I checked the time.Blinked.Checked it again.
Fortunately, Bobby had already loaded my suitcase into the Jeep, so all I had to do was throw my laptop in my backpack and say goodbye.
“Bye, Keme,” I said from the doorway to the billiard room.
Keme, perched on the chesterfield, was locked in life-or-death combat in another round ofFortnite.
“Bye,” I said again.More loudly.
Millie was on the floor next to him, working on her handmade, upcycled jewelry.Whatever this piece was, it involved alotof beads.
“See you guys later,” I said.
Nothing.
Bobby looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“I’ll miss you,” I called.
“Oh, Dash,” Millie said without looking up from the beads.“Indira said she’s out of milk, so can you get some on your way home.”
My jaw dropped.
“Come on,” Bobby said.
Fox was asleep in the hall.On the floor.Snoring.With their mouth open.
At the door, Indira handed me a paper sack.“It’s a little something in case you get hungry,” she told me.Then she gave me a hug.“Be safe.We’ll see you tomorrow.”
And Bobby followed me outside.At the Jeep, he said, “You’ve got plenty of time, so please drive carefully.”
“Always.”
“And take a picture of where you park.”
I grinned.
“I know,” he said.“I can’t help it.And keep your wallet and phone in your front pockets until you get past security.”
“Believe it or not,” I said, “I have been let off the leash before.”
For a moment, that big, goofy grin unfurled.Then he kissed me.
When he let me come up for air, I said, “I think maybe I should stay.Phil can handle the meeting.”
Laughing, Bobby loaded me into the Jeep.He gave me a last peck on the lips, shut the door (like a gentleman), and waved as I started down the drive.
You probably know the feeling: that mixture of nerves and excitement, your whole body keyed up, but in a good way.This was real.This was happening.I was going to do this.
Under spruce and pine, I made my way along the state highway.I hit the fog belt, and the air from the vents tasted damp and sweet and stinging.The Jeep was noisy enough to swallow other sounds, and so, in spite of how loud it was, it felt like it was silent.I’d done this drive dozens—maybe hundreds—of times.I passed the spot where Keme had saved my life when someone tried to hit me with a car.And I passed the spot where theoldJeep had broken down, and Bobby had arrived in time to scare off a killer.Not much farther north was where I’d been run off the road, and Fox and Indira and Bobby and Keme and Millie had come to save me.Moisture hung like jewel-drops in the dark green needles overhead.
And then I cleared the fog belt, and I glimpsed Hastings Rock.It was still storybook perfect, its quaintly eccentric skyline a jumble of old Victorians and stately Queen Annes that made it look like what it was supposed to be: something from a postcard.The first time I’d gone into town, I’d been lonely and disoriented and desperate for coffee, and I’d ended up at Chipper—and, much to my dismay, found myself being befriended by Millie against my will.It was hard to summon up the memory of how unfamiliar this place had been, because now I knew it so well—every inch of it mapped with memories.That first parking ticket from Bobby.Perfect fall afternoons with Indira at the farmer’s market.The night Keme and I had gotten ice cream at Cold Stone because, after everything we’d been through, it seemed like the thing to do.When I’d visited Fox’s gallery and seen how talented they were.
Trees rose up, cutting off the view, and I turned my attention back to the road.
It was going to be great.The TV show was going to be great.Mr.Murderwas going to be great.It was bad timing, kind of, because I’d come up with such a good idea for the next Will Gower book.And I was excited about it, and it was the kind of excitement that, when it came, felt like a gift—the kind of thing, in the ancient world, they would have called a muse.Inspiration.Something that came from somewhere else, some place I couldn’t always touch.
But it would be there when I came back to it.After I wrote theMr.Murderbooks.Which, I guess, were supposed to be based on the TV show.Which seemed kind of backward, now that I thought about it, but maybe it would make the writing easier.
