Page 12 of The Last Road Trip

She nods, already turning away. “Coming right up.”

The waitress returns with a fresh pot. This one is smaller than the first, with a handwritten label on the side. She pours two cups, the coffee darker and richer than what was in my first mug. The smell alone is enough to make my mouth water.

“Pie in a minute,” she says, setting the pot on the table between us. “Holler if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, Connie,” he says, already reaching for the cream. “You’re a lifesaver.”

She gives him a mock salute, then slips away to check on the couple in the corner.

“So,” Kwemby says, setting down his mug. “You called a lawyer. What’s next?”

The question is so straightforward that for a moment I can’t answer. Not because I don’t know—the lawyer’s name and appointment time are in my phone—but because it’s the first time anyone has asked me what I want to do next. Not what Buck would prefer, or what’s best for the twins, or what will keep the peace. Just what I, Harriet, want to happen.

“I have an appointment on Monday,” I say, finding my voice. “Ten o’clock. Ronetta Well at Well and Heart, on Maple Street back home. The receptionist asked if I was in a safe situation.”

“Are you?” Kwemby asks, his voice careful.

“Yes, I think.”

He nods, accepting my answer without pushing. “Where are you staying tonight? Not with Gary and Christine, I’m guessing.”

I shake my head. “I’ll book a hotel.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Even with the twins around, I don’t trust Buck.”

“Me neither, but I’ll be fine,” I say, the words automatically.

“I know,” he replies. “Doesn’t mean you should have to be.”

The waitress appears with two thick slices of cherry pie on small white plates. They look homemade. The top crust is a buttery gold, coated in a layer of coarse sugar crystals. Inside, the filling is glossy red, crowded with whole cherries.

I thank her, though I’m not sure she hears. She’s already moving to the counter to refill an older man’s coffee.

“These are amazing,” I say, taking a bite.

Kwemby nods, already halfway through his. “Connie’s recipe. She won’t give it to me, though. Says some secrets are worth keeping.”

We eat in comfortable silence as the diner begins to empty around us. Soon it’s just us and Connie, who’s wiping down the counter, giving us the privacy of pretended busyness. With the place less crowded, our knees brush under the table. Neither of us pulls away. It feels completely natural.

“What about the twins?” Kwemby asks when we’ve finished our pie. “Have you talked to them?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. They were still at the house when I left. Buck was...” I pause, searching for the right word. “Explaining. Making it sound like I was overreacting. Like it wasn’t a big deal.”

His jaw clenches. “It’s a big deal,” he says, his voice low. “Drugging your wife is a crime, Harriet. It’s not just disrespectful, it’s dangerous. What if you had never woken up in that car?”

The word lands inescapable between us, because it’s the truth. Who knows what would have happened, but either way, Buck was willing to take the risk.

“I know,” I say. “I’m starting to realize how many things I’ve been ignoring and the twins are, too.”

“I get it. It takes time to see what’s right in front of you after being in it for so long. Are you going to report him, though?” Kwemby asks, his gaze intensifying. “Are you going to press charges?”

I know he wants me to say yes, but doesn’t want to force me. It’s my decision. I think of the paperwork, the police station, the look on Maren and Coris’s face if their father was in handcuffs. “I don’t know,” I admit. “My lawyer asked the same thing. Right now, I just want to be free. I don’t know if I have the stomach for a criminal case, but the thought of him getting away with it makes my blood run cold. My first reaction was to get away.”

We talk for a few more minutes until I yawn, having had a long day.

He pats my arm. “It’s late. Want to meet here at the same time tomorrow? I’ll make sure the coffee’s better.”

I laugh. “You’re on,” I say, already reaching for my purse. “Thanks for the pie and listening to me complain for an hour.”