Page 3 of The Last Road Trip

Harriet

My eyes open to darkness and cold. The car sits in a driveway I don’t recognize, windows fogged slightly, the engine quiet. I push myself up in the passenger seat, my neck stiff, mouth dry. Concerningly, the twins aren’t in the backseat, nor is Buck beside me. I’m alone in the car.

I blink hard, trying to orient myself, which is increasingly difficult because my head feels thick. The last thing I remember is Buck driving, the twins in the back with their phones, and me falling asleep after drinking the water Buck handed me.

Slowly, I check my phone in the cupholder and see I’ve been asleep for three hours.

I press my palm against the window, clearing a small circle in the fog. Through it, I can see Buck’s brother’s house. It’s a split-level with a covered porch and lights glowing in every window. My family went inside without me. I’d been looking forward to this visit for weeks. Buck’s brother had moved to a lake house last summer, and this is our first chance to see it. I packed extra towels and the good sunscreen. I’d wanted to spend time with my family on the ride down, and now I’ve ruined the start of our trip by falling asleep. And now I’m sitting in a cold car.

My hand finds the door handle. I push it open. My legs are stiff as I swing them out, feet hitting the gravel driveway with a crunch. For a moment, I consider staying put. Letting them wonder where I am, making them come looking. But that’s not me. I’ve never been the type to make a scene.

On the porch, I turn the handle of the front door and step inside, the warmth of the house feeling nice compared to the chill of evening outside. Voices filter from the living room—Buck’s low rumble, his brother’s higher laugh, the occasional comment from one of the twins. I follow the sound, dropping my purse on a chair in the entryway and shrugging off my coat.

Buck and his brother, Gary, are sitting in matching recliners, beers in hand, feet propped up. Meanwhile, Coris sprawls on the couch and Maren leans against the doorframe. I’m not sure where Gary’s wife, Christine, is.

No one looks up when I enter.

“I’m awake,” I say, unsure if I should be angry at myself or them.

Buck turns, surprise flashing across his face before it settles. “Harriet! There you are. Feeling better? You looked ill so I let you be.”

“So your response was to leave me alone in the car?” If I was truly ill, it would make more sense to guide me to a nice warm bed, rather than leave me.

Buck shrugs, a casual lift of one shoulder. “You looked peaceful. We figured you needed the rest.”

“That may have been true, but I was there for three hours.”

“Well, you’re the one that fell asleep,” he says, turning back to his beer. “That’s not my fault.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Coris says from the couch, not looking up from her phone. “It’s not Dad’s responsibility to wake you.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Maren adds, pulling out her earbud. “We were just letting you rest.”

I stand in the middle of the room, my family arranged around me in a perfect circle of dismissal. No one meets my eyes. No one acknowledges the strangeness of what happened—how deeply I slept, how completely I vanished from their thoughts. I’m going to have to drop it though, because I’m starting to get upset and that will do no good.

Since they’re busy, I drift to the kitchen. There’s the sound of pans clacking, so I bet Christine is in there. The unmistakable smell hits me before I reach the kitchen. Fish. I pause in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and watch Buck’s sister-in-law move efficiently around the small space. On a cutting board beside the stove lies a large fillet of salmon, its pink flesh glistening under the kitchen lights.

She looks up when she notices me, offering a smile. “Harriet! You’re awake. Feeling better?”

“I’m fine,” I say, the automatic response. “Can I help with anything?”

She shakes her head, turning back to the stove. “Almost done. It’s just fish and some roasted vegetables. Buck mentioned the family was excited about it.”

My stomach drops. Not only because it’s fish, but because she says my husband, who knows I’m allergic, knew about it. “Fish?”

She nods, reaching for a wooden spoon. “Salmon. Buck and the girls requested it once you all got here.”

My face goes still.

“I need to talk to Buck,” I say, already turning away.

He’s still in the living room. I stand at the edge of the room until he notices me—which takes longer than it should—then beckon him with a finger.

He makes a show of reluctantly putting down his beer and pushing himself out of the recliner. “What’s up?”

I lead him to the small hallway between the living room and kitchen, keeping my voice low to not cause a scene. “Did you tell your brother we wanted fish for dinner?”

“Yeah, while you were sleeping. Why?”