Chapter Ten Lillian
Chapter Ten
Lillian
“You passed the exit,” I shouted, twisting in my seat and looking back at the interstate sign. Well, not exactly shouted, because that would’ve been rude.
Okay, maybe I did raise my voice. But the small space made it sound louder.
Echoes and all. As previously noted, I am not a morning person and I had spilled my coffee on the floorboards, soaking one corner of our atlas.
I’d sopped up the mess with my favorite cozy fleece blanket—which I needed because the heater was on the fritz and the North Carolina March morning had been chilly.
Not an auspicious start for our road trip.
Gripping the wheel, Grady shot me an exasperated look, the kind new couples in love didn’t use. “You said for me to take the next off-ramp.”
“Right.” I forced my tone to stay low and patient this time. “And you drove by it.”
A tic started in the corner of his eye. “I’m taking the next one like you told me. It would help if you cited a mile marker.”
His criticism would’ve been easier to take if I weren’t so exhausted from waking up at the crack of dawn. “I would, if you didn’t pass a truck every time we get close to a mile marker, effectively blocking any chance of reading it.”
“I can’t drive and read the map.”
“Then maybe I should drive and you can have the atlas,” I snapped, before pointing frantically. “Turn. Turn! Turn here so we can reroute. You’re about to miss it.”
He veered sharply across the lanes, sliding through holes in the traffic like a Nascar driver. Horns blared. He powered up the off-ramp, the minivan’s engine roaring. Pine trees passed in a blur.
Swerving, he pulled over onto the shoulder and nailed the brakes. I jerked back in my seat with the force.
He swiveled to face me, irritation stamped all over his stubbled jaw. “What did I do to make you mad?”
Breathing?
Existing?
“You’re barking at me when I’m doing the best I can to give directions, and I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“You’re the one who wanted to go on this expedition when it’s all we can do to hold down the fort at home.”
The accusation caught me off guard. His rejection of our trip, of this cause that meant so much to me, hurt.
Divorce was the most painful experience of my life, second only to the day of my daughter’s accident.
But because of my child, I needed to find a path to peace on this journey, for Rosalynn’s sake.
And at that moment, I didn’t trust myself not to say things I would regret.
I grabbed my purse and yanked open the passenger door.
“Lillian? Where are you going?”
A part of me delighted at the shock in his voice.
“To find coffee.” I hopped from the van, my gym shoes hitting the asphalt. I slammed the door and started marching along the roadside, eyes focused on the rural gas station at the top of the hill. Heaven help us all if they didn’t have piping-hot java.
No more than a few seconds later, I heard footsteps behind me, running, growing closer. Grady jogged up beside me. “Lillian, get back in the van.”
Seriously? He was issuing orders?
Completely the wrong tactic. I walked faster. “I’ll meet you at the truck stop.”
He sprinted around in front, stopping me in my tracks. “This isn’t safe.”
“It isn’t safe for you if I stay in the van.”
An eighteen-wheeler drove past, air horn blaring. The wind vortex stirred grit and gravel that bit into my skin, hurting almost as much as his presence, a reminder of our failed love.
I stepped into the ankle-high grass, where gnats promptly gnawed at my ankles. “If you didn’t want to go to DC, why bother? My mother and I could have driven together and you could have stayed home with Rosalynn.”
“You made it clear I’d be a crummy dad if I didn’t do this.” A hint of vulnerability glinted in his brown eyes.
“I never said any such thing. You’re not being fair.”
“And neither are you, starting this argument on the side of the road.” He touched my elbow lightly, the simple contact somehow more stirring than an overt caress. “Come on, Lillian, before someone thinks I’m kidnapping you and throws me in jail. Then we’ll never make it to DC in time.”
I should have jerked away, but I couldn’t scrounge up the will. I’d loved him and hated him. And honestly, I hated him most when he was so calm while I was melting down with anger. I also wanted him, my broad-shouldered ex-husband with his smoldering eyes and gentle hands.
In the back of my mind, I understood that when emotions ran high, too often we’d resorted to make-up sex to avoid larger issues.
How easy it would be to simply kiss him and ignore the fact he’d just admitted to pacifying me with this trip, as if he didn’t understand how much this cause meant to me.
I needed to be involved in the change, for our daughter, yes, but also for so many others.
I ached to be counted in the collective voice.
Would he have come with me if Rosalynn weren’t a part of the cause?
Probably not. Another symptom of how we’d only stayed together for our child.
“Truce,” I said with a weary sigh. “But I still need coffee.”
“Understood,” he answered with a curt nod, motioning the way toward our vehicle.
Hitching my bag onto my shoulder, I trekked back to the van, all too aware of how close I’d come to wrecking our ceasefire. I was also so very aware that we would be sleeping in close quarters at the end of the day.
And there weren’t enough good luck charms in my Southern arsenal to guarantee I would make the wise choice when we crawled into our tent together.