Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me and I make no money off of them.

AN: This chapter made possible in its entirety by Marakeshsparrow, who beta'd by ear and eye over the course of two weeks, sometimes with very little notice, and always with amazing feedback. I also want to thank Mobody for doing lovely cover art for this story.

The Patchwork Pilgrim

The paper scraped his fingers dry, so many bright colors and little black names, phone numbers printed big, and pictures of kids an' flowers an' who knew what else kind a things. It had to have been half an hour of flippin' through pages before his sedate brain mustered the energy to focus his eyeballs. When they did he found he was resting in "Dentists." No wonder everyone here was smilin'.

The book had a smell like nothin' else, a smell unique to the yellow pages, maybe the paper, maybe the million different color inks mixin'. If you crossed your eyes just so, even the dentists' pages could look sort a colorful, the big blue ad against the green border against the yellow paper, like fields and flowers and ponds made a dentists.

His angry stomach brought Jack back to Earth with a quake, and he grabbed a few more peanuts from the canister. It had been his companion all day, not because he wasn't hungrier for more. More like, he was savin' all his energy for not focusin' on the yellow pages.

It was the pills; Jack knew it was. They kept him in a hazy place where gettin' out a bed seemed worse than pointless, but he did it, 'cause the yellow book weren't about ta walk down the hall to his bedroom under its own steam.

Since he came home from the hospital, he been staying in the guest bedroom. It was hard to explain why, but with the plans in his head... He'd spent a lot a years makin' plans while lyin' next to Lureen at night. None a those had panned out. But this one had to, and though he weren't a superstitious man, the plans seemed more serious if he left his wife to complete them. Though by leavin' he just meant movin' across the hall. He'd done it under the guise a his health. He could be nearer a bed stand, keep his water n' pills, wake up in the middle a the night and read a magazine if he couldn't sleep. Lureen hadn't challenged that none. But mostly Jack just laid in bed starin' up, not seein' the ceilin'. Seein' the future. An' it was that that drove him to haul out this water-wrinkled book from its under-sink burrow-hole.

Sittin' at the table, big, old, furrowed book in front a him, reminded Jack of sittin' on his mama's lap as she used to read to him from her Bible. It was the only bedtime story he ever got, an' that book was old and wrinkly with yellow pages, too. Jack wondered if he could find a prayer for hope in this scripture of AT&T. Surely you were supposed to start a pilgrimage with a prayer, right?

Raisin' his fingers once 'gain to the slippery pages-- hated the feel of them so much, like old newspaper-- he sought the mantra he knew must be there.

Hotels. Pest. Plumbing. Plumbing-Pools. Radio. Real. Rental-- nope. Back. Recreational. There. Recreational Vehicles – Dealers. A quick skim of the column, an' Jack latched on to the first one that said "rentals." Can Am Recreational Vehicles, Rentals & Sales. There was a few columns of places, Jack saw, but he started at the top. See which one got him whatever kind a RV he would need to make this shit work out. How to become a fisher of men, well, of Ennis anyway, like the Bible said (though he guessed he had some plans for Ennis that God hadn't had in mind...), that was the one thing that worried him. But he would think 'bout that later. Burn that bridge when I get to it. He couldn't help but be a little bit cynical 'bout that obstacle, but he couldn't help but be a little bit hopeful, too.

After an hour a callin' around, he ended up with an RV from a place called Brambillas Inc., ready ta pick up Monday morning, a week from today. Jack could hardly believe he was doin' this. When he picked up the big, yellow book to store it again, he couldn't deny his hands were shakin'. I'm jumping off a cliff here. Can only hope there's water below an' not rock.

Even so, Jack knew the RV was just the start, the vessel and not the journey. It was a promise to himself-- a reservation date and a down-payment with his Visa Card. No matter how scared of this thing he got, how proud he found himself in the dark hours, or how desperate in the bright ones, he was goin' a be there Monday mornin' at eight a.m. to pick up a 1981 Fleetwood Pace Arrow. Jack didn't know anythin' 'bout RVs, so he hoped it was a good one.

Lookin' down at the piece a paper he'd scribbled his notes on, Jack blinked in surprise at all the words he'd written down. Housekeepin' package? I bought that? What the hell is it? He'd mostly just said "yes" a lot on the phone, his pulse hammerin' too hard ta even hear the salesman. He was a salesman himself an' he bet he just got suckered in ta some packages he didn't need by havin' his emotional state took advantage of. He knew, 'cause he'd done it more than once.

Well, he had one more sale ta pitch, an' this was it, for the farm. He better figure out how ta make this client dance right inta his hands. Given the understanding he had a the man, why was that so hard? 'Cause he's stubborn as a cart ox, Twist. Stubborn, and familiar with Jack's wily ways. Hadn't even Jesus had problems bein' listened to in his home town? Well, he'd have ta catch Ennis off guard. Had ta get him before that man got a chance ta put his defenses up. An' even though Jack's palms were itchin' for a phone, and his ears for that gravelly voice, he was afraid a the red flag he would raise with the fever-pitch of hope in his voice. Though he wanted to, he knew he couldn't call Ennis. But he sure as hell could pick up his RV Monday morning.

Still, Jack knew it was only a start. He had one week, an' an uphill battle marathon-long, before he even had a sale to make.

He went back to Lureen's office and pulled out a sheet a Newsome Farm and Ranch letterhead. He could hardly believe what he was plannin', but what choice did he have? He'd said he'd spare no pride, an' here was proof.

Mrs. Alma – shit, Jack didn't know her married name. An' how much was child support anyway? Had Ennis said? Jack scraped the dusty edges of his memory with something akin to desperation. This was not going to work.

Just then a knock at the door called for his attention. It was Randall. And swear to God if the first thing out a Jack's mouth wasn't, "You know how much child support is?"

"Whut?"

"Never mind. Come on in." Jack wandered right back to the kitchen and slumped into the wicker-bottom chair. He ought to stop and be sociable, but Randall knew 'bout Ennis now, an' he was goin' a know about Jack's plans later if not sooner.

"What are you up to 'round here?" Randall hadn't never been stupid.

"I, well, listen here. I've been thinkin' I need a vacation--"

"You ain't well enough to travel, Jack."

"In fact, was my doc that suggested it, if you'd a let me finish."

Randall held up his arms in a defensive gesture and pulled out the chair across from Jack.

"Rented an RV an' everything."

"When? Where to?"

"Uh..."

"You know I can't get off a work no time soon. Need more notice."

"Oh. Uh, I didn't... I mean, I wasn't... uh."

"Oh. Guess I'm feelin' stupid."

"No, it's alright. I could see how you might a thought that."

"I just don't think it's a good idea, you goin' by yourself with your medical issues."

"I wasn't plannin' on goin' alone."

"Really? I'm surprised Lureen would--"

Jack's eyes shot up and sought Randall's understanding wordlessly, the only way he could muster the courage to ask it.

"Oh," Randall finished. "Well."

"Yeah."

"Well, you think he'll come?"

"Shit if I know, but I gotta try. You understand, dontcha, friend?"

"Yeah, Jack. Sure. I do." Randall's voice was warm, and Jack was inclined to believe him. Randall'd always been a sucker for giving Jack what he wanted. Sometimes Jack even thought he took advantage of that, so unused to it from other arenas. Maybe that was why he guarded Randall's feelings so carefully-- guilt. He could probably think of over a half dozen different reasons why maybe he should feel guilty 'bout Randall. He couldn't ever give back to Randall what Randall wanted, but he could try to couch that disappointment in affection. And he did. Enough to lead the man on worse.

"That what this for?" Randall leaned forward, pointing to this piece of letterhead with exactly two words on it.

"This? This is shit. Bad idea." Jack crumpled it up and shot it like the dying dream it represented, a falling star across the kitchen and into the trash bin to land on top of some tin foil.

"Why dontcha go back to bed, rest up more? You look tired, Jack."

"I'm fine." He sighed. He was tired, but it had nothing to with anything, and laying in bed not planning this thing would only make it worse.

"You don't look fine."

"Listen," Jack felt his patience with Randall runnin' out fast, an' he knew it was so because his pointer finger was comin' up to drive his point home. "I got a week, an' a lot of figurin' out an plannin', so I need you to either help, or leave."

Jack figured he'd hurt Randall some, but it was sort a like that's the way things fell right now, an' he wasn't up to takin' no blame.

Randall proved himself a true friend, though, when his answer was a stifled little, "Alright then. What... what can I do here, Jack?"

Jack really didn't even know how Randall could help. "You know anything 'bout child support?"

"Don't know how I would know that."

"Yeah." Jack felt his hopefulness sapped from him, pulled hand-over-hand out of his chest, leavin' only a tight, empty place. This approach wasn't workin'. He had to think of somethin' different. He didn't know what possessed him then, but an idea struck him so strong. It seemed like maybe the only thing he could think ta do, though he knew if Ennis was ta ever find out, Jack'd be dead for sure.

"What's up?" Randall was eyin' him suspicious, and Jack guessed he was grinnin' like a fox after a rabbit.

But his stomach was doing enough somersaults that he felt like the prey himself. He picked up the phone, dialed 4-1-1, and asked for a listing under Alma del Mar. This time he took down the number, licking his lips, and focused on Randall's bewildered eyes, like maybe he could draw strength from the only source he had, before dialing again.

"Hello?"

Jack's voice failed him at the soft, delicate, feminine one that came across the line, and it was only then he realized he should a thought this out more.

"Hello? Anyone there?" The voice was young, thank God almighty, cause if it'd been Alma Senior he would a never found a single word.

This was a bad idea. Jack briefly thought about hanging up, but what other choice did he have? What other choice? A sense of desperation drove the words from his mouth, and he was genuinely surprised when his first comment was "Hey there," and not a sob.

"Hello?"

"Hi, uh, to whom I speakin'?"

"It's... you called me."

Shit. She had some say-so, that was for sure. Well Jack knew somethin' 'bout sweet talkin' people. "Yeah, I guess I did, huh? Listen here, I'm a friend a your daddy's." Whoever this was, it was a teenage girl. "And I, uh, I need a favor."

"Yeah?" She sounded highly unconvinced. She sounded like he was lucky he hadn't got hung up on.

"I... I'm givin' your daddy a loan. He don't want your mama to know nothin' 'bout it jus' yet, but it's for, uh, child support."

"He can't pay it." It wasn't really a question, and the accusation sidewinding through her statement turned Jack's stomach. It wasn't right for the girl to insinuate such things 'bout her father. Her father was one of the goddamn best fucking people Jack had ever... He realized he was lettin' the line hang silent.

"Now you wait there. He can pay it. I'm just givin' him a gift." Jack was usin' his father voice on her, though he probably had no right. But maybe he did. Or he would like to. Or somethin'. Still, first time in his life that layin' on a lecture to a child felt... freeing. Like saying everything he couldn't.

"Thought you said it was a loan."

"Well, it's more of a gift."

"Does he know 'bout this?" She was a sharp one.

"Uh, no. I just wanted ta cover some a his child support, 'cause I know he ain't got half the money he pretends ta have."

"He don't pretend ta have nothin'. What you know about it? He don't even have no friends. Who is this, huh?"

"Oh, uh, name's Jack Twist. I guess I met you once, but you were jus' a little sprout." Jack saw that Randall was concentrating hard on his dirty fingernails.

She was silent a moment, before she sighed, "oh," like it meant something. Panic tightened Jack's chest. "Oh. Well, this is Alma Junior you're talkin' to."

Jack might a burst into tears of joy at the extension of her trust so suddenly, if he hadn't been so conflicted up with worry at the same time. Did she know, then? Maybe not. Some a Ennis's paranoia might be rubbin' off on him. An' even if she did know, she would a told someone by now if that was her plan.

"Should I take it that you do remember me, then?"

"Hard to forgit, when daddy only ever had one friend in his life."

She sure knew how to shoot dead on. Like her daddy. A course Ennis only had one friend in his life. An' that's me.

Jack didn't say anything for a while, and Junior was a quiet sort. The silence was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, it was just there. The two most important people in Ennis's life, trying each other on for size. Junior, brave girl that she was, found her voice first.

"It's hundred fifty."

"Huh?"

"Francine's child support."

Jack wasn't sure how come Junior should know that, but the wave of relief that hit him was near-physical, pushing him back in is chair. "I, uh."

"Don't mention it." She didn't sound friendly, really. Almost defensive, if he were bein' honest, but he thanked her from the bottom of his heart before he hung up and jotted $150 on his piece of RV notepad. He underlined it twice for good measure, his body was twitching with even more restlessness, if possible.

"You got what you were after?" Randall didn't even look curious about the phone call. Just looked tired.

"Yeah, I sure did." Jack felt plenty tired himself.

"Then maybe now you'll rest for a little bit." It wasn't a statement or a question, but the quiet tide of insistence that Randall could easily call on to move men to his whims on the ranch. That sort a hard-handedness had always worked on Jack. If it hadn't, he wouldn't still be in Childress.

"Yeah, guess I could sit on the couch a spell."

"Let me make you somethin'. Got some leftovers? Turkey?" Randall was smilin' genuine. That man did like his food, an' the one major holiday Jack had utterly missed in a wave a hospital pain and the flow of white through his life, like moonlight on dark water, was Randall's favorite. Jack hadn't spared it nearly a thought, other than bein' rather glad ta escape it. Thanksgiving with the Newsomes was tense in the best a times.

Jack guessed they'd had dinner without him. Lureen had come to visit him that night, he remembered, but not Randall. Thanksgiving was for people who had things to be thankful for, and Jack didn't feel much like he had anything. It was for healthy people livin' in the world. Not for people in the hospital. Randall, when push'ed come to shove, had brushed Jack aside like the previous page on a calendar. Lovely and missed, but in the past. After all, Randall had a baby on the way now, an' with his family was probably where he belonged on the holidays.

And even though Randall was here, Jack knew for certain now, Randall wasn't really here no longer. It was final, ended. That still had so far to go to sink in, but Jack reckoned he would be alright once it did.

After all, Ennis probably hadn't realized it was Thanksgiving, either. He'd said he didn't go to Alma's no more. Probably worked a double shift to cover for folks with families. One day I am going to celebrate Thanksgiving with Ennis del Mar.

Jack wasn't sure where the idea had come from or how it had the guts to be such a confident one, but it was snug like a blanket, so he wrapped himself in it. No too tightly, though, 'cause then he might realize it was as fake as any blanket made a dreams.

By the time Jack was done with this drugged, complacent stream of consciousness, all streams, of consciousness and every other kind, always runnin' back to Ennis if they were starting with Jack, Randall was placing a turkey sandwich in front a him. With grape juice.

"Shit, I'm not some old man has ta drink prune juice."

"It's grape juice. It's supposed to be good for you."

"I don't care if it's Pope juice, I want a beer."

"Jus' drink the juice."

"Shit." Jack didn't have the energy to argue. He did still have enough get-up-and-go, though to stumble across the hall and into the comfortable, white couch.

Before he finished his sandwich, he was fast asleep, wrapped in the soft cotton arms of a Jennifer Convertible. It had never been slept on by a guest before, but Jack sure didn't live here any more, not in his heart. He dreamt sweet dreams about life in an RV on the open road, and not in the least bit alone.

When he woke again, it was evening, that way the evenings came early in winter and seemed all the darker for it. Noises from the kitchen told him Lureen was home. He tried to stand, but the odd sleeping position, along with a sapping concentration of the white haze in his veins, made the pain overwhelming. He couldn't even help it that he cried out.

"Jack, you up?"

"Yeah." He wanted to ask her to bring painkillers, but felt bad askin' her for anything, with all the thoughts he'd been having in his head 'bout how he didn't belong here.

Still, though, when Lureen came out of the kitchen, she was carrying a pill bottle and a glass of water in her damp hands. Taking them from her, Jack lingered, felt that dampness. For better or worse, and maybe because she didn't have no choice, or maybe she was just a kind woman, Lureen was in this with him. She didn't have to fix him a Thanksgiving meal to prove that. He had a better meal anyway, the bland appearance of the white pill not withstanding.

Lureen wasted no time; it wasn't her style. "You takin' a trip or somethin', Jack?"

Jack gulped around a mouthful of water. He nodded curtly. "Rented an RV for Monday. I still gotta plan it, though."

"That sounds alright. You goin' alone?"

The dizzy room in browns and reds and creams collapsed on Jack in that sentence, falling like a real verdict against him. He couldn't do anything to stop the realization that he genuinely did not know the answer to that question. "I hope not." It was the best he could do.

"Well you tell me if you need me to do anythin'."

Sparing her a glance, he saw Lureen was already looking disinterested, eying the cover of a magazine sitting on the coffee table, her own cup of water marked red with lip stick. He'd had to bring the pointer finger to bear on Randall to get him to volunteer the same.

"Yeah, alright." And he meant it.

Jack hadn't been eating much. Just wasn't hungry, an' his stomach was upset lots. Lureen got take-out Chinese, which they'd been doin' more often, as Jack couldn't cook worth shit, not really, just camp food, and Lureen was constantly buried in her books. It tasted alright, an' Jack took the bed in the spare bedroom, not sayin' a word about it, an' hopin' Lureen wouldn't either.

She didn't.

The week went that way. Sometimes Randall would visit, tellin' Jack 'bout what was goin' on in the city while Jack was laid up here in a drug fog. Sometimes Lureen would take ten minutes out a her day to be distracted in Jack's general vicinity, and once she'd even called that "quality time." But through it all, constantly an undercurrent in his thoughts, waking and sleeping, in pain that pounded through his body in waves and made him grit his teeth, in his dull conversations with the ghost of people he called family and friends, in the music videos he was subjected to sittin' on the couch with Bobby an' Danielle, in the shapes his ball point pen made on the RV paper, was The Trip, and all the promises that word was startin' ta acquire for him.

He'd sent the check to the address in the phone book. A snowy mountain of letterhead in the trash can attested to the fact that it hadn't been simple. About a million drafts later, he'd ended up with:

Alma, this is Jack Twist, Ennis friend. I am paying his child support for next month. Check is enclosed. Your choice to take it or not.

In the end that's what it came down to anyways, Alma's choice, so why mince fuckin' words about it.

That was barely the beginning, though, and Wednesday found Jack sitting up at the kitchen table, staring at another piece of paper. He had a plan, he had a plan, and he had no fuckin' choice. He hated to admit his hand was shakin' when he picked up the phone, but there it was for him to see. Jack knew that Ennis wouldn't come with him no way if he had to be at work that week.

"Hello, Rift Prairie Steer." She was a young woman. Sounded like somebody's daughter.

"Hello. Name's Jack Twist, ma'am. I was wonderin' who I should speak to 'bout hirin' off one a your employees fer 'bout a month."

"That'd be Mr. Stoutamire, the owner, sir. Can I forward you ta him?"

"That'd be real nice. Thank ya sweetheart."

"One minute please."

The minute seemed to stretch to an hour, but Jack would wait forever for this conversation. He thought it was nice Mr. Stoutamire ran his own place somewhat. Too many ranch owners totally took themselves out a their own business. Lot a ranches fold that way. Hell, lot a ranches fold other ways, too. At least the name Stoutamire sounded about right, Jack taking comfort in the familiar name. He was closin' in on Ennis like a fox on a rabbit hole, an' it made Jack grin sly enough ta put that fox to shame.

"Hello?"

Jack'd been holding the phone against his ear nearly long enough ta forget he was holding it. After a momentary start, and a whirring of who the hell am I talking to, again? through his thoughts, Jack recouped and advanced. Stoutamire was an enemy until he was a friend, in this dog-cat-mouse game.

"Howdy. Name's Jack Twist. I own a business here in Childress, Texas. We been contracted ta do some work up there in Wyoming. I was lookin' ta hire on a couple men from your area, an' a friend of mine highly recommended one a your employees. What's the chances of pickin' 'im up for 'bout a month."

"Depends. Which employee?" Jack could see how Ennis might get on fine workin' for Stoutamire.

"Ennis del Mar?"

"Now. Mr. Twist, was it?"

"Yeah."

"What kind a comp'ny you said you run?"

"I didn't. We sell heavy-duty farm machinery. Top a the line."

"Well, if you don't mind my askin', why you want a hire someone like del Mar? Best thing he can drive is a quarter horse."

Some other things he's good at drivin', but yeah, he sets a horse like heaven, too. "You see, that's just 'zactly the point I'm drivin' at, Stoutamire. I'm sorry, I missed your first name." It was a strategy he knew and knew well. Get them at least talking on level with you.

"Martin."

"Martin. Surely you can see how someone want a go buy a tractor, they don't want one they can see a salesman drive in circles backwards an' forwards, they want somethin' they know corner like heaven in the hands of the men they hire."

"But why del Mar? He's one a my most useful men, I can tell you, and I'm havin' a shut down my business up here soon. I was countin' on del Mar bein' the last one out a here."

"Well I am sorry ta hear 'bout the business, Martin. Lot a hard times hittin' smaller operations these days, no doubt."

"Yeah. Why del Mar?" Martin Stoutamire, it seemed, was not easily sidetracked.

"I been led ta believe del Mar is the real deal. Ranch stiff all his life." Jack grimaced, havin' to use a less than flattering term to describe his-- to describe what he treasured an' looked up to. But this was a game, a trick, an' he had ta talk to Stoutamire like they understood one another. "I been told he wouldn't bullshit 'bout no equipment bein' good if it was bad, n' that folks 'round that way know him by that reputation."

"Well, whoever you're getting' your information from seems ta know Ennis del Mar, that's for sure."

Yeah, no fucking kidding, buster. "Is that a yes I'm hearin' in your voice?" Jack was well aware he hadn't heard anything a the sort, but he could sell a boat to a dolphin.

"No, wait here a minute. Why in hell should I let go a one of my most trustworthy men? Like I said, I gotta shut this place down, an' likely he won't even have no job to come back to in a month."

"Well, I'd say considering that case, why keep him on for a month when he could have a new job lined up? You surely don't want the man to starve."

"Well, maybe, but I rely on del Mar."

Jack couldn't help that maybe his chest puffed out a little bit with pride, his strong, proud stallion pullin' hard on the reins of his half-shit life. He'd said he was nothing an' nowhere, but Jack was hearin' some different from his boss. "Martin, no wonder you're business shuttin' down if you got only one man you can rely on." It would put Stoutamire on the defensive, and was a risky move, but Jack thought it would be alright.

"Look here. I got two dozen excellent cowboys 'round here. I wouldn't hire no less."

"Then surely you can let one middle-aged man look for work elsewhere."

"Well, it ain't totally up to me now. You talk to del Mar yet 'bout this? Reckon' it's his decision."

Jack knew that too well. It was his living fervent dream, his sleeping dreaded nightmare, the knowledge he tried to erase with opiates. But they even had the power to follow him to that white place. Pain or snow, there they were all the time: Ennis and his decisions.

"You just leave that up to me, now. 'Preciate it if you don't talk to him 'bout this. I got a deal he can't refuse in the works, an' I don't want him catchin' wind." All truths, for once this conversation.

"Don't know 'bout can't refuse. One thing you should know 'bout Ennis is he ain't tempted by things other men like. Tried ta give him a raise, but he wouldn't take it."

He ain't tempted by things other men like. Maybe not other straight men, but Randall likes it just fine, an'... Jack chuckled to Martin. "That so?"

"Yup. Raise mean he had ta cut his vacation time down, and one thing that man don't like to cut for no one is his precious vacation. We can't go givin' away time like that. We got stock needs feeding fifty-two a year, whether Ennis del Mar wants ta be off fuckin' in the mountains or what not."

Jack tried, but he could not restrain the guffaw. It was like strainin' against a two-ton pick-up, or Lureen's will, or Ennis's decisions-- impossible. Stoutamire, it seemed, had bent to trust him, bent to talking, in record time. That man's hyperbole, though, hit too close to home for a straight face. The rest a the news, a silent testament straight from Ennis's boss to Jack of Ennis's feelings, a testament that Ennis himself wouldn't a delivered unless the world were comin' to an end (But hadn't he delivered more a couple weeks ago in the mountains? Or did that count as the world comin' to an end?)-- that rest seeped in slowly an' would have its way with Jack eventually, he was sure. But for now, he had work ta do.

"So, how much can I give ya for del Mar? Seein' as how you might have ta hire someone ta replace him an' all that?" Christ, he hated this, tradin' on Ennis like Ennis had no say in his own life. Ennis might be alright with not givin' Jack a say, but the reverse didn't sit well with him.

"Well. Tell you what, since you're gonna hafta offer him somethin' sweet, how 'bout jus' his normal wages, 'bout fifteen hundred. Plus rent on the trailer he usin', another four hundred."

Jack's thoughts piled in his head on top of each other, one screamin', Christ, that all Ennis makes? The other yellin', That's gonna hurt my saving's account, and no mistake. But it was fine. Jack had the money. He'd been so taken in by his own lie-- an important thing when you're a salesman, ta believe your own lies, an' somethin' Jack had been doin' since he was a boy (and he hoped to God he wasn't doin' it right now, too, 'bout this whole damn trip)-- he was already thinkin' of offering Ennis money for the month. But he was offerin' room an' board, an' something else that couldn't never get reported on a W-2.

Jack agreed, took down the address, wrote the check, an' popped it inta the mail that very day, tellin' Stoutamire that if Ennis showed up fer work on Wednesday next a.m., Stoutamire could keep the money and the man.

Alright. He thought he was prepared. Anything that coulda kept Ennis in Riverton was taken care of, 'cept his girls proper, and there wasn't anything Jack could do about that. There were always some wild cards and compromises in any sale. Jack had ta hope his doctor's warning would outweigh the girls. He felt like crap for even playing that card, and when push come to shove, he wasn't sure that he would. The cancer was real. It had been here. Speaking its name could summon the curse. Admitting his frailty might make it so. Or worse yet, it might bring back in a rush of cold that pain that was worse than anything physical, that pain of seein' Ennis's face clench up tight n'...

Jack couldn't be sure what he would or would not do standin' on the gravel drive of Ennis's trailer, but he felt suddenly sure as stone there wouldn't be no C-word about it. He didn't want Ennis to come out a pity, an' he didn't want Ennis ta come out a fear. If those were his choices, he'd go on the road trip his fuckin' own self. Being guilted an' blamed an' feelin' like scum the whole time would only be worse by a mile and a half.

Most of his task accomplished, Jack spent the next day in bed, tired beyond belief. He wasn't sure how he'd managed ta play that salesman's game ten times a day, day-in and day-out, for years, and yet this one time it'd worn him out completely. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he made a mental note to refill the Tylenol-3 before headin' off. He wasn't runnin' low yet, but havin' it... The little bottle of white pills made a clunky noise, each hittin' the next when he rattled the plastic container. They had a dusty feelin' between his fingertips, and went down easier than a pill of their size really had a right to.

But the best thing about them, the best thing he'd ever known next to one thing, was layin' in bed all day, starin' at the ceiling, an' not feelin' an ounce of pain, or boredom, or heartache, not a hint of guilt or laziness, not even the waft of hunger or thirst. Maybe it was like bein' dead, but if that were so, death wasn't too bad. It was lovely, and stark white clean, and downy with smiles. Dark, and deep, and alone, but quiet and still. Peaceful.

The next day, though, Jack begrudgingly hauled himself out of bed in the late afternoon, and began hauling out old road atlases and maps. It was tiring work, an' he rested often, but seeing his yellow highlighter line slowly snake a trail across half of what he considered the whole known world--. That yellow highlighter line was like sunshine. Those yellow swallowtails from Brokeback were already flitting up along the route to play with dots of varying sizes: cities, towns, and some things that looked like towns but probably weren't more than gas stations. Right now they were just dots, but when Jack looked at the map just the right way, he saw they were memories of a lifetime just waiting to happen.

When Randall visited that day, Jack didn't refuse sleep. But he did make the devil's deal with him. He slept a sound, cotton-colored slumber while Randall put in phone calls to nearly every RV park in the West, only to report later to Jack they were all almost empty and he could go wherever he pleased. Jack should have felt like a jerk for imposing this thing on Randall, but instead he felt just a little be mollified after the insults Randall had had for Ennis over the years, rarely overt insults, but there hanging in the space between them nonetheless. I guess I'm prepared to call it even now. Randall's hangdog look about the ordeal drove the thought home, an' Jack wouldn't ask anything like that from him again.

The week wound down, the calm before the storm. Jack packed a bag, and Lureen helped him, laundering this n' that. Bobby was thrilled that "hookertown" was on his agenda, while Lureen was jealous 'bout California. Jack hadn't thought past the week ahead an' whether he would be retuning to Childress to live full time, but when he had to really think about it, he guessed he would be back here in a month, an' he would bring them souvenirs.

Sunday night, Lureen's parents came over for dinner, and Lureen made a chicken alfredo dish. She mentioned that Jack was goin' on a trip. L.D. showed some sense in protestin', "No father a my grandson gonna drive halfway across the country alone when he's sick."

"His friend goin' with him." Bobby was too innocent to know differently.

No, Bobby, no. Somehow, he didn't know how L.D. knew, but he got the distinct impression the man did, maybe had always. Smelled it on him like a dog. He had his share of feelin' knowed, too, just didn't let it freeze him up the way Ennis did.

Jack could look across the table at Lureen and see those same thoughts echoed back to him twofold. The cold emptiness shifted around the table, L.D. awkwardly frowning at Bobby, while Fayette seemed fascinated with the chicken. Lureen cleared her throat and commented to her mother 'bout the ladies quilting circle, though Lureen didn't quilt and probably didn't much care. No need to go there here an' now. Bobby, no doubt, had noticed something'd gone wrong, but had the sense not to ask, or maybe not to care.

An' finally when all'd been said as could be said, an' all'd been done that could be done, Lureen drove Jack to Brambillas Inc. on Monday morning before work. She kissed him on the cheek and told him to call her if he needed anything, anything at all. He couldn't help himself an' hugged her smaller frame tight to his own. The noise that escaped from her throat didn't escape from his hearing. He had so much to say to her, but the words weren't with him now, so he held her for a minute and hoped that did the trick.

When she was peelin' out, the salesman came over, and showed Jack to his RV. On the outside it was tan-ish with a brown stripe.

The first thing Jack noticed when he stepped inside was, looking straight back with the bathroom door open, the whole place seemed to be arranged around the toilet like it was some kind a shrine.

It would more than serve. Fuzzy green seats divided the driving section from the rest, where a patchwork-colored futon paraded as prime sleeping space, and two patchwork-colored chairs flanked a little fold-out table. The patchwork itself was awful, like someone's turkey dinner had been vomited up at quilting circle, but the chairs were velvety and soft.

The chair section gave way to a kitchen. The sink was small and had a cover so it could be used as a counter. There was a simple patchwork booth seat with a good-size table, an oven and stove, and microwave that looked too small for a piece of pizza. Fridge, freezer, closet, bathroom. The housekeeping package, he found out, was things like pots n' pans and towels, an' he was more than grateful that he'd gotten it, since he hadn't thought to pack any a that shit. He turned down the extra insurance on account of worry about finances (he did have a month of spendin' ahead a him, an' not a limitless supply of cash), let the clerk show him the ropes, and peeled on out of Childress, Texas by ten a.m., his pile a maps and notes splayed across the passenger seat and central island of the driving section like more patchwork to go on chairs.

Jack found the ride rough. The road was bumpy in spots, and after a while all his insides ached, but he was afraid ta take his medicine. The painkillers numbed his senses, slowed his brain. He didn't think he'd be able to stay either on the road or alive if he took 'em while driving (an' it said right on the side a the bottle not to...). By the time evening came, Jack was in enough pain an' felt heavy enough fatigue, just from sitting on his ass all day, to pull into a rest stop, double up his dosage, and sleep a painless, white sleep.

In the morning, he got going again, but stopped more often, napped here n' there. He wasn't ready to admit it yet, but he was weary an' sick with pain by the time he pulled through those same Riverton streets he'd traversed a couple weeks earlier. It was a sad shock ta see that this expert distance driver couldn't hardly do this well-known trip alone. Maybe he could get back ta Texas, where Lureen was waiting. An' if he couldn't, Lureen'd pick him up. Not without some bitchin', but she' come. So no matter what, it'd be alright. So why the hell'm I sweatin' so much? Tuesday late afternoon found Jack in front a Ennis del Mar's trailer home, soaked through with anxious sweat.

An RV crunch on gravel was the only signal Jack sent. The Airstream shimmered in the cold twilight, glowing like it was on fire. Without hardly thinkin' 'bout how he hurt from head to toe, how he hadn't had medicine in hours 'cause he'd wanted to cover those miles before nightfall, Jack leapt down out of the driver's seat onto the hard, cold ground, wrapping his jacket around him.

Jack wasn't yet three steps to the door when it swung open, and he stood face to face, lookin' up into the shimmerin' twilight and dusk of fiery eyes set in age-worn skin. Jack was shamed to say he couldn't read the expression it bore. Angry? Surprised? Relieved? Could it be all three?

"Jack? What you-- How you-- What--" Ennis's eyes flitted back and forth 'tween Jack and the Fleetwood Pace Arrow. Time froze in temperatures that were hoverin' 'round near zero for probably the last time 'til spring. Jack didn't speak. The truth was, he hadn't yet figured out what ta say. But Ennis found a couple words. "Why the hell didn't you call? You have any idea how fuckin' worried I was?"

"Well, you talked to my Mama."

"You heard 'bout that, then?"

"Yeah, she told me." Jack was feeling the ache of every inch of the fifteen feet of space between them, but his everything was balanced on this razor's edge, an' even though he'd come a thousand miles, the last fifteen feet proved the hardest.

Luckily, Ennis must have felt the cold space, too, because he crossed it, and was squeezing Jack, like he had ta believe Jack was real.

"Hey now, I'm alright. Or I will be long as you don't squeeze the air right on out a me." Jack didn't even hug back. He was too preoccupied, wanted ta talk to Ennis before Ennis got him in a state not fit for talkin'. Jack pried Ennis loose, and they stood a moment bashfully. For all them years together, sometimes they were more pathetic than Bobby and Danielle.

"What's all this now?" Ennis gestured towards the RV, wary and frightened by the look of him. He probably had reason to be, but Jack had to pounce before Ennis put his guard up.

"I'm goin' on a road trip."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Where to?"

"Oh, all sorts a places."

"This thing drive alright?"

"She's not too bad. Sort a cranky. Bumpy, you know. Ain't totally mended, so it hurts like the dickens sometimes, but I got painkillers, so I deal."

"Yeah?" Ennis was frownin'. "So, uh, you wanna come in or somethin'?"

"Maybe. But I got some things I want to discuss with you first."

"Out here in the cold?"

"Good a place as any." Jack wanted ta get his answer soon, needed ta keep Ennis off balance so Ennis couldn't ground himself in fear too quickly.

"Alright. Say whut you came here ta say, Jack." Uh oh, he sounds defensive already. Too soon, too soon.

"Well, jus'... I talked to your boss, an' got--"

"You did?"

"Yeah, I talked ta him 'bout hirin' you off a--"

"That why he tol' me good riddance?" Ennis looked pissed now. Fuck.

"I--"

"You talk to Alma, too, Jack? Got a nasty phone call from Alma all 'bout some kind a dirty money. You know 'bout that, Jack?" Ennis's eyes had narrowed to accusing slits.

"I might a given you a little child support help, yeah, friend. Least I can do, since you don't got a job."

"Yeah, an' whose fault is that?" His lips pursed tight.

"Listen, I jus'--"

"You think you can come on up here and mess 'round in my life, huh?"

Jack brought his finger up to bear. "Now, you--"

"Jack fuckin' Twist don't know how to respect a man's privacy if his life depend on it."

"Just needed ta--"

"Fuckin' shit. Didn't ask you for none a it, nothin'."

"Now look here," Jack finally raised his voice, needing to be heard, suddenly aware of how his voice traveled outside to bounce off of neighboring trailers, dull compared to the sunset-Airstream. "I just had 'bout the worst three weeks a my life, an' you think you got a right ta stand out here an' make me feel worse 'bout it, then you can go to hell, Ennis del Mar." And he meant it. "I didn't ask for any a this shit, neither." Feelin' all the pain roaring up with his fiery anger, burnin' up all parts a him inside, Jack turned and started back towards the RV. It was the last time he planned on traveling these steps away from Ennis, though he couldn't begin to know what the ramifications of that would be. Still, somehow he'd know this was the pivot point on which his future turned.

"Well then your memory goin', Jack, 'cause way I remember it, you was askin' loud n' clear since Brokeback. I remember that night, Jack. You was beggin'." Ennis was demanding attention, just a kid throwin' a tantrum in a candy aisle. Jack was too worn out to deal with that boy. He hadn't never signed on to be a father ta the orphan boy, that boy that seemed ta lose his sense of up and down from simply seein' a dead man in a ditch. Well Jack had seen some things, too. He'd seen a horse with its brains blowed out, but it wouldn't never keep him from ridin'.

He turned slowly, letting his eyes meet Ennis's. "Fuck you." He said it so low it didn't hardly carry any anger. In fact, he was surprised to see he wasn't even angry any more. Ennis was trying to defile the mountain, like he'd tried to defile everything that was between them. Jack had long understood that Ennis sometimes cursed this thing, but now was not the right time, pulling out from under Jack the only rock he had left to stand on. There was echoing hollowness where those butterflies used to bang against his heart. Maybe Jack was truly dead, or maybe it was the hammerin' pain makin' everything else obsolete.

"I got bigger problems now, Ennis. Real, life-and-death problems. You still livin' in a ten-year-old's temper tantrum. You ever want to grow up enough to deal with big boy problems... Shit, just fuck you. I gotta go lie down."

And by now, it was more than true. Jack felt sick with pain. He'd stood more, fought more, in the past month than he had in most of his life, felt like, and he'd come to an end, drained of something. Without even knowing if Ennis said anything after that, an' suspecting he did 'cause Ennis didn't like nothing better'n gettin' in the last word, Jack stormed into the RV and fell into the patchwork couch. His body slammed against it in a jolt of pain, and not until he was prone did he remember that the painkillers were in the glove compartment. "Shit," he hissed, but hurt to much. Decided just to lie there for a couple minutes. Feel better first, then go get 'em. Jack gritted his teeth and floundered to find his breath, glad he hadn't broken down entirely in front of Ennis, anyway.

But Jack heard the RV door swing open with a curse. Jack went on ignorin' it. Had he had more energy, he might a roused more, give Ennis a lecture 'bout who's invading who's space now. But he just lied there, in some ways just the shadow of the real Jack inside his head.

"You alright? You don't look-- Don't you got those painkillers? Sumthin'?"

"In the glove compartment." Jack kept his eyes closed, jaw tight against the pain.

Ennis fished them out, rummaged in the kitchen area to find a glass, and filled it with water. He brought them both to Jack: pale white life and the quench for his thirsts, in Ennis's hands.

"How many?"

"Give me two."

Ennis squinted at the bottle, holdin' it at arms length. "You sure? Time I tore my shoulder or whatever they had me take sumthin'..."

"Give me two goddamn pills, you bastard!"

"Shit."

Jack swallowed hungrily, needing to go to the place only they could take him. The double dose swam fast into his blood. The pain eased down, cowering before the setting sun's intruding rays that seemed a gentle stream of golden water, water made of air, floating through the Arrow.

When Jack woke again, it was full dark. The moon was new: a month since the mountains. He must have missed a full moon when he was in the hospital. Through the pitch darkness, though, he smelled nicotine and saw a red flare light its way across the black gulf of RV.

"Ennis. That you?"

The red light flickered, moved a bit. Wordlessly it rose an' came towards him. "You cold?"

"Maybe a little."

A blanket hit him square in the chest. Ennis just stood there. They couldn't see each other through the darkness, but they didn't have to be able to see each other to look into each other's eyes no more.

"Jack, I'm... ," Ennis's voice cracked, like a teenager's, like young love, fear, restlessness. "Look, I didn't mean them things I said. Jus' don't sit right..."

"I know, Ennis." Jack sat up taller to speak to him. "I just don't got the time n' energy ta have these fights with you no more. Right now.. right now I need some things you might not know how ta give me, and truth is, I jus' don't know what ta do about it."

"Yeah, an' I see that." Ennis reached out and gripped Jack's shoulder.

"You jus'..."

"Hush now. I'm tryin' a apologize proper here. I just... can't believe I said them things."

"It's alright."

Ennis removed his hand from Jack's shoulder an' toyed nervously with his cigarette. "Nuh-uh, it ain't alright. That night... just can't believe I said them things. Just about one a the best nights a my life. You always the brave one, an' the thanks you get from me... I guess I'm a real jerk, huh? Spoutin' that shit, an' even at a sick man."

"Naw, Ennis, come on. You'd be a jerk even if I weren't sick."

"I know it."

"An I ain't that sick, you know."

"Could a fooled me."

"Jus' a little pain. Gotta give me some kind a break. Just got out a the hospital."

"Yeah. An' how was you thinkin' a takin' this trip, huh? Can't even stand in my driveway." Ennis sat on the patchwork next to Jack's back, shoving him over a bit. Before Jack knew it, he was being pulled back against Ennis's warm chest, the blanket tucked lightly around him. He leaned back n' sighed like a girl, an' didn't even care, 'cause that hole only Ennis filled had been ripped wider an' wider, an' needed more filling now than maybe ever.

Jack shrugged, still drug hazy.

"Your doctor know 'bout this?"

"Was his idea."

"Was his idea ta go drivin' all over kingdom come with an RV size a Mount Moran, huh?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You ok? What-- what's this? Sort a like a, like a last..." Ennis made a sound in his throat and Jack had to shut his eyes against the darkness closing in. Maybe that's why Ennis had been so damn short to anger. He'd seen Jack maybe was turnin' up here to proclaim a death sentence to them all, an' wasn't it nature ta shoot the messenger?

"Hell no. No last nothing. My doctor just felt like maybe I'd earned myself a vacation."

"So you doin' alright?"

"Best as can be expected."

"You sure you don't gotta be back there?"

"Ennis. I am a grown man. I am capable of havin' a intelligent conversation with my own doctor."

"Right."

Jack made a stab in the dark, fishin' for the glow of Ennis's cigarette.

"Hell no."

"What the hell."

"You got your health now."

"An what about your health?" He felt Ennis shrug.

"Anyway," Jack continued, "you know I am still mad at you for pullin' that stunt out there, bringin' it back to that. You really wish I never went for none a this that night on the mountain, huh?"

"Naw," he sighed, "you know that ain't true. An' 'sides, don't matter what I wish for," Ennis said quiet.

"You know it matters to me, Ennis."

"Ain't... ain't no use in wishin' 'bout the past noways. Can't change it."

"You know you could stop blamin' me for things I did twenty years ago that, as I recall, you seemed ta like at the time."

Ennis grunted, but it was amused. "What you say to Alma, anyway. She was real worked up."

"She called you?"

"Yeah. I gave Junior my number, since now I got one. Alma was... well, she was in fine form. Heard your name mentioned a couple times. Alma don't swear, but she get her anger across in other ways."

"Imagine so."

"You just send her a check?"

"An' a note. Basically sayin', 'here's Ennis's check.'"

"How you know how much?"

"Talked to Junior."

Ennis grew still an' silent at that. "You talked ta Junior?"

"Yeah. Sweet kid. Real smart, real cautious, but she gets to the point. Lot a her daddy in her."

"Reckon' so."

"Don't worry, I won't go runnin' off with your kid, Ennis."

"Better fuck not," but he chuckled a little bit.

"Anyway, I got a get back to sleep, I'm gonna head back ta Texas in the morning."

"I thought you was goin' on this road trip?"

"You know as well as I do I ain't good 'nough ta go it alone." Jack tried to keep the sadness from his voice, but failed. Miserably.

"I still owe you that favor?"

Jack blew a breath out a his mouth. "Reckon you do... that was some shit in an' of itself."

"Yup, you... You a good man, Jack. Stand up for your word."

"Yeah, well, an' not always. But you know that."

"I sure do. Guess I held you accountable for breakin' promises you didn't make."

"Guess so."

"But I broke plenty a ones I didn't make, neither."

Jack turned his head, all ears.

"I sure wish I could come on this trip with you, Jack."

"But you can't." The three words were bitter all over.

"Nope."

"An' why's that?"

"I ain't been invited."

Jack knew then this must all be a dream. The nighttime and the fading sounds of darkness in his ears were pulling him away from Ennis too soon, but he managed to mumble still, "Well, you want a come, then?"

The sound Ennis made was like laughter, but all he said was, "I'm unemployed now, guess I got no choice."

When Jack woke again, he thought for a moment it had been a dream, until he heard the sound that'd roused him up. For the rest of his life he thought it'd be music to his ears, an' sittin' up to look behind him towards its source, his breath failed him. Ennis was leanin' over the booth table, all of Jack's maps spread in front a him, shufflin' an' cursin' an foldin' an' unfoldin', a shaft of golden dawn light making a beam from the window across where he, an' the maps, an' all of it, stood. Ennis n' the trip together, framed in liquid gold on the plastic table.

"Happy Thanksgiving."

The two words drew a puzzled look from Ennis, who said in response, "you can't get a proper road atlas or nothin'?"

But Jack didn't mind, 'cause he knew-- what had been set before him now was the finest banquet any pilgrim ever seen.

Jack weren't one ta pass up good food, neither. Feelin' about a million times better after of full night a sleep, Jack pissed, then went to work next to Ennis, refolding maps, distracting Ennis best he knew how with the stretch of his body.

Before even half the maps was folded, Jack was hard at work showin' Ennis that the golden banquet table was indeed big enough for two.