Chapter 3 #2
I cringe inwardly as I hear how those words must sound to his ears, but I can’t help it.
Tabitha’s always been the one to pick me up when I visit.
We’d grab donuts from the coffee shop and eat too many on the drive home, gabbing the whole way and spoiling our dinner.
It’s our thing—or at least, I thought it was.
Maybe it was never something she planned or looked forward to the way I have been …
I haven’t even told her yet, and things are already changing.
I whip around so my back is facing Parker, willing my lower lip to stop trembling as I fight the tears off.
“If you’d rather walk, just tell me so I can leave,” he calls. “I have other things to do.”
Someone beside me gives me a dirty look, as if I’m somehow responsible for the man shouting across the parking lot, so I sniff and pull my suitcase over to the Jeep.
The others are digging around, trying to find their luggage anyway, so it’ll be a minute or two before I can grab the rest of mine.
May as well sort out my transportation while I wait.
“Tabitha sent you to get me?” I ask when I reach him, dubious.
Tabitha knows I’m not as trusting as she is of the people she usually finds to work for her.
“Where is she?” I’m trying for confident, but a gust of wind chooses that moment to rush up and send me a face full of my hair.
Sputtering, I pull the copper strands out of my mouth.
“Busy. Need help with that?” He reaches for the suitcase, but I grip it tighter and take a half step back. He tosses me a frown. “What’s the problem?”
I let out a small laugh. “I don’t know you; I’m not getting in your car.”
“I told you. Tabitha sent me.”
A bitter spark ignites in my chest. If last week has taught me anything, it’s that people say a lot of things. Let’s open a business together, yes, we’ll move in together, of course, I’m your biological father. Saying something doesn’t make it true.
I fold my arms and shrug. “Prove it.”
His back straightens, eyes narrowing at me like he can’t believe I’m serious. I stand a little taller too, jutting my chin to show I am.
“I’m driving her Jeep,” he says, tossing a hand towards it.
“I have better things to do than memorize license plates.”
“And I have better things to do than play chauffeur. In or out?” He lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m more than happy to leave you stranded.”
“Why should I believe you? You could be a deranged ax murderer for all I know.”
His frown deepens. “Ignoring the fact that you think I look like a murderer—thanks for that, by the way—how are you planning to get to Tabitha’s, then?”
“I’ll call her.” I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“I already told you.” He fires back, impatience creeping into his tone. “Your aunt’s busy. That’s why she sent me.”
That can’t be right. How could she be busy on the day she knew I was coming?
We’ve been counting down to this all summer—it was supposed to be the trip to make up for months of lost time, and to soak up as much of each other as we could before I got sucked into the life of business ownership and working weekends and holidays, getting another chance to visit her who knows when.
At least … that’s what it was to me. Maybe …
this was just a standard old visit to her. Nothing special.
My heart cracks a little under the pressure of that thought.
Tabitha, her farm—it’s always meant so much to me, and it's been the safe place where nothing bad happens. It’s the one place that’s always felt like home—and not just in the childhood home sense, the kind of home that calls to you, deep in your bones.
Where you long for, and it feels like it’s longing right back.
It’s the one place I’ve always felt like enough.
Is that a fabrication of my imagination, too?
“Can we hurry this up?”
“No, we can’t hurry it up,” I say, bristling at his tone and the expectation that I’ll snap to.
If this guy thinks I’m hopping into his truck no questions asked, he’s got another thing coming.
There’s no way I’m letting him pressure me into doing it by making it seem like I’m inconveniencing him.
“If you’re telling the truth, Tabitha will confirm your story; if not, then I’ll avoid being the subject of an episode of Forensic Files. ”
“What are you talking about?”
I ignore him in favor of holding my phone above my head, spinning and stepping toward the grassy area surrounding the parking lot, trying to get a decent signal.
Finally, I get two bars—enough for a call—and quickly pull Tabitha up in my contacts.
The phone rings once before another sound catches my attention—the bus.
The engine roars to life behind me and I whirl around in time to see it pulling away from the gas station—my last two suitcases still tucked away in the storage compartment.
“No! Wait!” I run after it, waving my arms. “Stop!”
When I reach the road, the bus is already too far gone to catch. If this were a bigger town with more than two streetlights, I might have a chance.
But it’s not, and I don’t.
Instead, the Greyhound rumbles to the end of the road and turns towards the highway, before it disappears. Of course. Of fucking course.