Page 2 of The Last Road Trip

“How was your week at the store?” I ask, folding my hands in my lap. My right thumb moves over the smooth rose gold of my wedding band, tracing the tiny dot of its diamond. The skin beside it feels empty without my great-great-great-grandmother’s ring. The thin gold wire and its small oval garnet remain locked in the bedroom closet safe back at the house. It’s a placement Buck insisted on to keep the heirloom from getting lost. I drop my thumb and let my hands fall still against my jeans.

“Fine,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road.

The radio is already on some sports talk show with two men arguing about a player’s contract. Buck turns it up a notch.

“Any word on when the remodel is starting?”

He grunts in response. Okay, this is my fault. Naturally, he doesn’t want to talk about work. I wouldn’t want to on my day off either.

“I downloaded a trivia app,” I say, pulling out my phone. “It’s got all kinds of categories. Might be fun to play together.”

“I’m focused on driving, Harriet,” Buck says, voice flat.

“Oh, we don’t have to play a game then. Do you think your brother and Christine will mind that we’re not bringing a dish?” I was raised to always bring something homemade to people’s homes while visiting, and I was going to this time, but Buck said Gary and Christine were making dinner, and I didn’t want to impose. As long as we don’t have fish—I’m allergic—I’m okay eating anything.

“I don’t know, Harriet. Can we please not talk?”

From the backseat, there’s not a word. Just the occasional tap of fingers on glass from the girls’ phones. I’ll give everyone a few minutes to themselves. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to expect conversation so quickly. After all, we have about two hours of this drive. There’ll be time.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s take turns picking songs,” I offer, instead.

Buck reaches for the dial and changes the station. Now it’s classic rock.

“Okay, you can go first,” I say, since he has taken the liberty to do so.

Buck points at the center console without looking at it and asks me to pull out the bottle of water in there. I do.

“Thirsty?” I ask.

“I got that for you.”

My chest warms despite being rebuffed for quality time. He thought of me. It’s such a small thing, but it means so much to me.

“Thank you,” I say, unscrewing the cap.

The water is cool going down, yet a little sweet. Wondering if he put in one of those flavoring packs, I take another sip, then another. The bottle is half empty when I finally set it in the cup holder beside me.

We merge onto the highway, heading north toward Buck’s brother’s place. I close my eyes for just a moment, letting the motion of the car lull me.

When I open them, something feels wrong. My eyelids are too heavy, my vision slightly blurred at the edges. I blink hard, trying to focus on the road signs flashing past the window.

“You okay?” Buck asks, not turning.

“Fine,” I say, the word coming out slower than I intended. “Just tired.”

He nods. “Rest. I’ve got this.”

My head tips toward the window before falling and smacking against it. Ouch. I straighten with effort, forcing my spine against the seat. It’s difficult to move. The car feels like it’s moving too fast now, or maybe I’m moving too slowly. My hands feel strange in my lap, like they belong to someone else.

“Mom?” One of the twins—Coris, I think—says from the back. “You look weird.”

“I’m fine,” I say again, but the words are thick in my mouth.

My phone is in my pocket. I should text Kwemby. He’d know what to do. But my arms won’t move, and underneath that, there is the guilt I get sometimes. Kwemby asked me out before Buck and I even met. Not wanting to ruin our friendship, I said no. At twenty-five, I stupidly believed that love had to be loud, complicated, and look like the traditional picture Buck eventually offered, rather than the quiet, effortless safety Kwemby had given me for free. I thought love in friendship could not equal love in relationships. Yet, late at night, sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like had I said yes.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my life and my girls, but every now and then it seems like Buck merely tolerates me. Deep down, I know Kwemby and I would have had more passion.

Chapter 2