Page 46 of When In Doubt

I take a deep breath and head to the navigation app. Once the directions are loaded I slot it into the holder he’s got attached to the dash and we settle in as he pulls out of the lot.

We don’t talk much for the first half hour. I lean my head against the cold glass of the window and watch the scenery pass us by as we head out of town and up onto the highway. Oscar asks about what the fair’s going to be like and I run him through my plans for the setup.

I can’t take my eyes off the mountains. I know it’s cliché, but it’s hard not to feel like every problem I’ve ever had fades into insignificance when faced with their scale. The whole time we lived in Connecticut I used to google the Rockies, spend hours poring over any image I could find, trying to feel the same way I felt growing up. Trying to feel like I was home.

“You can go to sleep if you want,” Oscar mumbles. “We got a little while to go.”

“I’m good.” I straighten in my seat like I’m trying to prove it.

He reaches behind his chair and digs around, one hand still on the wheel. I turn to help but he finds whatever he’s looking for before long. His arm snakes into the front and a paper bag drops into my lap.

“There’s breakfast if you want it.”

“Really?” I open up the bag to find six different pastries, each one wrapped in paper.

“I didn’t know what you would want so I got a mix.”

I examine the selection more closely.

“Which one do you want?” I hold out the bag for him to choose but he waves me away.

“Whatever you don’t have is fine.”

Unease licks up my spine, my instincts telling me that this is probably some kind of trap. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He frowns, casting a quick glance my way. I hesitate, waiting for him to say something else, but there’s nothing.

I pull out an almond croissant and start unwrapping it. Oscar looks my way again and it feels like he stares for half a second too long, because my hand’s out before I know what I’m doing. “Did you want this one?”

He chuckles. “Just eat the croissant, Freya.”

My face flames and I start chewing in silence. Oscar roots around in the bag until he finds something he’s happy with, and promptly has it wolfed down in around four seconds. I guess firefighters are used to eating fast.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” I say after a few minutes of silence. I thought I could just leave it, but my brain keeps catching on the idea, and I need to know.

“Anything,” he says easily.

I take a deep breath. “What did your mom mean about Jamie Riley?” There was real vitriol in the way she talked about him. I know how she feels. I got on his radar about halfway through fifth grade and after that it was relentless. Calling me names, hiding my stuff. He realized that I would freak out if anybody touched my food and made a point of messing with it any day he could. My mom went to the school a bunch of times but it only stopped when we were twelve and he moved to a different school. I never knew why he left.

Oscar winces and I knot my fingers in my lap. “Not about to drop that, huh?”

“Did you know him?”

His jaw works from side to side. “I saw him around.”

“And when you said you got into it…”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

The vaguest memory flickers, like a shadow at the edge of my vision. “Wasn’t there a kid who punched him? Right before he left?”

“Uh, yeah.” His cheek twitches in a chagrined smile.

“It was you?”

“It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“Why would you do that?”