On top of my father’s insistence that I pick things back up with Margot, her father cornered me at the party last night to tell me that now that the Miles2Go reputation had been redeemed and my father had served his time, the Merriweather-Browns were looking forward to renewing discussions between us of a potential merger of some of our smaller divisions to create one-stop travel centers for road-tripping families.
As if I’d still be in control.
Still working for M2G.
Which makes me suspect Margot’s recent renewed interest in him was professional instead of personal. Convenience stores and hotels are a good match, and it was a match we were supposed to make before my father went to prison.
When I hurt her by calling things off.
Why would she keep my secret that I’m running away now?
I shouldn’t have gone to see her at all last week, but I felt like I needed closure.
I needed to look her in the eye, see that she’s okay, that she doesn’t hate me anymore.
Not because I want her back—I’m not the same man I was when we got engaged, and I can’t begin to imagine finding peace with her and the life she wants to keep living now—but because I needed to tie up that one last loose end.
For me.
And one more loose end is exactly what I’m pondering as we approach the outskirts of Pittsburgh.
How do I get rid of Daphne without her alerting my family that I’m gone before I’ve done what I need to do with the cash in my trunk and find wherever it is that I’m supposed to start my new life?
I’m supposed to have two weeks before they know anything’s wrong. So I might need to keep Daphne with me for the full two weeks.
I don’t want to tip my hand to her this early though.
The minute I stop at a gas pump, she leaps out of the car. “Potty,” she says. “By the way, you parked on the wrong side for the gas tank. There’s this little arrow thingy on your gas gauge that points to which side your tank is on. For future reference. Don’t leave without me.”
She dances inside the convenience store almost before I’ve unfolded myself and climbed out of the car.
She finally stopped talking once she climbed into the back seat, and after I got the radio turned on, I almost forgot she was there.
Almost.
Hard to forget I have a stowaway who’s somehow managed to already blackmail me.
I look at the pump, and Cupholder the hermit crab waves at me from a video screen centered above the payment display.
I blink at it.
Why did I pick a Miles2Go?
Why?
I didn’t have to pick a Miles2Go. There’s a different store, a different brand, right across the street.
And I went immediately for the familiar.
Even though I’ve never driven up to one of these in my life.
It’s not simply the summer heat making me sweat in my flannel now. I grunt to myself, get back in the car, crank the engine, and turn it around so the tank is on the same side as the pump.
Facing this way, I can clearly see the wildflowers blooming in the grassy area between the parking lot of this shop and the next one down. At least four butterflies flutter among the purple cornflowers and black-eyed Susans and milkweed.
My heart squeezes in my chest, but for once, it’s not anxiety or fear or overwhelm or stress or anything bad.
It’s pride.
