Page 43 of The Roads We Follow

I laugh.

And so does she.

Raegan’s journal keeping, though not the same as my mother’s, is full of flourishes and scribbles and brainstorming webs with arrows that connect content from one page to another like an insane game of hopscotch.

“Areyouoffering to be my key, Raegan?” I amend half-jokingly.

Her smile holds. “I’m offering to help you however I can. I’d want to know the truth, too, if I were you.”

“I appreciate that,” I say as she begins to close her notebook. “Wait. What’s that?” I reach a hand out to stop hers, only the brush of her skin beneath mine makes it difficult to move it away. The page reveals multiple bubbles filled with random words interconnected with lines.

“It’s a plotting web,” she says without her usual inflection.

“For your fiction book?”

“Yes, for Birch Grove.” There’s a touch of dejection in her voice when she answers. “This is how I work a scene when I’m stuck. Sometimes it’s easier to dump everything in my brain at once onto paper.”

“Is Birch Grove your title?”

“No, it’s the name of the mountain town where the story is set. The title is actuallyThe Sisters of Birch Grove.”

“I like that,” I say, changing lanes. “Is that what you were working on yesterday before dinner?”

“No, there’s not much for me to work on—as far as my fiction goes, I mean.” I don’t like the defeat I hear in her voice when she says this, and I’m tempted to press her on it. But before I can voice another question, she says, “I was just messing around with some lyric ideas.”

“For Tav?” I ask, though I already know. I couldn’t help but overhear their video call after dinner last night when I took out the trash. He must have mentioned those lyrics five times over the course of me walking to and from the camp dumpster. If I was in analyzing mode, I’d say their relationship pulls heavily in one direction. But I’m not in analyzing mode. Technically, I shouldn’t even be in therapist mode.

She studies the page filled with strike-through phrases. “I haven’t been able to come up with a good chorus hook yet.”

I slide my sunglasses on. The cloud cover is gone, and the sun’s rays are intense today. When Raegan does the same, I can’t helpthe disappointment I feel at the loss of those brown eyes peering back at me.

“How long have you been his cowriter?”

Instantly, her hands begin to fidget atop the notebook, and I’m confident I know her answer before she speaks it. “Technically, I’m not a cowriter. I just help where I can.”

More like he just uses her where he can and then takes the credit for her work. His type is easy to pick out in a crowd. A high-achiever who’s hyper-fixated on his own success, even at the expense of those closest to him. I can’t picture Raegan with a guy like that. Or maybe I just don’t want to picture it. She deserves better.

I glance in the rearview and take note of the various locations and distraction levels of our fellow passengers before broaching an equally sensitive topic, one I’ve been waiting to ask since she crawled into her bunk with Adele’s laptop. “Did you find anything helpful during your search last night?”

Unlike the other subjects we’ve discussed, this one causes her to take a deep breath. “Not what I was hoping for.”

Raegan hasn’t told me who she suspects the author of the tell-all to be, but there’s no question she has someone in mind. Whether or not she’ll confide in me is up to her. I won’t press her on that.

I flip the turn indicator, change lanes, and turn off at the next exit in search of a gas station before we risk having to push Old Goldie through an abandoned town. I was hoping she could wait on a fill-up until Tulsa since our food selections would be better there, but I have a feeling it’s now or never.

As we pull into the station, my gaze catches on the pair of giant Sasquatches standing guard on either side of the mini-mart doors like the two archangels guarding the entrance to the garden of Eden. I put the bus in park and release the air brakes. Luella grabs her new favorite hat—the one she purchased yesterday with the fake auburn ponytail hanging out the back—and tucks her real hair inside it. Paired with her oversize sunglasses, she looks like an entirely different person.

Within thirty seconds, all my passengers have vacated the bus and made their way to the mini-mart. As soon as I round the side of the rig, pop open the gas cap, and insert the nozzle, I regret not asking Raegan to pick up my favorite energy drink before I die from heatstroke.

“I think it’s Cheater Peter.”

I rotate in the direction of the familiar voice behind me and hike a curious eyebrow. “That’s an unfortunate name.”

“But a fitting one. Peter is Hattie’s ex.”

“The one in Greece?”

“There’s only one.” When she steps into the pocket of shade between pumps, I don’t hesitate to join her. Our proximity is closer than two casual friends who met less than a week ago should be, but it’s easily justifiable seeing as this conversation needs to remain private. I keep the mini-mart in my periphery.

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