Page 83 of The Roads We Follow

I wonder if they’d haunted Micah the same way.

I wonder if they are still haunting him even now.

While Cheyenne plays Adele the new song she and Mama wrote yesterday at the house, I opt to sit at the dining table, facing forward, as it will be easier for me to work from here. The tug to go back to my book is strong, and in only a few minutes, I’m sucked in again. It writes like a novel, and yet the story is true—as real as the woman singing a duet with her granddaughter only a few feet away.

As soon as we cross back into cell range, I’m grateful to finally send off the updated proposal to Chip, documenting the new changes I’d made on the original file he’d sent me.

His reply email comes quickly.

Raegan,

The changes in your outline look great—thanks! Looks like I’m set to pitch this to the publishing team tomorrow. It’s quicker than we normally do things, but it’s not every day we have a project of this caliber on the table. On that note, if you happen to have a couple of finished chapters, I’d love to use them during my pitch.

If things go the way I suspect they will, I should have a contract worked up within seventy-two hours for negotiations. As I’ve mentioned previously, it’s always a wise practice to have a trusted legal advisor lookover the details for you. I want you to be as comfortable with the terms as we are. The author is our number-one priority.

Looking forward to the future,

Chip Stanton

Acquisition Editor

Fog Harbor Books

I write Chip back, relaying to him that the timeline sounds good so far and that I’m hoping to have something for him after the festival. If all goes well, there shouldn’t be much lag time for either one of us. Despite the sour notes between Micah and me, I hope he’ll love what I’ve written about his mother as much as I love what I’ve written about mine. I’m just not sure when to give it to him.

Purposed energy fuels me as I continue to write. I’m careful to keep the light on my screen set to dim and my font size small. The last thing I need is to get so absorbed I miss someone peeking over my shoulder. Only one more chapter to go before I meet my first deadline.

Just as I start, Hattie plops down opposite me at the table and bites into a juicy apple. “Do we get to know what you’ve been working on? I’m guessing it’s something romantic.” She waggles her eyebrows. “And possibly inspired by recent events?”

Obviously, Hattie hasn’t paid much attention to the most recent events.

Cheyenne immediately stops strumming her guitar, which alerts the other passengers to our conversation, and since I’m facing the front of the bus, I can see that Micah has been alerted, as well, when our eyes connect in his interior mirror.

“Raegan’s a fantastic writer.” Cheyenne prematurely jumps to my defense, and I wish I knew Morse code so I could tell her to change the subject altogether. “I hope you all can read her novel one day. It’s my favorite story of hers.”

“Your favorite?” Hattie asks. “How many of her stories have you read?”

“All of them,” Cheyenne says a bit slower, as if she’s only just now realizing that this is dangerous territory.

“And how many is that?” Hattie persists, looking at me now.

“Six,” I admit. “Though most of them would be considered short stories. Only one has been properly edited.”

“Oooh, can I read it?” Hattie asks. “Is that what you’re working on now—the novel?”

When Cheyenne looks my way this time, her expression is a mix ofoh crap!andwhat do we do now?

“No, this one isn’t finished. I don’t have much written on it yet.” I glance down at my keyboard, hoping that will be the end of the discussion. But soon Hattie’s fingers do a tap dance at the back of my laptop screen.

“I vote you read us an excerpt. Come on, we could all use some fun entertainment. We’ve been driving for hours, and Micah said there are no more stops planned until we reach the RV park for the night.” Hattie leans in close and whispers, “Also, I think we’re headed to a nice mountain resort tomorrow. I heard Micah asking Mama if he could take us on a special twenty-four-hour detour. She agreed.”

“The reason there are no more stops is because last time you took thirty minutes to pick out a single bag of mini Oreos,” Adele replies loudly, to which Hattie rolls her eyes. “Mama said the park we’re stopping at is first come, first served. We don’t have time to waste on more of your junk-food scavenger-hunt games.”

Hattie ignores her and smiles at me good-naturedly. “Then at least tell us what this one’s about.” She pulls up her knees and props her chin on her arms.

I can already feel the perspiration gathering on my lower back and under my arms. I don’t dare look at the insides of my wrists where I can already feel an all-too-familiar rash starting to populate.

“Um ... well, let’s see...” I glance up from my laptop and catch Micah’s laser-focused eyes on me, as if he can hear every word. Orperhaps he’s waiting for a told-you-so moment. Perhaps that’s what he thinks a liar by omission like me deserves. “It’s about a talented woman from a very small town up north who meets a generous businessman who promises to make her dreams come true.”

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