What had I gotten myself into?
The thought of being up and ready to travel at…seven hundred hours? It felt like a personal attack. Despite the two-hour time difference.
I hadn’t exactly been keeping regular hours lately.
I blew a stray piece of hair out of my face with an irritated puff of air.
I probably should have expected as much. This was my mom’s trip, after all. It was too late to back out now. I was already here, and everything was paid for; all I had to do was go through the motions.
Follow the schedule.
And hey, I’d managed to survive the flight over here—sort of, anyway. I would survive this too.
DAY 1: THE JOURNEY BEGINS
The next morning, for all my internal pep talks, I woke up feeling sluggish.
How did these people manage to look so perky? Like, as we made our way outside to the bus, a shiny, silver, modern-looking thing with the WonderWorld Tours logo stenciled on the side, they looked…excited.
Oh, right. They’d actually signed up for this.
The sun was just beginning to climb, casting a pale gold light that hadn’t warmed anything yet, and the wind tugged at my boho skirt, making it flap around my calves like it was as restless as I was. My hair—left down today to curl around my shoulders—kept whipping into my face, tangling in my lashes and sticking to my lip balm.
Dragging my suitcase behind me, I shifted my smaller bag to the other hand and hugged it closer, relieved I’d remembered to pack a jacket to throw on over my T-shirt.
One of the few things I’d done right lately.
The moment had finally come. I’d managed to avoid conversation during check-in last night, but doubted I’d be able to stay invisible much longer.
Still trying to delay the inevitable, I glanced up. Had the sky been this blue yesterday? There was no haze, not a single cloud, just an endless expanse of color. It felt almost surreal, as if someone had turned up the saturation on the world overnight.
It was...pretty.
I definitely wasn’t in Rhode Island anymore.
I handed my suitcase to the kid, a true ginger, who was loading them into the storage compartment, and then climbed up the steps onto the bus and into a narrow aisle.
Most of the seats were already filled, and it didn’t take long to notice that nearly everyone was paired up—older couples, lady friends, and a set of obvious siblings—all chatting, laughing, or flipping through their itineraries.
As the murmur of conversation and the rustling of bags filled the bus, yet another unnerving thought crept in: Am I the only one here alone?
It’s what Mom had planned. Wasn’t it? And if Mom could do it…
A voice cut through the noise. “Sit here with me, sweetheart.”
I blinked as I realized a woman was talking to me. She was patting the seat beside her, her smile as bright as the vibrant purple and teal tracksuit she wore. Her light gray hair was frizzy and curling in every direction, wilder than mine, though partially tamed by the funny hat perched on her head. As she pulled it off and set it in her lap, her short curls sprang free, sticking out everywhere.
“I’m Barbara, but most people call me Babs,” she said, staring up at me cheerfully from behind glasses—oversized with bright red frames.
Everything about this woman was bright. Like, she was the total opposite of my mom. She actually reminded me a little of Gran. “We can take turns sitting by the window.”
Before I could process the offer, she kept going. “We’re in for quite the adventure, aren’t we? Morty—my husband—he and I used to go on trips like this all the time. Those were the days.” Her eyes went soft, before focusing in on me again. “I saw you last night, but you left before I could introduce myself. I think we’re the only single gals on this tour though, so we’re pretty much stuck with each other.”
She wasn’t wrong. And while I hadn’t been planning on having a bus buddy, something about her energy made it seem like it wasn’t really up to me.
Dazed, I slid into the seat, nodding and mumbling a polite response, happy, at least, that she seemed like the type who could fill any silence with or without outside help.
“You aren’t wearing your nametag. Didn’t you get one last night?”
