Ashes, Ashes

2 - Assembly

Parker's car bumped noisily over the rutted dirt road. A cloud of dust rose up behind us, obscuring the rearview like the past was getting erased as we swept by. I could hear the gravel getting kicked up into the undercarriage, pinging against the metal and leaving little dents in the paint. He must've been pissed. Parker's always been real careful with his things, always been proud to show them off. It must've killed him to know his brand new SUV was getting dirty and scratched up.

But his was the only car big enough to carry us all, and the only one with a chance of getting us out if the roads turned bad, so he had to suck it up and drive.

There were six of us in all. Seven, I guess, if you count Laurel's ashes in the box between my feet. Parker at the wheel, his dirty blonde hair slick to his head with sweat, the collar of his dress shirt damp. His wife Dawn in the passenger seat, head lolling against the window as she dozed. It's not that long of a drive -- barely two hours -- but Dawn was like a kid; five minutes in a car and she started to fall asleep. 

In the middle row, Abby and Richard, separated by a mound of camping supplies. Abby was wearing a gray hoodie that didn't fit her right, and it seemed to dwarf her small frame.  Richard had a few days of unshaven dark stubble and hair that had overgrown the military-style high-and-tight haircut, making him look a little unkempt. 

Liza was squeezed into the back with me, weeping quietly. Tears glistened against her mahogany cheeks, free-flowing rivers that made me honestly a little jealous. She'd been crying on and off all day. I hadn't cried, not at the service last week, not even on the night Laurel died, and I was starting to think I probably never would. I could imagine the tears sitting inside of me, dammed up somehow. Did tears go rancid, I wondered? Did they get sour like stagnant rainwater, a foul-smelling puddle? If you never let them out, did they just sit inside you and rot? 

Outside, the clouds were knitting together into a gray blanket, slowly smothering the blue sky. The further we drove, the thicker they became, white folding into gray folding into black. The mountain peak had been hidden behind clouds this morning, when we started toward it; now that we were on the mountain road, we were climbing up into those same clouds. 

"Looks like a storm," Abby murmured, craning her neck to peer out the window. "I hope it doesn't snow." 

"If it does, I'm sure it'll clear up by the end of the weekend," Richard said. He wasn't looking outside. He had his phone out and was staring at it, scrolling aimlessly through some or another social media feed. "You know New Mexico weather. If you don't like it, wait five minutes." 

"You know, we could just turn around." Parker glanced up, looking at us in the rearview mirror. The lenses of his glasses flashed, making it impossible to see his eyes. "It's not like Laurel's gonna know if we don't do this. Spend a weekend partying in the woods, leave her ashes on the nightstand, I don't think she'll care either way." 

"Don't be a dick, Parker." My voice was sharper than I'd meant, wounded and defensive. 

"I may be a dick," he agreed, "but at least I have a dick." 

I felt my skin go hot. My hands curled into fists in my lap. 

"Dude. Not cool." Richard leaned forward in his seat, like maybe he was going to reach up and hit him, but the seatbelt caught him. He stopped, one fist raised, and then lowered it slowly, looking sheepish. 

"I'm just teasing. Didn't mean to, ah, hit below the belt." A derisive snort. From where I was sitting, I could just barely see the flash of bared teeth in the mirror as Parker grinned back at us. "Everybody's so tense." 

"Gee. I wonder why that could be," Richard shot back, still straining against the seatbelt. "It's almost like our friend just died, and at least some of us fucking care." 

"I care, all right? I'm driving, aren't I?" Parker slapped the wheel, accenting his point, and the car lunged sideways a little. 

In the front passenger seat, Dawn roused, sitting up. In a disoriented, sleep-choked voice, she asked, "Everything ok?" 

"It's -- " Parker started. 

"Totally fine," Richard interrupted, loudly. "Your husband's just being a doucher." 

My pulse throbbed at my temple. A stabbing pain started up behind my eye, like a repeated jab into my brain. My fists hurt from being clenched too tight. "You don't have to defend me, Richard." 

Dawn made an inarticulate, confused noise, shifting in her seat to blink back at all of us. Her hair had mostly escaped from the bun she'd twisted it up into, and it stuck out in weird angles around her face. A thin crust of drool formed a trail down at the corner of her mouth, and there was a pink circle on her forehead from where it had been pressed to the window as she slept. 

Liza sniffed loudly and shifted down in her seat, drawing her legs up to her chest. She stared at the seatback in front of her, unblinking and quiet. 

"Let's all just go back to not talking," Abby suggested. 

Silence once more overtook the car, and all I could think was: What the hell happened to us? We all used to be so close. 

And then, hot on its heels, another less charitable thought: How can I handle being with these people all weekend without wanting to murder them?