By the time I get back into the room, the shower is still running. I dump the ten packs of chips, chocolate bars, Oreo cookies, Cheez-It snacks, some peanuts, and a honey bun on the side table in the middle of the two beds. The water shuts off as soon as I kick off my shoes, and my phone rings. I pick it up and see it’s Casey.
“Hey.” I answer the phone softly.
“Hey, yourself,” he says, and I hear the covers rustle in the background. “Where are you?”
“No clue,” I say, sitting on the bed and falling back. “Someplace that has a Piggly Wiggly.” He laughs.
“That could be anywhere from Alabama to Florida.”
“I think we have another twelve hours to go,” I say. “Why was it a good idea to drive?”
“Because your flight can be traced here, and if your friend wants to stay under the radar, the best thing to do is drive,” he says, and I shake my head. “Either way, I’m happy you’re finally coming home.”
“Don’t start with me, Casey,” I say. “I get enough of a guilt trip from Mom when I don’t come home for the holidays.”
“Yeah, well, she’s already cleaning out your old room and cooking all your favorite dishes.” He laughs. “Expect lots of home-cooked meals,” he whispers, “with butter.”
“God,” I groan. “I just got under one hundred and ten pounds. Do you know how many hot yoga sessions I had to do and salads I had to eat? Kale is not tasty.”
“It is if it’s deep fried and then drenched in butter,” he says. “Anyway, I’m off to bed. Five a.m. comes quickly.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow. I am going to push through,” I say. The bathroom door opens, and Olivia comes out in a cloud of steam. “See you then,” I say and disconnect.
Olivia has her hair wrapped up in a white towel and another towel wrapped around her chest, and she’s carrying her clothes in a ball in her hand. “That shower felt great.” She dumps her clothes on the bed and comes over to the food that I bought. “What do we have here?”
“The second-best thing I could get,” I say, getting up to a sitting position. “The Piggly Wiggly is closed.”
“I don’t know if I should be happy about that or sad,” she says, grabbing the trail mix and opening it. “Maybe sad.” She turns and walks back to the bathroom to spit it out. “That trail mix is at least a year old.”
“I have no doubt the chips are fresh,” I say. Getting up, I walk over to the bathroom and turn on the water. “I want to be gone by three if that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Olivia says, sitting on the bed with four bags of chips and two Snickers. “Why did we stop eating chips?” she asks after shoving five into her mouth.
“I mean, it’s a carb,” I say, pulling off my sweater, “and deep fried, and there is a fuck ton of sodium.”
“I don’t care,” she says, putting another handful into her mouth and opening the Snickers. “God, I forgot how much I love chocolate,” she says, taking another bite.
I shake my head and take a fast shower, letting the heat hit my neck. I won’t admit it, but I’m nervous as fuck about going back home. I said I would never go back there, and now here I am, twelve hours away from driving back into a town I never wanted to return to.
When I get out of the shower, I wrap myself the same way that Olivia did, and when I walk out, she’s under the covers and the wrappers from two chocolate bars are on the side table with a bag of chips. “I remember now why we stopped,” she groans. “I feel sick.”
“That’s because your body isn’t used to sugar or starch,” I say, laughing. Getting a shirt, I put it on with my underwear. I pick up my phone and set the alarm for two forty-five. “What are the chances that we’ll hit a Starbucks tomorrow morning?”
I slip under the cold white covers and turn off the light. “I’m going to say almost zero, but you never know.” I put my head down on the pillow.
“Thank you,” she says, and I look over at her in the dark room, “for going back home. I know that the last thing you want to do is go back there.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, ignoring the hammering of my heart. “I’m just not sure you’re ready for it.”
“I’m ready,” she says softly, and I close my eyes, falling asleep within minutes. When the alarm goes off, I groan, reaching over and seeing that Olivia is sitting up in bed.
“Did you sleep?” I ask, blinking away the sleep.
“For an hour, I think.” Her voice is soft. “I gave up after I had a nightmare.” Ever since she was arrested, she wakes up with nightmares.
“I’m ready,” she says, tossing off her covers to show me she’s dressed in jeans and a tank top.
“I’ll be ready in five,” I say, getting up and walking to the bathroom. I pee in the dark and get dressed, not even turning on the light when I brush my teeth. When I walk out of the bathroom, the lights are on, and she’s sitting on the bed eating another bag of chips. She has a sweater on now and her Gucci flops. I don’t tell her that she’s going to have to put running shoes on once we get to the farm. Instead, I grab my bag.
“I have the rest of the food,” Olivia says, getting up and walking to the door. I’m not a morning person and never have been. I need at least two cups of coffee, and that’s before I can even see straight. We walk past the unoccupied reception desk and outside into the cold air.
“It’ll heat by nine,” I say, unlocking the car door and getting in. We don’t hit a Starbucks, but we do find a coffee shop. I order three cups of coffee, finishing one as soon as we sit back in the car. We pick up a couple of sandwiches, and the closer I get to home, the more my nerves kick into gear.
“It’s going to be fine.” I give myself a pep talk when I look over at Olivia, who’s asleep in the passenger seat.
Getting off at the exit, I slowly make my way down Main Street, trying not to look around or even slow down. Instead, I focus on heading to my family’s farm. “I swear it looks just like a Hallmark movie,” Olivia says while she looks outside in awe, and I want to groan. “Fuck,” she says, and then I make the mistake of looking out the window when we come to a stop sign. I look over to see black hair.
He walks down the two steps of the sheriff’s office, but I would know that walk anywhere. When I left eight years ago, he was just a boy, and now he is all man. No matter what I tell myself or say out loud, just looking at him makes my heart ache even more than it did before. His chest is bigger, his arms are thicker, and his five o’clock is shadow setting in.
I watch him walk, looking down, and then turn around to see a boy come running toward him. He smiles at him and bends down to catch the boy with blond hair. He picks him up in his arms and buries his face in his neck. I was wrong before, the pain of leaving him was nothing compared to the pain I feel now as I watch him with his son.
I don’t even know how long I’m at the stop sign, but a honking horn makes everyone look at my car, and the smile that was on his face a couple of seconds ago is gone, and in its place is a glare as he watches me drive away for a second time.