“Looks like we’re sleeping here,” she says, and I look around. There’s the backseat, where the Porcupine is currently lying on her side next to a shiny, satiny lavender pillowcase, and there are the two front seats. The backseat could possibly be comfortable for one.

She offers me the backseat but I insist she take it, and we compromise on each getting it half the night. Before we close our eyes, Aisha checks surfingsofas.com and finds that both of our requests were viewed and not responded to. Yes, people do suck. In a last-gasp effort, even though it’s almost eleven p.m., Aisha posts a message on the surfingsofas.com Salt Lake City bulletin board.

My friend and I are sleeping in my car because our credit card wasn’t accepted at a hotel. We’re good people and we’re just here overnight. Anyone willing to put us up? We would clean your house if you’d take us in. Seriously. Call or text me at 406-555-2355.

Aisha curls up in the backseat, her head resting on the lavender pillow, and I recline the passenger seat back as far as it will go, so my head is inches away from her knees. I turn my head left and she’s lying on her side, looking at me. She smiles, and I smile back.

“There’s something kind of peaceful about this, isn’t there?” she says.

“Yeah.”

“The first night after my dad kicked me out, I slept like this and it felt like I was the only person in the world.”

I imagine being alone in a car, and then alone in the world, parentless, on my own. It’s an exhilarating and horrifying idea, and I have to close my eyes.

“Sometimes at home,” I say, “I sit on the radiator in my room and stare out the window into other windows across the way. All the blinds are closed, so I’m not, like, a perv. I just sit and think what it would be like to be in another life completely. Like, not in mine.”

Aisha nods. “What hurts you so bad, Carson Smith?” she asks.

I look away, out the front windshield at the mostly empty parking lot. Someone’s parked a U-Haul truck that takes up two spaces. Whose truck is that? What does their life feel like? Where are they running off to? I think of sitting on my radiator at home, and all the times in my life I’ve fantasized about taking off. I want to believe these people are going someplace better, someplace warmer, maybe. Happier. I have to believe that. Because if I don’t believe that, maybe life isn’t worth living.

I hear Aisha sit up. I keep looking out the window at the empty parked cars, and then she hugs me from the side, around the seat. I hold my breath and start to count, and then I stop counting and try to just let the hug happen.

What is it that those people have that I never have?

Oh. This.

I’ve never had this. I’ve had lots of things, but never this sort of connection. Aisha’s left arm falls across my chest, and a warm feeling radiates down my spine. I breathe a little bit into the hug.

When she releases the hug, I want to cut the tension with a joke, and I have three pulling at my tongue. Instead, I say, “Kayla had no idea what she was missing. And you’re not the only person in the world.”

She lets the words float there for a bit.

“Neither are you,” she says.

I reach back with my hand, and at the same moment, she reaches her hand forward, and we hold each other’s hands that way until we fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, I find I don’t sleep so well sitting up. Aisha is softly snoring in the back, and I am suddenly wide-awake. I feel around down near my feet and find my grandpa’s journal. It’s like we’re having an ongoing conversation, and even if it’s one-way, I want it to continue. I read by the light of the moon.

And then, underneath, in shaky handwriting:

I feel numb. It’s like my grandfather lives inside my chest. I’m not a drunk, but I know that exact feeling, like, Screw the world, nobody loves me. It’s immature, but I’ve had that thought tons of times. Is that a Smith thing?

Do you grow out of it?

I think of my dad. He hasn’t grown out of it. He acts like the world has screwed him. I get that, but I don’t want to live my life feeling that way.

My grandfather has lived more than thirty years since writing this. I wonder if he still feels that way, or if he got over it. I try to imagine what he’s like now. I have to believe he got past it. In that letter from last year, he sounded different. Wiser. How did that happen? Could he teach me?

MY NECK HURTS when we wake up. Aisha had the backseat the whole night, and I’m fine with it. More important is to figure out what the hell to do for a whole day in Salt Lake City.

Aisha drives us to a highway rest stop, and while she goes to the bathroom, I call my mother.

“Hey Mom.”

“Hi honey. How are you doing?”

“I’m good. We’re good. Really good, actually. Um, one thing though. The card was declined?”

“The credit card? It was? What were you trying to do?”

“Get a hotel room,” I say, quickly scanning my brain. Did I tell her we had a place to stay?

“I thought you were staying with friends of Aisha’s?”

Crap. “Yeah. Um. That fell through.”

“Where are you, honey?” I can hear the icy concern in her voice.

“Um.” I take a couple of seconds to think out my options. I land on the truth. “Utah.”

“Honey. I thought you were in Wyoming. I’m not sure I care for you running around the country without my knowing where you are.”

I don’t say, But you said, “Whatever you think.”

“Where did you sleep?”

I gulp. “The car.”

“Honey.”

“It’s fine. It’s just gonna be one more day. We have someone we need to see tomorrow morning, and then we’ll come back,” I say, knowing it’s possible that’s not true. If Lois knows something about where my grandfather is, we may need to keep going. But I guess I can come up with another excuse then.

“No,” Mom says.

“What?” I’m actually jarred. I cannot remember her ever telling me no before.

“You need to come back. Your father. You’re here to help me take care of your father.”

“But you don’t need my help. I sat around all day in Billings doing nothing. Can’t I just have today and tomorrow?”

“No,” she says, her voice gaining confidence. “That’s enough now. I’ll call the credit card company. No. Forget that. I’ll wire you money, a hundred dollars. Just enough to get home and for an emergency. Okay?”

I close my eyes. My head is buzzing out of control. “No,” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, Mom. I don’t mean to upset you. There’s something we have to do. When have I ever done the wrong thing, like, ever? You need to trust me on this one.”

She takes a deep breath. “I hear that you feel the need to spread your wings and have some adventures. But this isn’t the right time. You need to come back here. We’ll talk about this later, when you get home. Find me a place where I can wire you money for gas. Then I want you to just drive straight through. Promise me.”

My throat feels cold. Every muscle in my body feels tight. She’s telling me no for the first time in my life, and as much as I’ve maybe wanted that in the past, right now no is not an answer I can take. I need to go farther. I need to find my grandfather. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever needed to do.