Page 32 of Road Trip to Forever
End of the year administrative work has forced me to stay late at school to finish report cards and help teachers pack up their classrooms for the summer. I haven’t been able to check in with Lola as frequently as I would have liked, relying on sporadic text messages in the morning and in the evening to make sure she’s doing okay.
I take a look at her and see the purple bags under her eyes. Her cheeks are pale, and she tries to hide a yawn with a bite of bacon. It’s obvious the answer isnoto all of my questions, and it makes my skin crawl that she’s not taking care of herself.
I pick up my phone and set an alarm to call her tonight so I can hopefully coax her away from her sewing machine and to her bed.
“I’m fine.” Lola waves me off and pulls her legs to her chest.
My gaze follows the line of her calf, the slope of her muscles under the plaid pajama shorts that show off inches of skin, up to the bend of her knee before averting my eyes and glancing away.
“I’ll let the lie slide,” I say. “Okay. Let’s talk about logistics for our trip. Do you want to do the drive down to Florida in two days or stretch it out?”
“It would be nice to take our time. We could do some sightseeing. Stop at a rock museum. Find the world’s largest rocking chair and catch some fireflies in an open field.”
Her gaze tips to mine, and that fists closes tight around my heart.
She’s so pretty in the morning, with her face cast in shades of orange and red. It’s like the sunshine soaks into her skin and makes her glow from the inside out. Even with a pillow crease on her forehead and sleep caught in the corner of her eye, she’s beautiful.
The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.
“Definitely,” I agree, realizing I need to say something instead of just gawking at her. “How about we make things interesting? I have a proposal for you.”
“You haven’t been out of the Northeast in years, Patrick. Our trip is already going to be interesting,” Lola says. “Wait until you discover Buc-ee’s.”
“Is that a disease?”
“You’re impossible.”
“What if we each pick a place to stop for the day? A tourist attraction or spot for dinner? You have my interest with this rocking chair.”
“The rocking chair is in Illinois, unfortunately. That would be a hell of a detour. What if I picked an activity I think you would like and you pick a place I would like?”
“Do you think you know me that well, Jones? Enough to find an activity for us to do that won’t bore me to tears?”
“You like organizing spreadsheets, Patrick. Forfun. It can only go up from there.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
Lola bites her bottom lip and brings her eyes to meet mine again. “I know what makes you happy,” she says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve watched you for years, and I want to surprise you with something special.”
Knowing she’s watched me while I’ve been busy watching her lights me up like a Christmas tree in December. I want to reach across the table and pull her into my lap. Kiss the crumbs off her mouth and hug her close, telling her she can surprise me with whatever she wants and I’ll think it’s the grandest thing in the world.
I want a lot of things I can’t have, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing for them.
I’m in deep—way too deep—with this woman, and I have no escape plan for a chance of survival.
“Okay.” I find my voice and nod. I rub my palms on my thighs and sit back on the bench, relaxing against the decorative pillows. The corner of one digs into my spine, and I adjust my position. “Sure. I like that plan. What else do you want to do?”
“Maybe we could go camping one night? In North Carolina?”
“My parents kept that tent we used to pitch in the backyard when we were kids. It was massive then, so it should fit us comfortably now. I’ll bring a jar so you can catch your fireflies in the mountains.”
When we were younger, we would lay our sleeping bags side by side under the night sky. I could hear the chirp of crickets. The sound of Lola breathing next to me, soft inhales as she drifted off to sleep while I stared at the canvas roof of the tent and wondered why I wanted to hold her hand so damn bad.
Funny.
Twenty-four years later and I still want to hold her hand.
I guess some things never change.
