Page 79 of The Roads We Follow

Obviously, I’ve hit a nerve. I approach with caution, knowing she’s still close to Dorian’s family. “I know he was your friend and that he was married at the time of the tour, but affairs often occur when—”

“It’s not that.” She sounds flustered, and I’m about to tell her we can take a break from this for now, that maybe getting a refill on her iced tea and moving inside where it’s cooler would be better,when she says, “Dorian was injured in Vietnam. It left him unable to father children. They struggled for years trying to have a family of their own, undergoing dozens of tests and procedures back east.”

I sit up straighter. “You’re saying Tav was adopted?”

“No,” Luella says patiently, “I’m saying Dorian and Donna did in vitro and used a sperm donor to become pregnant with Octavian. In vitro had quite a stigma back in the ’90s so they rarely volunteered that information. Honestly, with as close as Tav and Raegan are, I’m not even sure if she knows.”

The present tense of their combined names in Luella’s sentence is like three shots of espresso hitting my nervous system all at once. Somewhere a voice of reason tells me to leave it alone, to move on with this conversation, but that voice doesn’t have a chance now that every neuron is firing in the same direction. “It sounds like your two families have meant a lot to each other?”

Luella nods absently. “The older girls were always a bit annoyed with Tav—he was the stereotypical only child, and they weren’t used to having a little boy around the house. But Raegan.” Luella clucks her tongue. “That sweet girl of mine has been smitten with him since the day she learned to say all four syllables of his first name,Oc-tav-i-an,” she emphasizes with a smile. “I’m rarely surprised when it comes to my youngest daughter, as she’s always been my easiest child to please, but she about shocked my curls straight the day she broke off their engagement last fall.”

Engagement.The word is a freaking neon sign shorting out my frontal lobe, zapping weak brain cells left and right before I can even process what Luella’s just said.

The opportunity doesn’t come.

The patio door slides open, and Billy, Dottie’s brother, steps out.

He removes his ball cap and dips his head toward our table.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Billy says in a relaxed timbre I could easily mimic after spending hours with him yesterday. “But I’m afraid I have some bad news about the bus.”

“Oh no.” Luella sits up straighter. “Are we not good to leave later this evening?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am.” Billy looks to me. “There’s been a shipping mishap at the warehouse. Part we need is currently en route to Florida.”

“Florida?” Luella shrills.

“That’s right, ma’am.” He nods again. “I’ve secured us a new replacement part. Only, thing is, we have to drive west of Denver to pick it up. At this point, it’s an overnight trip. They close in a couple of hours. But once I have the part in hand, I should be able to fix you folks right as rain in roughly a work day. Best case, I can get you back on the road within forty-eight hours.”

“I’ll go.” I’m so desperate for fresh air and a fresh perspective that I practically jump out of my chair. “If you can help me secure a rental car in town, I’ll pick up the part in Denver and bring it back to your shop.”

“No need for a rental, son. I’m happy to take you myself, though according to Dot, I’m not as good with night driving as I use to be.” He winks. “Might need you to be my eyes come nightfall.”

“I’ll grab my bag.”

21

Raegan

Pulling an all-nighter on a writing deadline must take some practice because mine ended with twenty pages’ worth of the lettergand a stiff neck. How on earth can it be after noon? I yawn and stretch my torso side to side in the hard desk chair, careful not to knock the open journals to the floor, and wonder at what point in my delirium I decided my keyboard would make for a decent pillow. I drag my cursor through the manuscript and highlight the evidence of my failed attempt to work till dawn and delete it back to the ten pages I managed to write before my forehead crashed into the middle of the alphabet. I blow out a frustrated sigh at the words that remain. Something’s off with the story, and I don’t know what. I used a template to create a digital timeline, inserted every important date I came across in Lynn’s journals that pertained to my mama, and even drew out a plot web to get the creative juices flowing. And still, what’s here isn’t as compelling as I want it to be—needit to be.

The remnants of a dream linger in my subconscious, but it’s notuntil I push the chair back in search of my morning caffeine fix that I feel the quilt slip from my shoulders and fall to the floor. The same quilt I’d used to cover Micah with last night.

Micah.

I spin and stare at the rumpled comforter where he’d slept as my mind replays the dream as if it’s being streamed on a device with poor WiFi: Micah and Tav in the same room together, making uncomfortable small talk, all while Tav loops an arm around my waist and Micah refuses to meet my gaze.

I shake my head. It was just a dream. A nightmare is more like it, one that could easily become a reality if Micah’s newest hypothesis is true.Where is he now?

After a quick stop to freshen up in the bathroom, I follow the lingering aromas of breakfast in search of coffee, but Dottie is the only person I find, and soon I’m locked in a discussion about the wonders of technicolor cinema. The woman is so gracious and hospitable, but after three attempts to escape in the name of a much-needed shower, my only hope is a one-for-one exchange: me for Hattie. When my sister comes down the stairs freshly showered and asking if she can hitch a ride into town to find some WiFi to call her children, I don’t hesitate to slip away and return to my room.

Only when I do, I’m not alone.

I freeze in the doorframe of my bedroom, my mind short-circuiting in my verbal command center at the sight of my niece bent at the waist reading my secret project. And she’s apparently so engrossed in the chapter she can’t hear the alarm bells ringing inside my skull. I close the door behind me, and she jolts upright, whirling around with a hand pressed to her chest. Her smile comes instantaneously, as if the sight of me brings sweet relief. I wish I could say the same about her in this moment.

“Good morning, Auntie Rae. I was coming to brainstorm some lyrics with you”—she points to her Martin on my bed—“but when I sawChapter Oneon your computer, I got completely sidetracked. I was hoping it was the sequel for Birch Grove.” Her smile brightens.“How come you didn’t tell me you were working on something new?”

I take a quick swig of my piping-hot coffee to lubricate my brain and hope I have enough esophagus left to speak. “It’s nothing.”

---