We gathered what little stuff we’d brought in from the van and abandoned the cabin. Part of me didn’t want to leave such a beautiful place behind, but we had another campsite to get to, and we were already starting out much later than we’dplanned.
Pete opened the passenger door for me. “I’mdriving.”
I didn’t argue. Getting fucked, however wonderful it was, always turned me inside out. I was going to fall asleep, and heknewit.
We were a few hours in when we stopped for gas. I was awake by then and starting to feel the effects of sitting in the passenger seat forsolong.
“You need to eat,” Pete said. “And I needcoffee.”
I felt like shit, and the prospect of trying to eat made my already churning stomach do an extra flip, but seeing as we’d skipped dinner and breakfast, I let him drag me into yet another diner, this one atruckstop.
“Get eggs,” Pete said. “And some whole wheat toast. Greasy bacon will make itworse.”
“Does this mean you’re not havingbacon?”
Pete grinned. “Maybe.”
He didn’t have bacon or sausage or hash browns or any other fried delights he likely had his eye on. We both had scrambled eggs and bagels, and by the time I was done, I felt a gazillion timesbetter.
“So…” Pete pushed his plate away but didn’telaborate.
“So…what?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about, um, my mentalhealth.”
“Oh.” I slid my plate aside too. “I don’t want to fightaboutthat.”
“Fight?”
I toyed with a discarded packet of sugar. “Yeah. It probably didn’t come out right yesterday, but I stand by what I said. Something’s gotta give or you’re going to end up as fucked upasme.”
“You’re notfuckedup.”
“Yes, I am. But I can deal because I have the tools to manage it. If I hadn’t had help, I’d be long dead, and we bothknowit.”
Pete’s eyes blazed. “I’m not going to killmyself.”
You didn’t kill your mom either.But I didn’t say it. We had the rest of our lives to talk about Maggie. Right now, Pete needed to get better. “You don’t need to kill yourself to stopliving.”
The waitress came with the coffee jug. He waved her away and asked for the check. “I’m not going to argue with that, and for what it’s worth, I agree with your, uh, diagnosis. My point is that you don’t have to run yourself down toconvinceme.”
“Why didn’t you fucking saysothen?”
Pete rolled his eyes. “I would if we could have a conversation without going around incircles.”
The waitress returned. I paid the check and then hooked the van keys with my thumb. “You’re right, but we can’t fix that with silence, so we need to keeptalking.”
“I know.” Pete stood and shrugged into his coat. Then he came around the table and laid a discreet hand on my shoulder. “I wanna talk, I promise, but we gotta do it on the road if we’re going to make Missoula before midnight. Come on,let’sgo.”
I followed him out to the van with more than a little apprehension. Pete admitting he had a problem was one thing, but what next? I’d only agreed to therapy when he’d broken down and begged me. When there hadn’t been much left of me to fix. Recovery had been a long road, and I still wasn’t there. I didn’t want that for Pete. I couldn’tbearit.
“You okay todrive?”
I glanced blearily at Pete. Was I? My body was sore from this morning’s exploits, but I didn’t relish another heavy discussion without a distraction. “I’mgood.”
We left the truck stop behind and hit the road to Missoula in earnest. “So,” I said for the second time in as many hours, “what’syourplan?”
“Myplan?”
