Page 43 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

Whenever life got heavy, I would drive to Alex’s house and sit out on his back deck, mostly silent. He’d talk and Willow would pop her head out to nod in agreement. He always knew exactly what I needed to hear.

Tonight, for the first time in my life, just acknowledging something was irresponsible wasn’t good enough to strike it from my brain, and I didn’t know what to do with that new feeling. I was still getting used to the fact that when I talked to Alex now, he didn’t talk back.

I perched my back against the tree and flicked open the tin with my thumb.

“You can see the water from here,” I said, hating the way I could barely get the words out, the way my eyes burned. “It’s a willow tree.” Now another laugh snuck up on me like it had at the bar, this one coming out as a choking sound. “How the hell did I . . .? Anyway, Alex, I’m trying my hardest to make this up to you. I hope you know that. I hope this is what you wanted. Rest easy, bro.”

I tipped the tin until ashes spilled out onto the branch, forming a little mound of gray dust that trickled over the side.

It was a good spot. Peaceful, other than the bar across the street. The sun would hit this place in the daytime. The wind would take the ashes, I knew, but some would stay maybe. They’d get trapped in the cracks in the bark and stay here forever in the warm Louisiana sun.

I pulled out my phone and tried to take a picture through the branches, to get the view of the diamond water. I nearly fell out of the tree twice stretching to get the right angle, then I sent it to Willow.

Nine down. Almost done.

That was all I could think of to say in the moment and I started to wonder if Willow was disappointed in what probably seemed like a lackluster effort toward my brother’s dying wish.

Alex never had a problem finding words. Even the instructions he left for me read like fucking poetry. And I checked them off and wrote out terse text messages to his widow.

I ran a hand down my face, wallowing in one of those rare moments where I felt more than just the numbness and muted melancholy. I felt the balmy breeze in my hair, and the uncomfortable scrape of the bark of the tree through my T-shirt. The river gurgled and rushed in the near distance. I closed my eyes and let the setting seep into my bones so I could remember this place where I’d never be again and my brother was going to stay.

A quiet yelp broke the quiet, and I whipped my eyes back to the parking lot where I’d left Brit. I saw a brief flash of her white dress, then my view was blocked by a male figure. The guy in the camo baseball cap, and he was standing too close to her, maybe touching her.

I couldn’t see her face, but that sound wasn’t ahappy to see younoise.

I jumped down from the tree, landing hard and clumsy, and took off running.

I barely remembered crossing the street, but my hand was on the guy’s collar before I even knew it. Rage and adrenaline pumped through my blood and I hauled him up by his shirt against the front of the building, rattling a neon Bud Light sign in the window. I drew my fist, ready to bury it in his face, but blood already poured from his swollen lower lip.

The sight of it jarred me and he broke one arm free, shoving me back from his space. Brit was to my right, shaking her hand out, crying. My brain tried to put two and two together, but I wasn’t sure I believed what I was seeing.

I got the upper hand back, my forearm slamming across his chest. “Did you put your hands on her?”

“Fuck you,” he spit through his swollen mouth, pushing against my arm.

“Wrong answer.” I pushed back with my chest, pinning him, then a heavy hand hauled me back by my shirt and my shoulder slammed into the wall.

The bouncer. Where the hell was he two minutes ago?

I didn’t give a shit if this guy worked here, I shoved him off and took a step toward the guy in the camo hat just as he threw a sloppy punch in my direction. His reflexes were dulled by booze, and it was a glancing blow, but it was enough to split my lip. And enough to snap what little control I had over myself.

I lunged for him, but Brit’s arms wrapped around my waist from behind, squeezing. I felt her face press into my back, felt tears soaking through my T-shirt. “Nick, stop!”

The guy took advantage of the hold she had on me, booking it across the parking lot and disappearing into the treeline.

The bouncer was still looming. He stalked toward me but before he could throw me out or punch me, however they handled these things at this middle-of-nowhere bar, the Uber I’d ordered pulled into the dusty parking lot.

Brit ran toward it, pulling me by the wrist, and I stumbled behind her, holding the back of my hand to my mouth. She shoved me in, then climbed in beside me and slammed the door, rattling off the address of the hotel to the driver.

The car took off, and I spun in my seat to face her. “Do you see what can happen, Brit?” My muscles were still vibrating, and I drove my fist into the back of the passenger seat with the satisfying crack it had been looking for.

“Dude!” The driver took his foot off the gas, but Brit held up her hands.

“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s okay. Nick!” She hissed at me, fingers curled into my T-shirt. I barely registered the contact.

I needed to get a hold of myself before I got us kicked out of this car, but my pulse was pounding in my ears and I couldn’t catch my breath. He’d just walked right up to her. What would he have done if I hadn’t shown up? I shouldn’t have left her alone.

Brit reached for my hand still pressed to my mouth. I yanked it away and looked at my fingers. They were dry—the bleeding was done, but I wasn’t. “What if you had been alone? You need to be more aware of your surroundings!”

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