Forty-Nine—Bo
I
thought of turning around. I was going to turn around. Mia had certainly brought to my attention the folly of my impulsivity—I had a business to run; I was a responsible business owner. In theory. But at the freeway, instead of heading south back to California, I took the north ramp. Hands sweating, heart pounding, two showers behind and setting a record for time spent in the same clothes, I merged behind a semi, then passed him. Then I set the cruise control for seventy-five.
Did I know what I was doing?
Not yet.
I just knew I’d survived so far—public restroom panic attack notwithstanding—and it felt strangely liberating. Even if I had needed my sister to get through it, it still felt liberating to be so far from home and on my own and a little bit afraid but not paralyzed by it.
I cranked up the air conditioner.
Did I know what I was doing?
Still no.
319 miles to Albuquerque. I’d decide what I was doing when I got to Albuquerque.
I started to shake a little. I shouldn’t have yelled at Mia.
And now she wouldn’t answer her phone.