Steve had just pulled into the parking lot of the Pioneer Hotel in Cheyenne, Wyoming, when his phone rang. It was Jessica. By the sound of her voice, she was annoyed and got right to the point.
“You need to call Bick! He’s been harassing me ever since you left New York. Filling up my inbox with voicemails. Says it’s urgent that you call him.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to him.” Gracie and Jerard were yipping to be let out of the car. “Hold on a sec, Jess. I need to get the dogs out.”
“Won’t you at least unblock his number and listen to his voicemails?”
“No.”
“So, what exactly am I supposed to tell him?”
“Tell him I’ll call him in a few days. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”
“He doesn’t sound too good, Stevie. He said he’s been sleeping in the truck. Oliver, too.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say other than it’s not my problem. How are things with you? How’s life in Boise? I can’t wait to be there.”
“Life here is good,” Jessica said. “I love my massage therapy classes. Jimmy’s off in the wilderness somewhere fighting fires. I don’t see him that often.” She laughed and added “I’m starting to wonder if he prefers the company of men over me.”
“Oh, c’mon Jess. How could someone prefer not to be with you?” Steve chuckled.
“Very funny,” Jessica said. “Well anyway, see you in a couple days. Drive safely and don’t forget to call Bick! He’s being a huge pest.”
Two days later, Steve pulled into a driveway on South Roosevelt Street. Jessica bounded out of the house to greet Steve and the dogs.
“Hey, you guys! Welcome to Boise!”
When Gracie and Jerard saw Jessica they went berserk, making tender little quacking noises and twirling in frenzied circles on the front lawn.
Steve hugged his sister. Then he stepped back to get a better look at her. Jessica was wearing one of his Get Fried Up With Mr. And Mr. On Wheels t-shirts.
“How the hell do you have my shirt?” he asked. “I thought they all burned in the fire.”
“Nope! I rescued them,” Jessica said, grinning. “After the firemen left, I got them from the truck. I brought the whole box out here with me and washed them at the laundromat. They still smell a bit smoky.” She held out her arm for Steve to smell.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “And what do you plan to do with them?”
“I’m selling them at Destroyd. It’s a store here that has distressed and remaindered stuff. People actually buy them! I guess folks here are used to the smell of smoke.” Jessica smiled. “It’s great to see you, brother.”
That night at dinner, Steve and Jessica reminisced about the craziness of the summer. So much had happened.
Corey ate, listened, and shook his head in amazement. “This sounds like a movie.”
“Yeah, kind of,” Jessica exclaimed. “And now here we are in Idaho!”
Her phone jangled in her pocket. Gloria Estefan was singing Go Away.
“That’ll be Bick for the umpteenth time,” she said frowning, staring at Steve. “Did you call him? You were supposed to call him.”
“No. I have nothing to say to him.”
Jessica thrust the phone toward her brother.
Steve refused to take the phone and walked away. “No. Not now. Not ever. Bick and I are done.”
Jessica spoke to Bick on the phone for a minute and hung up. She looked stunned.
“Well, guess what, Stevie? Bick is on his way to Boise. He’s driving the friggin’ food truck out here.”
“What?! No way! How does he know where you live?”
“It’s easy to find people, Stevie. I told him not to come. He said he’s already in Nebraska.”
Steve sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Unbelievable. Un-frickin-believable.”
“Honestly,” Jessica said, “he’s like a migraine that never goes away. I refuse to take one more call from him. I am blocking his number. If you don’t unblock his number right now, he’ll have the state police, the FBI, and the highway patrol checking on you! He will do it, too!”
* * *
When Bick tried phoning Steve the next day, he was surprised and relieved to hear him answer. He skipped the hello.
“I suppose Jessica told you by now that I’m on my way to Boise. I hope we can talk things over. Calmly. Like grown adults.”
He heard Steve start to react but quickly cut him off.
“Before you get mad, Steve, just let me tell you that right this minute I’m stranded with Oliver here in the middle of nowhere, Idaho.”
Bick figured he sounded desperate, even hysterical, but he didn’t care.
“The damn truck broke down and I can’t find a mechanic. I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, that’s just super fantastic, Bick.” Steve mustered as much snark as he could. “So where exactly are you and what am I supposed to do about it?”
“I’m in some town called Blackfoot. I coasted into a parking lot. The sign on the building says Idaho Potato Museum.”
Steve sighed loudly and said nothing for a minute. “Well, according to Google, you’re about three and a half hours from Boise.” He sighed louder this time. “Damn it, Bick!”
“I know, I know. I didn’t think this through very well.” Bick was trying hard to sound contrite. “Do you have a car? Could you at least come and pick up Ollie? He’s not doing well.”
Again, a long pause. “I will ask Jess if I can borrow her car,” he said, at last. “I don’t want Oliver to suffer.”
Bick swallowed hard. “Thank you, Steve. I owe you one.”
“I’ll get there when I get there,” Steve said. “You said you’re parked at a museum?”
“Yeah. When you get here, look for a big sculpture of a baked potato with sour cream on top. You can’t miss it.”
* * *
When Steve pulled into the parking lot of the Idaho Potato Museum, he spotted Bick and Oliver sprawled on the grass. A giant potato monument dominated the grounds. Mr. and Mr. on Wheels was positioned at a weird angle across two parking spaces.
Bick was sweating profusely, his face red, his shirt clingy. Steve noticed that he had gained weight.
When Oliver saw Steve get out of the car, he let out a string of excited barks, snorting and wagging his tail. Bick smiled half-heartedly at Steve and stood up, attempting to appear nonchalant. He looked embarrassed. He opened his arms to initiate a hug. Steve smiled weakly and stayed back. After the long drive, he was in no mood for forced affection.
“You’re a crazy sonofabitch, you know that?” he said.
“It’s great to see you too, Steve.” Bick pulled a crumpled paper towel from his back pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead. “Thank you for coming.” He nodded towards the museum. “If you’re interested, I’ve looked at all the displays inside and I can tell you anything you want to know about potatoes,” he offered with a sheepish grin.
“No thanks.” Steve with his arms crossed stayed at a distance that signified business meeting.
“Well, anyway,” Bick said, fist-thumping over his heart. “Thank you for coming to the rescue. I mean that.”
Steve cut to the chase. “Obviously, we have things to discuss.”
“Yes.” Bick motioned that they sit at a nearby picnic table. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this warm here.”
Oliver, panting, plopped down under the table where the grass was shaded.
Bick pulled two potato squeak toys from a paper bag and handed them to Steve. “Here. I bought these for Gracie and Jerard in the museum gift shop.”
“Thanks,” Steve said, with a forced smile. “They will love them. They stayed with Jessica back at the house.”
Steve cleared his throat and continued. “So, Bick, I have two questions. First, why are you here? And second, why the hell did you think it was okay to toss my clothes in a garbage bag and hang all that new crap in my closet?”
“I’m sorry about bagging up your clothes,” Bick said in a low voice. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He leaned under the table to check on Oliver.
Steve frowned and waited. He watched Bick wipe the back of his neck with the same paper towel, now disintegrating.
“Here. Take this.” Steve pulled a cloth handkerchief from his pocket. “It’s clean.”
“Thanks.” Bick dabbed at the sweat on his face, soaking it up to have it immediately reappear.
“Look, what can I say. Buying those clothes for you was a stupid idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Yes,” Steve snarled. “Incredibly stupid.”
“I was out with Eunice. As you well know, she loves to shop,” Bick said. “I should have put a stop to it.”
“Go ahead and throw your mother under the bus. I don’t care,” Steve said. “But those clothes? Good god. We agreed a long time ago that we wouldn’t buy clothes for each other.”
“I’m sorry.” Bick stifled a sob and wiped his forehead. “Anyway, when I came home and found your good-riddance note, I couldn’t believe that you had left.”
Steve looked off in the distance, then back at Bick. He stared at Bick’s stomach.
“You’ve put on weight.”
“I know. I’ve been bingeing on junk food.” Bick pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “It’s why I started smoking again,” he announced, lighting up.
Steve didn’t hide his disgust. “Taking after Eunice again, I see.”
“I’m sorry I’m not perfect,” Bick said. He closed his eyes for a long inhale, then exhaled deeply. “I’m lost without you, Steve.”
Steve looked away. “Well, I think you should find your way back to New York.”
“I want us to stay together, Stevie,” Bick blurted. “Can’t we get back on track? The truck is almost fixed up! We could reopen for business tomorrow if you wanted to. The food truck was our passion.”
“No!” Steve exploded. “The food truck is your passion!”
“I thought my passion was also your passion,” Bick said, raising the volume. “If I talk about the truck, you just give me a thousand-yard stare.”
“It is not my passion,” Steve shouted. “Your passion was never my passion!”
“I wish you had told me that before,” Bick said, angrily stubbing out his cigarette at the edge of the picnic table.
Steve fixed his eyes on a restaurant across the street to avoid looking at Bick.
“You never treated me as an equal partner, Bick. Let’s be totally honest. We’ve been coming apart for a while.”
“Be totally honest?” Bick said, raising his voice. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Steve stood up and took a few steps away to stretch his legs.
“Just accept it. I’m no entrepreneur. And the truth is I don’t want to be cooped up with you in a sweatbox every day.”
When Steve turned around, he saw that Bick had crawled underneath the table to hug Oliver. His face was buried in Oliver’s neck.
“What the hell are you doing?” Steve asked him.
Bick came out from under the table. He looked stricken, pressing his hands against his closed eyes. “I am so afraid of losing you,” he sobbed.
Steve looked at the sweat and tear tracks trapped in oily grime on Bick’s face.
“Don’t look in the mirror until you’ve cleaned yourself up. You look like shit.”
Bick brushed away tears and stared at his wet palms. “I thought the food truck would be my ticket to fame and fortune,” he cried out, self-mocking. “Yeah, see Bick the celebrity chef make a big splash on the New York food scene.” He sobbed. “Actually, I was terrified.”
“Terrified of what?” Steve demanded in a shouty voice.
Bick was quiet for a minute. “Probably of letting go of some rigid ideas I had. Like how to operate a successful business. I was sure I had it all wired.” Bick looked up at Steve. “But you didn’t conform to my vision. I know I came down hard on you.”
“Just listen to yourself,” Steve said. “First-person singular all the way. In your mind, it was never really our truck.”
Bick lowered his head, unable to squelch the tears. “I am sorry, Steve. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Steve watched him cry quietly for a minute.
When Bick composed himself, he locked eyes with Steve. “As long as I’m baring my soul here, I want you to once and for all come clean about Nestor.”
Steve looked uncomfortable. “What do you mean?”
“You know damn well what I mean. After you spent the night in his room, I was sure you wanted me out of your life. Did you?”
Steve looked away. “Bick, I told you nothing happened that night.”
“Well, what did you want to have happen?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie!” Bick dabbed at his eyes and stared at Steve. “I overheard you telling Jessica things. You definitely wanted something to happen with Nestor!”
“I have no idea where Nestor is or what he’s doing,” Steve said. “And that’s the truth. Let’s drop it.”
Still under the table, Oliver sensed anguish and snuggled his head against Bick’s leg for a scratch behind the ears.
“You’re right, Steve. We have drifted apart. Especially after the fire. What a nightmare. I feel like I’ve aged ten years since the start of summer.”
“I guess I forgive you for the clothes,” Steve said, forcefully. “But I’m really pissed off that you followed me out here!” His voice went up an octave as he angrily raised his fists in the air like two hammers ready to come down hard. Calm down. He placed his hands in front of him on the table.
Bick pulled out another cigarette, lit up and inhaled.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist. She helped me realize that my feeling insecure made me want to control you.”
“What are you insecure about?” Steve asked, frowning.
“Well, where do I start? I’m overweight. My hairline is receding. I have no artistic talent—unlike you. When a guy like Nestor comes within ten feet of you, I get jealous.”
Steve shot a glance at Bick, then looked away. “Shit.”
He watched Bick smoking and tapping his heels on the grass with nervous energy.
“Let’s face facts, Bick. I make a decent-enough empanada. But it’s not what I want to do with my life.” He paced back and forth in front of the picnic table. “Anyway, your meatloaf is better. All your cooking is better.”
“Now is a really fine, super-excellent time to unload this revelation on me!” Bick howled. “Mister passive-aggressive! You should have told me this before we bought the truck.”
“I know I should have,” Steve said. “I thought I could make it work. I tried.” He paused. “But it’s not working. I felt trapped. And resentful.”
Steve picked at a bit of crusted food stuck on top of the picnic table. He looked Bick straight in the eye. “I’m sorry if this hurts you.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I don’t want to be your business partner. I don’t want to be your lover. It’s as simple as that.”
He looked at the sullen figure seated across from him and almost felt pity.
Bick closed his eyes. He blew his nose. Loudly.
“You should have been honest with me before this. I think I deserve that much after six years.”
Steve flicked the dislodged bit of crusted food from his finger onto the grass.
“Why did you follow me here, Bick? You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“I was hoping …”
“Stop hoping!” Steve yelled. “There is no hope!”
Bick slumped over and cradled his head in his hands. “Well, so what happens now?” he whispered. “I’m here. And at the moment, the truck isn’t going anywhere.”
“I’ll bring Ollie home with me,” Steve said. “I hate to see an old, overheated bulldog suffer.” Bick would have to sleep in the truck and get it towed to a garage the next morning.
“By the way, you never answered my question,” Steve said. “What’s wrong with the truck?”
“The check engine light came on when I was driving through Ohio. Or Iowa. Anyway, I ignored the warning light.”
“Of course, you did,” Steve murmured.
“When I crossed into Idaho, the engine started sputtering loudly. I took the next exit to look for a gas station and the engine choked and died. I coasted into this parking lot.” Bick blew his nose again and dried his eyes. “Choked and dead is how I feel right now.”
The sun was low in the sky when Steve got back in the car to drive back to Boise with Ollie. As he pulled away he heard Bick call out, “Just tell me if I might still have a chance.”
Steve pressed down hard on the gas pedal without looking back.
Escaping down the highway, he glanced at the vast sky above Craters of the Moon National Park. He wondered what lay ahead for him and for the man stranded back there with a broken-down truck.
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