In Honor Read Free Page A

insisted—forcefully—that I not change my plans. And there was something in her voice that warned me not to argue. Life had to go on, she’d said. She needed to get back to work to pay the bills. I needed to go to school like we’d all talked about. The best way to honor Finn was to do that. We had to do these things, because otherwise this huge, gaping loss would swallow us, and life would keep right on going whether we did or not.
    I’d been furious at her for saying those things that sounded so callous, but she knew better than anyone how true they were. She’d buried my mom and dad—her sister and brother-in-law, then took us in and kept going the best she could. And now she expected me to do the same. But on the pages in front of me, Finn had given me a gift. And a final request. I had five days to honor it.
    I eyed Gina once more and made a silent promise that after I did this one thing, this one thing that Finn had asked, I would keep going, right to school. Getting to Kyra Kelley would mean missing orientation week, but I quickly justified it. I’d make it back in time for the start of classes, and Gina would be none the wiser. I hated the idea of lying to her, but there was no way I could tell her what I really meant to do before life could go on. I couldn’t say that I was going to take the tickets he’d given me, get in the Impala, and drive it out to California so I could see Kyra Kelley. She’d think I lost my mind.
    Nervous resolve settled over me. I folded the letter and tickets and tucked them back in the envelope, slid it into my purse, and woke Gina to tell her a plan I hoped she’d believe: that I was going to do just what she said; that when she woke up the next morning and left for work, determined to keep going, I would get in Finn’s car, point it straight toward Austin, and I would keep going too.



3
     
    It was early, but the vinyl seats were already hot against the backs of my legs when I slid in. I’d be driving with the windows down for sure, probably barefoot before noon. My fingers found the lever under the seat, and I popped the trunk to load the stuff I’d piled next to the car—the contents of my life packed into a few boxes and a duffel bag. I’d packed most of it weeks ago in giddy anticipation of the day I’d drive off to my new life in Austin. At the moment, though, that was a distant thought on the edge of my mind. I slammed the trunk shut and breathed in the morning air, which was already heavy with August heat. This was stupid. Ridiculous for sure. But Finn hadn’t ever asked me for anything. And now this was something. He’d want me to go. He’d think it was a great big adventure, a crazy story I could tell later on.
    Sun glinted off the corner of the hood, looking like a white spot on its shiny black surface, and I thought of oil. I needed to check the oil. And the water, so I didn’t fry the engine in the middle of the desert. I propped the hood open and pulled out the dipstick, which looked all right. Under the radiator cap, the water hovered around the fill line. Everything else seemed fine, but Finn had always turned the car on to listen for anything off . I had no idea what I’d be listening for, but it couldn’t hurt. When I leaned in and turned the key, the rumble rippled through the quiet.
    “Sounds like shit, you know.” I knew the voice instantly.
    He’d come out of nowhere. I ducked my head out the door and stood up slowly, trying to decide how to answer. Rusty stood in the same suit I’d seen him in at the service, but now his shirt hung untucked and his tie was gone. He still had the bottle in his hand, though, and from the looks of it, he was still drunk. Not funny-drunk Rusty, as I’d seen him so many times, but surly drunk. Probably freshly failed-out-of-school drunk.
    “You reek,” I said, pushing past him to look at the engine.
    He turned his head in slow motion to follow me, then took another pull from his bottle and swallowed hard.