Sure enough, the minivan Mabel is walking toward also has a sign on the side saying GrannyGo.
“It’s a granny gang,” Conor says.
“Oh cute—Glady has a velvet tracksuit too.” Tweetie points at a woman with red-dyed hair cut short walking into the gas station. “Do you think she has different treats in her van?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a tapeworm?” Conor asks, getting pissy.
“You need to eat. Want a cookie?” Tweetie holds one out.
Conor narrows his eyes for a second before snatching it out of Tweetie’s hand.
“They’re going to the coffee area.” Henry rolls his eyes at me.
We wait for what seems like an hour for her to return with her water. In the meantime, Conor’s actually dozed off, which is good for his cranky ass, and Tweetie has put, no exaggeration, a hundred dollars in the food bin and eaten almost every sweet.
“Now you’re going to have a sugar crash. That should be fun,” Henry says.
Mabel gets back in the van. “Glady is having a slow morning.” She looks at the snack basket. “Oh, you boys were hungry. I can go grab some more from Glady.” She reaches for the door handle.
“Oh no, we’re stuffed full. We just really need to get to the car rental place.” There’s a pleading note in my tone that I can’t hide anymore.
“Of course, sweetie, let’s get you there.”
I relax in my seat, but my leg bounces the entire time. After what feels like a four-hour trip, we finally pull into the car rental place. I pay on my app, adding a nice tip to keep this poor woman off the road at four in the morning—although I don’tthink she’s doing it for the money. Henry, Tweetie, and Conor each tip her as well.
“You boys are sweet. Have a safe trip to Chicago. I’d drive you that far if poor Merv wasn’t waiting for me at home.”
“Dog or cat?” Tweetie asks.
“Dog. Want to see a picture?” She reaches for her phone.
I let them do whatever they’re going to do and rush into the rental place.
“Hi, Rowan Landry here to pick up the car you said was available.”
The attendant, who looks as though he just returned from smoking pot in the back, has a confused look on his face. My stomach sinks.
“Rowan what a—what?”
“Landry,” I say slowly.
He looks at a piece of paper. “Oh, you were just here. Something wrong with the car?”
I blink at him. “I wasn’t just here. I just walked in. Tell me you have a car for me.”
He looks at a wall that should have keys on it, but there are none. “Nah, man, I’m out of cars. This guy just came in and took the last one.” He thumbs through some papers. “Landry. That wasn’t you?”
“You have to be fucking kidding me!” Conor shouts from behind me.
Tweetie tugs Conor out of the building.
I rest my forearms on the counter. “Okay, listen, I am Rowan Landry, and I didn’t just come in moments ago and rent a car, so where is the car you promised me on the phone?”
He looks at the board again and shrugs. “Sorry, man. I got nothing.”
“So what do you suggest we do?” I glance at his nametag. “Larry.”
He glances at his nametag and laughs. I assume Larry isn’t his name. “There’s a train station across the street. Or I can call GrannyGo for you. They’re some really nice ladies. Have these killer cookies.”
