If You Could Read My Mind

March

"You feeling any better about things, after some time away?" Jesse asks.

I startle, lift my head from the book I can't seem to stop reading. Once it got in my head, I couldn't put it down. Jesse and I are about halfway home, and I'm about halfway through All the Pretty Horses, at the part where he talks to Alejandra's aunt, and she basically tells him he's not good enough for her grandniece.

I shrug, look out the windshield. "I don't know that I'll ever feel better about anything," I say.

He nods. "You're in a tough spot, for sure."

All I keep thinking about is how it wouldn't be that tough of a spot if I was in love with her. How, if it were Peyton, I'd be excited. Freaked out, for sure. But excited. "Have you ever been in love, Jesse?"

"Naw. I've been infatuated with girls before, but never in love."

"What's the difference?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess infatuation you have no control over. But love seems more like a choice we make. To trust someone. To allow someone close enough to feel something deeper."

"You think love is a choice?"

"In some ways, yeah."

I think about what Joe said about driving his own destiny, ruling his own fate.

Then Jesse keeps talking. "But I also think God puts people in our path on purpose. Maybe the reason is to love them, or maybe it's so they can teach us something."

"Something like what?"

"About ourselves. About life. I don't really believe in coincidences. Or luck. I believe everything has a purpose...even being in a tough spot can serve a purpose."

"Ma says that obstacles we face point us in specific directions."

"Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes those are the very things that define who you become. How you react to them reveals your character." He takes a swig from his water bottle.  "It's kind of like football."

"How is that like football?" I ask.

He glances at me. "Oh, I don't know. You play both ways, right?

"Yeah running back and linebacker."

"Which one do you like better? Offense or defense?"

"Defense, for sure," I say.

"That makes sense. You've always had a will to protect, ever since you were little. You like to stay back and wait for something to happen, and then you deal with it."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I've seen you play, and in my opinion, you're a much better running back than you are a linebacker. The way you power down the middle—it's sheer will. Determination. You're stubborn as all get-out, but it serves you well sometimes."

I'm not sure exactly what he's trying to tell me, but I do know I have to make a move. I can't just sit back and wait for this to all unfold. I have to take some kind of action, one way or another.

Jesse pulls into a gas station in Inez next to a bar called The Bomb Diggity. "Better fill up before we hit Houston. I am not looking forward to that traffic."

I get out to stretch my legs and take a leak. I walk inside to get the bathroom key and head around the building.

When I walk back outside, I hear something rustling in the trash. I stop and scan the area. Two eyes stare at me from behind one of the cans.

"Hey there," I say. It looks like some kind of cattle dog, maybe an Australian shepherd mix. It has bright, intelligent eyes the color of Coca-Cola. Its little white face and breastplate contrast sharply with the dark brown coat, the color of chocolate. It looks up at me with eyes that say I'm just trying to survive.

I know it belongs to somebody because it's too good of a dog not to belong to somebody, even if it doesn't have a collar or tags.

When I scoop it up, it doesn't resist—probably too weak to. I hoist it up and examine the underbelly.

It's a boy. Real skinny too. He's light in my arms, ribs traceable under his skin. He must be starving.

I carry him in to the cashier. "This your dog?"

The man behind the counter cocks his head and shrugs. "I ain't never seen him before," he says. "Don't think he's from around here."

"Okay, thanks." I walk back out to the truck where Jesse waits with the motor running.

"What the hell you got there, Bud?" He asks me.

"He's lost," I say. "I feel bad for him."

"What do you plan to do with him?"

"Find his home, I guess. His family must be around here somewhere."

"Son, we're in the middle of goddamn nowhere."

"I can't just leave him here. Look at him." I give Jesse my best puppy-dog eyes.

Jesse has a soft spot for animals, like I do. He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. "Maybe he's chipped. Nothing we can do about it out here. Put him in the truck, we'll get him scanned back home."

"Okay," I say setting him down in the back seat. "Just give me a minute."

I jog back into the station, buy a small bag of dry dog food, and head back to the truck. As we drive along, the homeless dog sits in my lap, eating from the palm of my hand.

"Good boy," I say. "That's enough, now. Don't make yourself sick."

He falls asleep as I stroke his matted fur. I open my phone to text Bree.

Me: On our way home

I take a selfie of me with the dog on my lap and send it to her.

Bree: Who's dog is that?

Me: Nobody's. He's homeless

Bree sends me a picture. It's black and white, so I have to enlarge it to see what it is. I think it's an ultrasound. A picture of our baby.

Me: Did you finally go to the doctor?

Bree: Yes! You want to know the sex?

First of all, I can't believe she went to the doctor without me. I'm pretty annoyed, actually. But I guess I should be relieved she went at all.

Me: Is it healthy?

Bree: He's perfect.

He. He's perfect. It's a boy.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

"You okay, Bud?" Jesse asks.

I don't even know why I have tears in my eyes, but I do. "We're having a boy," I say and show Jesse the picture.

"Aw, congrats, Man."

Me: Thanks for going, Bree. Can't wait to meet him.

As we ride along, I keep imagining what it will be like to have a son. Teaching him how to fish. Throw a football. Ride a horse.

Shit just got real.

*****

When we get home that afternoon, the dog follows me everywhere as we unload the horses and put them back in the stable. He's a good boy, real calm, but curious as he studies my every move.

"Who's this?" Ma asks as she comes over to greet Redbo.

"He's homeless. Jesse says we can get him scanned for a chip at the vet."

Ma squats down and scratches behind his ears. "Well, hello, Homeless," she says. "Vet won't open until Monday. I can take him in while you're at school."

"Okay. Thanks, Ma."

She nods and smiles at me. "How was the trip?"

"Good. I think I learned a lot. Spent about three days at Refugio Ranch—it was pretty interesting to see how they do things down there. Real nice folks too."

She pats her horse on the flank. "I missed you guys. You too, Redbo."

"Hey, you know what? I'm reading this book right now, and you wouldn't believe it. The main character has a horse named Redbo, too. Isn't that weird? I've never even heard that name."

She knits her eyebrows together and kind of grins. "Are you reading All the Pretty Horses?"

"How'd you know?"

"Where'd you think I got the name?" She chuckles. "It's one of my favorite books of all time."

"It's a great book. How come you never told me about it before?"

"Well, you've never been the bookish sort, Jack. I'm kind of surprised you're reading it. What got into you?"

I shrug. "Somebody said I might like it. And I do. It's like I already know the guys—John Grady and Rawlins. Even Blevins. And the way the writer describes the setting, nature. I didn't know that words could be so...beautiful. A little hard to follow at first, but such a good story."

"Cormac McCarthy is very talented," she says. "I'm so glad you're enjoying it."

I nod. "You should tell me more about your books—your favorites. I'd really like to read those too."

*****

That night I head over to Bree's to hear all about her visit to the doctor, find out how things went down with Gram. I stop at the Dairy Queen drive through and get her favorite, a Blizzard with Oreos.

She's in a good mood, but she looks a little pale. "You feel okay?"

She nods. "Just so tired."

"Your body's working hard."

"I think he likes Blizzards," she says, looking down at her baby bump.

I put my hand over her belly to feel the tiny little kicks. "Never gets old," I say smiling.

"Oh, it sometimes gets old." She rolls her eyes. "Especially in the middle of the night."

She's sitting on one end of the couch, so I stretch out with my head on her lap, ear against her stomach. "There's a lot going on in there," I say.

She sets her empty cup on the end table and runs her fingers through my hair.

"Prom's coming up," she says.

That came out of nowhere. I nod. "Yeah."

"Don't you wanna go?" She asks.

"It's not that important to me, to be honest."

"Well, I'd feel bad if I was the reason you didn't go. It's our senior year. We should go."

I'm so glad she can't read my mind right now. A million little things run through it. How I was supposed to take Peyton to prom. How a couple of months ago, I was just a typical senior in high school, looking forward to graduation and end of the year parties. How Bree won't even schedule the wedding because she says she's too fat to put on a wedding dress, but she's willing to wear a prom dress. Our entire lives have changed, but she just wants to act like nothing's changed at all.

But I don't say any of that. Instead, I look up at her face and ask her, "you wanna go to prom with me?"

"Yes, Chap," she says softly. "I would love to."