Page 95 of The Roads We Follow

26

Raegan

Mama and Cheyenne have been practicing harmonies in the back bedroom of the bus with Adele while we’ve been winding our way up Highway 101. They’ve been going over Mama’s song set to get my niece up to speed on everything she needs to know in the coming days. But as the day rolls to night and darkness descends over the road, a prickly unease begins to weave its way through my ribs. The honesty and vulnerability we experienced at the Redwoods has lingered on the bus, shifting the atmosphere to one of warmth and levity, and yet I can’t seem to fight this internal chill.

Hattie’s shriek in response to whatever movie she’s watching with headphones nearly has me coming out of my seat, which in turn alarms the man driving beside me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one lost in thought. He reaches across the gap between our seats and stills my fidgeting hands.

“I think I need to give my mom the chapters to read tonight,” I blurt, as if I can’t get it out fast enough.

“What?” Micah whips his head in my direction. “What brought that on?”

“I don’t know, I just feel...”

“You just feel what?” he presses.

“Uncomfortable.”Convicted, I mentally correct myself.

I can easily visualize the crisp white computer paper I slid underneath Micah’s pillow earlier today and try to imagine what it will feel like to hand those first three chapters over to my mother.

“Where do you think that discomfort is coming from?”

“I’m not sure.” Or perhaps I don’t want to be sure.

“Where are the chapters now?”

“Under your pillow.”

Again his eyebrows shoot up. “Is that because you want me to go down as your accomplice?” When I feel the blood drain from my face, he grips my shoulder and shakes me. “That was a joke, Sunshine. A bad one, obviously. Sorry.” He glances my way again. “Why are they there?”

“I thought you might want to read them.” Though he’d given me his blessing to reference his mother during our fishing excursion, I wanted his eyes on it. On all of it.

He reaches for my hand again. “I do, very much. Thank you. I’ve been waiting for a chance to redeem myself after falling asleep that night in Kansas mid-chapter.”

I smile, though I’m certain he can tell it’s a preoccupied one.

He gives my hand a squeeze. “Would it help to talk through your plan?”

There’s no doubt in my mind that it would, and so I do.

Using coded words that can’t be easily interpreted by Hattie, in case her movie finishes early, I tell Micah what I’ve been contemplating since the moment we left the Redwoods. I tell him my idea to read Mama the sample chapters in her room tonight as soon as Cheyenne exits. I tell him that I don’t want to wait until after the festival and that I’ll let Mama decide what should happen next.

When I finish, Micah’s expression is unreadable.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“That you’re panicking.”

“Maybe a little, but aren’t you the one who says we should lean in to the uncomfortable feelings when they come? Well, that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

I rub at the inside of my wrist, and without warning, Micah rotates my arm to inspect it under the light of the rising moon. He scowls disapprovingly before bringing my irritated skin to his lips. A shiver runs through me at his sweetness.

“At some point, we need to brainstorm new ways for your body to manage stress.”

As wonderful as a cure for my stress hives would be, thewein that sentence is definitely the most appealing part. He tips his head to the icy water bottle he retrieved from the freezer at our last pit stop. It’s one of his tricks for staying alert during the longer evening stretches of driving. If he feels sleepy, he places the frozen bottle between the back of the headrest and the nape of his neck.

“Use it,” he urges. “You need it more than I do.”

I lay it across the irritated skin, thankful for the instant relief and the distraction it offers from my obsession of watching Mama’s door.

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