconut cream pie for us. While he doctored his coffee with cream and sugar, he said, “You’re in for a treat. This is the best pie in the state, Emmie Girl. One day”—my dad licked the meringue off his spoon and pointed it at me—“I’ll be driving you down to Austin for your first day of school.”
“What if I went somewhere else for school though? Would you still love me if I went to A&M?”
“You should go to the school where you think you’ll be the happiest.” He wrinkled his nose. “But please, Emmie, don’t go to A&M.”
I nodded and went back to my pie, scraping the filling out so I could save the entire crust for last. In that moment, I would have promised him anything.
I don’t remember much about the game beyond standing on the bleachers sucking down a Dr Pepper, basking in my father’s attention, and knowing I could never be happy going to college anywhere else.
At the time, it was the best weekend of my life. By August of next year, he was gone.
The twice-a-year phone calls with my dad on my birthdayand Christmas had mostly petered out by my senior year of college, but I called him as soon as I got accepted to Texas.
I could tell he was happy for me, but in the removed way that he might be happy for anyone going to a school that meant so much to him.
“Maybe we could drive down together,” I say.
“I’ve been meaning to get to Austin, Emmie Girl. Let me check my schedule.” Months passed, and I never heard back from him, so near the end of summer, I sent him a text:First day of school in a week!
Two days later he texted back,Proud of you! Hook ’em!But nothing about driving me to school, like we’d once talked about. And I was too stubborn—and too hurt—to bring it up again.
Mom and I loaded up my Bronco with monogrammed towels, extra-long bedsheets, and my prizedTitanicposter. Work was so busy that she couldn’t drive me to school, and I knew the only reason I was able to afford college and all its peripheral costs was that my mom worked so hard. I couldn’t ask her to take time off for me. And in the back of my mind, part of me still hoped my dad would be there. After my mom said a teary goodbye, she drove away to work, but I waited in our driveway for an hour. He never showed, so I took the straight shot to Austin down I-35 and didn’t stop once.
FINN STIRS BESIDE MEand rubs at his eyes. “Where are we?”
“Closing in on Kingman.”
Finn glances at the dashboard clock, which reads 2:42 a.m.“I can’t let you just drive all night.” He pulls up a map on his phone. “Take the next exit, and we’ll make camp at Hualapai Mountain Park. Just for a few hours,” he adds, to ward off any protestations from me. But at this point, none are coming. Thoughts of my dad have drained my energy, and now I feel one slow blink away from disaster. Following Finn’s directions, we make it off the highway and onto a dirt road that leads to a small campground. After turning off the car, I recline the seat back as far as I can.
“Oh, we’re not sleeping in the car.” From the back seat of the Singer, he pulls out a Yeti blanket and a small nylon pouch, in which I assume must be a tiny pup tent or something. I step out from the driver’s seat, but the green silk dress that had been the perfect thing for Vegas is deeply out of place in the woods.
Sensing my discomfort, Finn hands me a soft cotton shirt. “Here, you can wear this if it’s more comfortable. I’ll… um… turn around while you change.”
I put on my shorts and slip Finn’s oversized T-shirt over my head, but it’s been worn so many times that the fabric is nearly translucent in some spots. I reach back into the car for the sweatshirt and put it on too. “I’m decent.”
Finn turns back around and smiles. “You’re all kitted out in Duke gear.” He pauses. “It looks good.” He clears his throat and shakes out the vinyl pouch into a large rectangle. He knots it between two pine trees, and in less than two minutes, we have a hammock. “It’s not the cushiest, but it’s better than the ground or trying to squeeze into the car.”
“I’m incredibly impressed.” I sit sideways on the hammock and give it an experimental swing. My feet leave the ground,and I’m looking up through a web of pine needles to the night sky. There’s enough moonlight that I can see banks of clouds floating gently above us.
Finn produces a bottle of tequila from the car. “A night-cap?”
“Is that the tequila that sent Sybil into a tailspin last night?” I can’t believe it was only twenty-four hours ago that Sybil went off the deep end. Only twenty-four hours since Finn Hughes came back into my life.
The hammock rocks as he takes a seat beside me. “It’s one of many she tried.” He passes me the bottle, and I focus on unscrewing the lid instead of the fact that the entire right side of his body is pressed against the entire left side of my body.
I take a small sip and let it linger on my tongue. There’s a burst of flavor that almost tastes like my mom’s gingerbread loaf with a hint of orange blossom. After I swallow, the faint taste of cloves lingers. It does taste remarkable. Score one point for snobby man-bun bartender. I guess some tequilashouldbe sipped. I hand the bottle back to Finn.
“So why do you think Sybil is going to Albuquerque?” I ask.
Finn pauses with the tequila bottle halfway to his lips, as if he’s not sure he wants to say.
“Come on, Finn. Just tell me.”
He exhales. “I think she’s going to see Liam.”
