Friday
I pulled the car into the Chevron station and killed the engine. I was already sweating, which didn’t seem fair. I glanced at the temperature on my dashboard and groaned. It was already seventy-nine degrees, and I had a feeling it was going to be worse as I drove through the desert.
I glanced into the back seat, where my duffel was, but resisted the urge to check it one last time. It was enough that I’d been getting messages all week—Don’t forget to bring a sweater! It’ll get cold at night!—R.It was time to just go.
I got out of the car and stepped into the bright sun, squinting and then flipping down my sunglasses. I definitely wasn’t used to this. I headed into the mini-mart, welcoming the blast of air-conditioning that greeted me. Mariah Carey was playing over the store’s speakers. I grabbed a sparkling water from the refrigerator case, then swung by the snack aisle for a bag of cheddar Ruffles—the best kind—as well as a granola bar and an Abba-Zaba.
My phone beeped again with a text as I picked up the candy bar, and I glanced at it.Did you get my email? We need to discuss what we’re bringing!“Romy, give it a rest,” I muttered as I shook my head and slid my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. If I didn’t get moving, I was going to be seriously late.
I took everything up to the register, where the woman working behind it was humming along to Mariah. “Hot one,” she said conversationally as she rang me up. I nodded. I was already dreading the moment I’d have to leave the store with its artic blast, and get back in my ancient Prius, whose air-conditioning was barely functional.
“I know,” I said with a groan as I waved off her offer of a bag and handed her a ten. “And it’s worse where I’m going.”
She raised an eyebrow as she handed me back my change and receipt. “And where’s that?”
I pocketed the change, crumpled the receipt, and gathered my snacks up. “Nevada.”