Page 35 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

I grinned over the steering wheel. Londyn McCormack was one of a kind.

Traffic was light, per usual, as I drove across Summers toward my parents’ place. We had a standing dinner every Monday night—had for sixteen years. Tonight was one of the few times I’d contemplated skipping.

I looked forward to Mom’s cooking and shooting the breeze with Dad over a glass of scotch. But I had a limited number of nights with Londyn. More now than there had been this morning.

Moira’s plan had backfired. Maybe she’d meant to chase Londyn out of town, but she didn’t understand Londyn’s attachment to that car. Most wouldn’t unless they knew her story. That Cadillac was woven into her life. It was her childhood home brimming with fond memories.

She wouldn’t leave Summers until it was in pristine condition, which gave me time. It might even take a week.

I’d called Mack at the body shop and explained the situation to him. After a string of curses, he’d agreed to fit it into their schedule again as well as cut me a break. He knew what Moira was like. But he didn’t have the flexibility he’d had last week. I’d driven the Cadillac over and he’d promised to hurry.

We’d left it at that. My guess? Londyn would be on her way in a week.

One more week. Maybe she’d let me kiss her again.

Five minutes away from Mom and Dad’s place, my phone buzzed with a text. They lived on fifty acres about ten miles out of town.

Mom: I didn’t feel like cooking today. How about a pizza?

Pizza? I wasn’t missing one of the few nights I’d have with Londyn for pizza. I pulled up Mom’s number and sent the call through.

“I just texted you,” she answered.

“I saw that. How mad would you be if I didn’t make it for pizza?” My foot hovered over the brake.

“Hmm.” A frown invaded her voice. “You never miss Monday dinner.”

“Yeah, I know.” I put my foot back on the gas. I never missed Monday dinner. The guilt was too much to live with.

“Is this about the garage?” Mom asked. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”

No shock Mom had heard. Tony had a big mouth. He’d come into the shop today, whistled and gotten right to work putting the place back to sorts. The two of us had had it all fixed before noon. While I’d spent my lunch hour catching up on everything I hadn’t done over the morning, he’d disappeared.

Now I knew where he’d gone—to gossip with Sally.

“It’s fine. No major damage.” Except Londyn’s car.

“Do you know who might have done it?”

Oh yeah, I knew. But Mom didn’t need to know it was Moira. “Probably kids.”

As far as the world was concerned, Moira and I had survived an amicable divorce. We were friendly in public. We supported one another though we lived separate lives. We smiled and played nice.

For Wyatt.

I’d been seventeen years old when my son was born. Moira and I had been high school sweethearts. Two stupid kids who thought they were invincible and that condoms were reasonable, not required.

We’d done our best as teenage parents. I hadn’t spent my senior year in high school submitting college applications and making campus visits. I’d spent my free time after class at the garage working because it was the key to my son’s survival.

Moira had lived with her parents until Wyatt was born, then she’d moved into my parents’ place. After graduation, we’d married but lived with Mom and Dad until Wyatt was two.

The reason I didn’t miss a Monday dinner was because Mom and Dad had helped us r

aise Wyatt those first two years. Mom had taught Moira how to feed him and rock him to sleep. She had taught me how to change a diaper and make a bottle for a midnight feeding. Dad had been Wyatt’s doctor from the moment he screamed his first breath.

When my parents had needed a break, Moira’s had stepped in to help.

Mom didn’t ask me for much. Monday dinners weren’t mandatory but I knew she looked forward to them. It was her special evening to spend with her husband, son and grandson.