8. Paige
8
Paige
I ’ve tracked your GPS location,” Mom says in a rush when she FaceTimes me.
I whisper an apology to Winnie and Archie. They nod, and I continue talking to Mom. “How do you even know how to do that?”
“The internet has a lot of tutorials,” she responds, sounding slightly less flustered. “I can see you’re at your campground now and not doing drugs.”
I pause and tilt my head. “And how do you know that? Location tracking wouldn’t show what I'm doing.”
“Because I know you,” she replies, a smile in her voice.
Winnie snickers behind a closed fist.
I huff a laugh. “So why’d you even ask—”
“Who was that?”
And, here we go again. Like it wasn’t enough trying to convince Rhodes I’m fine with my new friends, now I have to convince Mom.
“Winnie and Archie are friends I met earlier. They’re in their sixties, retired, have a Beagle, and enjoy traveling around the US in their fifth wheel. Would you also like their social security numbers?”
Mom’s voice turns up. “No, but I’m not above a thumbprint.”
“Mom,” I say on a sigh. “I swear I’m okay.”
She sighs, too. “I believe you. I’m just bummed I missed your call. And I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
We are barely through the first day, and this trip is completely open-ended, making it impossible to give any assurances. Maybe I want to spend more time in one spot or visit somewhere else. The timeline is vague. And I get it. We’re a close-knit family and rarely spend long stretches away from each other. When Mom hugged me this morning as I left and handed me a stack of coupons along with dinner leftovers from the night before, I knew she’d be doing that sort of thing regardless of my age. They have always been there for me, maybe a little too much. I don’t think they get that supporting me can also mean giving me space . It’s a hard concept I’ve been trying to manage for years.
She smiles, but it’s sad. “I picked up Carlos’ pizza since I had to work later tonight—your favorite.”
I press a hand to my heart. “I can smell the garlic crust from here.”
“Swear you’ll call if you need anything?”
“I swear.”
She nods and then hangs up without another word.
“Sounds like you created quite a stir with the people you love?” Winnie phrases it as a question.
My mind skips over Mom and goes right to Rhodes. “I mean, yeah, I guess. When I called them earlier…after…”
She nods and waves her hand. “The dead bird. Got it.”
“Yes. The bird,” I confirm. “No one answered, which is weird and completely unlike my family. We’re always calling or texting each other. Checking in and sending random tidbits of information that would mean nothing to anyone else but us…me, and I love it. I guess I just miss them. I’m sure that sounds pathetic coming from an almost thirty-year-old woman.”
She chuckles. “Not at all. Family relationships are something special.”
I tug the blanket I pulled from my bed higher on my lap. The fire flickers with orange and yellow lights, sometimes blue, while licking the air. It’s peaceful out here, where nature is the loudest sound for miles.
Constance would likely shrivel up out here, seeing as she hates the cold almost as much as she hates when the yolk of her egg breaks. Mom and Dad would enjoy this, though. Looking up and seeing the host of stars flickering with light and existence, I know they’d have their necks craned back. Dad would likely have some joke about Orion’s belt, and Mom would swat his shoulder while cackling.
It’s times like this I remember how much I love having a close family. But it’s also when I remember that it’s okay to hoard a few of these life experiences for myself.
“They certainly are.” I cross my ankles. “I haven’t traveled out of the state a lot, either, so I guess I’m still figuring things out.”
Winnie gasps. “You haven’t?”
Archie appears halfway asleep with their Beagle, Dottie, stretched out across his feet. He doesn’t even stir at her reaction.
I shake my head. “Never really had a reason to leave.”
“So, why now, then? What changed?”
Me , I want to say. It’s the truth, after all. But not all of it, and there’s something about Winnie that makes me want to share everything with her. And possibly because I’m a chronic oversharer. “My friend Rhodes—the one I was talking to earlier—told me he had feelings for me.”
Her mouth gapes, eyes widening. “You don’t say.”
I nod and purse my lips. “He told me a couple of weeks ago, and I think it just shook me up a bit. I wasn’t expecting it, so I definitely didn’t know what to do. We’ve always been friends, closer than I am with my own sister.” I pause to think back to the parking lot moment when he kissed me like my lips were familiar and right and everything good. “I freaked out and decided I needed to get away.” I wave a hand at Vincent VanGo behind me. “This was an impulse purchase.”
Hearing myself tell the story out loud just confirms that maybe this wasn’t the right decision. But at the time, it’s what I had to work with. The Itch I’d been feeling for months leading up to this decision was enough to make me do something . I was either going to get a full-body tattoo, start another business, or take a trip.
At least it wasn’t palm reading.
Winnie’s brows relax. “How we start the journey is rarely how we end it, sugar.”
My lips curl upward, and I sink further into my chair, watching the last sprigs of light fall behind the mountainscape as the sun says goodnight. “I hope not, since I started this journey by…you know.” Murder . “I’m not sure I’m cut out for life on the road.”
She glances at Archie whose head is tipped back, snoring lightly, then looks at me. “I didn’t so much like the idea of living on the road, either, at first. But now I realize how much more it's given back to me. Time, adventure, awe,” she says wistfully. “Those aren’t things you can always pay for or even experience with a stagnant lifestyle.”
I cross my legs and bounce my foot while I talk. “I want those experiences, too. It’s why I didn’t want to plan my stops ahead of time. I want to prove to myself that I can figure things out as I go and get to know who I am—what I really want—in the process.”
“Those are big questions to answer,” Winnie says. “Mostly because they change. Hell, I’m still trying to figure them out for myself.”
“Yeah, I’m probably taking on too much, expecting more than is possible. I tend to do that. I just needed to do something, and feel some way. Anything different than repeating the same patterns.”
She’s quiet for a moment, letting a bit of my defeat take some of the space between our words.
“I’m ashamed to even admit this,” I say in a hushed tone. “But I thought about driving home after the incident. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to be by myself anymore. Not if it costs an animal its life. If you hadn’t been there…” My thoughts trail off, then circle back to what’s really plaguing my mind. Not the past or present, but the future. “Things could get worse.”
She hums. “Isn’t that the truth? Things could get worse. But they could also get better.” She sits forward. “I’m going to tell you something I tell my own daughter.”
I sit up a little but cross my arms to fend off the chill in the air.
“Whenever we reach for the good, there’s bound to be some hard. They often go together. But that shouldn’t stop us from going after the good, honey. You’ve got a lot ahead of you to look forward to, and I have no doubts you’ll find what you’re looking for.” She swirls a finger in the air. “You’re going to find it outside,” she taps her chest, “and inside.”
It’s a wonder she can even hear me when I ask, “How can you be so sure?”
“Oh, I’m not. All I know is you’ve put yourself in the best position for it, and sometimes, that’s all we can do. Open our palms and ask.”
This time, when I smile, my face doesn’t light up. It feels worn and soggy. But the resolve strengthening inside my chest is stronger somehow.
Maybe I can’t do this, but I want to.
And I think that’s a good enough start.
CURLING UP IN bed for the first night of sleep in Vincent isn’t how I thought it would feel.
Not in terms of comfort. The bed is soft, and my comforter came directly from home, filled with down feathers and smelling like I expect it to. Cleo is already curled up on my pillow, tail falling across my shoulder.
Winnie and Archie left an hour ago after more rousing stories of roadkill, mechanical issues, and the weird campgrounds they’ve seen across America. I immediately came inside to eat dried mango and lock every door, feeling bone tired and ready to crawl into bed with my snack.
I decided to stay another day in Spokane and maybe check out the riverfront park I read so much about online, which means I have nothing else to think about. Nothing to worry over and nothing to distract me.
It’s quiet, apart from the small fan I brought for white noise.
And I’m alone.
I don’t have Taylor Swift’s lyrics to keep me company while I drive or Winnie and Archie to assure me I’m just where I need to be.
It’s just me again, staring at the ceiling that seems to be blinking back at me since the wallpaper with eyes continues from one end of the van to the other. I adjust under the blankets to try and relax since I’m lying like a Mummy in a coffin currently. The razor-sharp blades of hair on my legs scrape together while I flip onto my side and again when I flip to the opposite side.
That’s it .
I’m never going to sleep.
Thoughts of Russel Crow aren’t keeping me up. Winnie was right, and every time my mind drifts back to that moment, all I can think about is Cleo trying to dig him up again. It makes me smile, which is a level of dark humor I didn't think I was capable of.
Maybe I just can’t sleep because Winnie’s words still stand at attention in my mind as I rub my feet together, warming them from the chill of wearing flip-flops outside.
Whenever we reach for the good, there’s bound to be some hard .
And hell, if she wasn’t right. Today was mostly good with only a sprinkle of hard. I met new friends, reached the right campground, and laughed—a lot.
I can do this, but more importantly, I’m ready to.
So why do I feel scared? Like when you’re expecting someone to jump out from around a corner and startle you into oblivion.
Reaching above my head, I carefully grab the notebook with my name etched into the front so I don’t disturb Cleo. I pull off the pen I clipped to the front cover, ready to jot down important thoughts as I open to a blank page. Balancing the spine on my chest, I stare at the cream-lined pages, completely void and awaiting words I don’t yet know.
It’s a metaphor, I’m sure, and it makes me think of Winnie again—the wise older woman with things to say.
I don’t know exactly what I want to write or how I want to share the thoughts and feelings swirling inside, but I know how I want to start this one.
I touch the ballpoint to the page and write:
Dear Rhodes.