Page 65 of The Roads We Follow

She lifts her head slowly, her eyes narrowing on me. “I’m sorry if putting your family first is such a burden on you, but not all of us get to do what wewantin life. If that makes me your personal villain, I’m sure you can find others on this bus who will commiserate with you.”

I bite the inside of my cheeks and try to remember why I sat down in the first place. “There’s something in the works you should know about.”

She puts up her palm and shakes her head. “Unless it’s directly related to Mama’s performance at Watershed, it can wait until after the show. I cannot handle one more distraction. I never should have allowed Mama to convince me this trip was a good idea. It was a mistake.”

“I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but—”

“You don’t even know the half of it.”

“You’re right, I don’t. And whose fault is that?” I challenge, meeting her gaze straight on in the silence that follows. “I can’t remember the last time you’ve shared anything of importance with me thatdidn’t involve me running an errand or organizing a schedule or checking up on a family member to avoid a potential crisis.” I glance around at the quiet bus. “But Mama’s in her room, and Hattie and Cheyenne are both asleep, and I’m sitting right here.” I feel the tears climbing and fight to push them back down. “I’m asking you to treat me like a sister. To talk to me.”

For a split second, when the weariness returns to her features, I think she might actually take me up on my offer—that this might actually be the first step in a whole new direction for us as sisters. But then I see her gaze flick to where Hattie lies asleep on the sofa. “Were you with Hattie last night?”

I nod. “She stayed in my room. She ... was up most of the night.”

Again she rubs at her temples. “I need you to keep a closer eye on her. That can’t happen again. There are too many distractions right now as it is, and I need Mama to stay focused on this festival—it’s imperative.” Her eyes tick back to me again. “Can you manage that?”

When haven’t I managed that?is what I want to argue back. “If that’s what you want.”

“No, it’s whatwe need,” she corrects. “There’s a difference, Raegan. The burdens I carry are for the well-being of our whole family. Despite what my daughter chooses to believe about life, not all of us get to live how we want.”

She turns her attention back to her laptop. It’s a clear and final dismissal. With heavy limbs and an even heavier heart, I push away from the dining table and into the hall.

After toeing off my shoes, I crawl into Micah’s bunk as my mind goes to battle. Why should I feel an ounce of guilt over keeping something from Adele when she routinely shuts me out and asks me to put my life and goals on hold? Last year her reasoning was Hattie’s divorce, now it’s the festival, and chances are high that a month from now Adele will have a new excuse as to why I should keep my hobby hidden away from the world. Her instincts mighthave been right about Tav, but that doesn’t mean they’re right about everything.

As I press my face into the cool cotton of Micah’s pillowcase, I’m enveloped by his scent, and soon my thoughts have shifted back to him. There is much I wish I could change about my present circumstance, but Micah is without a doubt the one thing I wouldn’t change. I meant what I told him last night—I couldn’t imagine him not being here with us. With me.

As exhaustion tugs at the corner of my mind, I lift him up in a silent prayer, asking God to guide our next steps and, most importantly, to help Micah on his quest to discover his birth father.

“We’re here, Raegan.”

I blink my eyes open and stare into the face of the man I fell asleep praying for. “Where’s here again?”

He rests his folded arms on the bunk frame. I roll onto my side, noting how our height difference is nearly obsolete in this position.

“Wichita,” he says with a smile. “Good nap?”

“Yes.” I yawn and sit up to stretch my neck, careful not to bonk my head on the top of the bunk. “Thanks again for loaning me your bed.”

“I would say my bed is your bed, but I don’t think that has the same connotation as ‘mi casa es su casa.’”

I laugh. “I don’t think it does.”

Micah tips his head toward the street-facing window. “Hattie is upright, sitting on a bench in the shade eating saltines and drinking some electrolytes we stopped for a few minutes ago, and the others are out picking up some lunch orders to go.”

“Together?” I ask, confused. “Are they all speaking to each other again?”

“Not unless they were speaking in a silent language.” He tugson his ear. “Do these Farrow family showdowns typically last this long?”

“Longer. And I have a feeling Adele will wait to address what happened last night with Cheyenne and Mama until after the festival.”

Micah’s eyes grow so wide it’s comical. “You’re kidding, right? That’s nearly a week away. Surely the stonewalling can’t last that long.”

“Oh, it can. Hattie and Adele went nearly six weeks without speaking after Peter won the lawsuit. I was their go-between.” I shrug. “Adele told me herself in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t want to deal with any distractions unrelated to the festival.”

“Distractions as in ... having important conversations?”

“Correct.”

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