“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing, man,” Wayne says. “I’ll tell you later.”
Before they walk away, Wayne says, “Screw it,” and pulls me into a hug. He nearly crushes me, but I put my arms around him. When we let go of each other, he fakes a punch at my stomach and says, “You’re getting weak, son. Shit’s pitiful.”
As I watch them walk away, I’m struck by how much I’m going to miss Hickory no matter where I end up, a thought that until now hasn’t really materialized for me. This town, these people are like DNA. Pulsing in my veins, making my body work. It’s why I’m so worried about leaving, about letting them down. It’s like denying a part of my flesh.
Phil is still with Jake. He points; Jake nods. He raises his arms animatedly, and Jake nods more. Ray has gone into the Waffle House, for a drink or to use the bathroom, and once Wayne and Sinclair roar off into the night it’s just me leaning against my truck. The only sound is the cars on the highway and Phil, muffled but adamant.
I look around, more out of habit than any other reason. When I do, I see the backpack casually leaning against my front tire. I almost turn away before I realize what it is. But then it’s all I can see. In the past few months I’ve never seen it anywhere but on Jake’s shoulder, between his feet; it might as well be another limb. But here it is.
I act casual, trying not to draw attention to myself as I walk toward the front of the truck. When I get there, my hands are sweating. I could reach out and grab the backpack right now. Could run off into the night with it. Instead, I lean against the truck again, watching as Jake nods and Phil talks. They haven’t looked at me once.
I turn around and unzip the black canvas bag with a near-perverted joy. It feels illicit the way my heart is racing. When it’s open, I don’t know what I expect. Cash. Drugs. Maybe pornography. Instead, it’s a rock. An unspectacular piece of sandstone about the size of a football.
“What the hell?” Jake says from behind me.
I spin around, the rock in my hands. When he sees it, his eyes go wide, and he takes a step back. “Put it back in the bag,” he says quickly.
“What the fuck, Jake? This is what you’re carrying around? A goddamn rock?”
“Put it in the bag,” he says again. “Please.”
I’ve never seen him this freaked out. He won’t stand still; his eyes are like hummingbirds flitting through the air. I half expect him to swipe the rock from my hands and hold it close, like a child who’s gone missing. Instead, he exhales and drops his head.
“Can we go somewhere else and talk about this?”
“Not until you tell me what this is about,” I say, holding up the rock again. He won’t look at it. Every time I move it, he cowers like a shamed dog.
Jake finally snatches the rock from me in one pained swipe. Once he’s got it zipped back up and stowed behind the seat of the truck, he turns to me and sticks his hand out for the keys.
“We have to do this now.”
“Do what?” I ask.
But Jake only shakes his head.
We drive slowly through the early morning, the birds coming to life all around us. The fatigue of the night is finally catching up to me, and the entire world feels fuzzy, drawn by a child. I have to pinch my leg to keep myself awake. Fifteen minutes of driving and we’re parked in the turnoff area right before the River Road bridge. We sit there for a second, not saying anything as cars zoom by us—first shift at the mills.
“So . . .” I say, but Jake doesn’t take the hint. He sits there, staring, thinking. About what, I can’t tell until he nods once and says, “So we were over there. And it’s just crazy, right? The entire town was already destroyed.” He drops imaginary shells with his hands, blowing them up in his lap. “And there’s this church, or maybe it’s a temple. Either way, it’s old. Like older than anything in this country by a thousand years, if not more. And it’s all blown to hell. Just rubble. Guys were always grabbing stuff to bring home, you know? But I wanted something special.”
He looks at me cautiously,