Page 107 of Wreckage and Rain

"Yeah."

"Better than I deserve, that you asked."

I lift my head and look at him.

"Drive."

He pulls back onto the highway.

***

We don't make it to Charleston tonight.

Colt finds a hotel off the interstate in Tennessee. He doesn't ask if I want to stop. He takes the exit and I let him. He orders food. We eat on the bed. After a while I lean against him and he shifts so my head is on his shoulder, and we stay like that until the food goes cold. I shower alone. I'm too tired for company. When I come out he has turned off the light.

"Come here," he says.

I come. His arm goes around me and I fall asleep with one hand on his chest and the other curled into my own ribs.

In the morning we drink bad coffee and get back in the car.

***

We cross into the Lowcountry in the afternoon. The air through the vents goes salt, pluff mud, and something almost jasmine but not yet. I roll the window down even though it's too cold for it. Charleston smells like home and like the worst thing that ever happened to me. I've decided, on this trip, that I'm going to let it be both at once.

The B&B on Queen Street is a yellow Federal house with a haint-blue porch ceiling and a woman named Lorna at the desk who knows my mama from church.

"Summer King. Lord have mercy. Look at you."

"Hi, Miss Lorna."

"Two rooms?"

"Two rooms, please."

She raises an eyebrow exactly one quarter of an inch. Doesn't say a word. Hands us two keys. Two rooms on the second flooracross the hall from each other. Colt carries the bags and doesn't comment on the configuration.

"Dinner at the diner at seven," I say at the door of my room. "Mama is making everything."

"I'll be ready."

"You okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Colt."

"Yes."

"Don't flinch when my daddy shakes your hand. He is going to grip like he's testing for fractures. You handle it."

"I'll handle it."

I close my door. Sit on the edge of the bed. Look at my hands.

I'm back in Charleston.

I'm back in Charleston with my husband.