“Too bad.”
I laugh. “The last minute panic gets more inspired every year I teach.”
Charlie’s mouth opens. Before he can speak, British Jane—as I’ve nicknamed my travel app—announces we have an upcoming exit. My humor disappears as quickly as her voice does. Instead of looking down at my phone, I slip it into the pocket of my handbag. “We’re not too far now.”
We’ve passed the sign for Worcester. The trees are lush and gorgeous. I remember when I lived here, I never thought I’d leave. There was a time when Worcester held joy everywhere I turned. I breathe in the memories without thinking and a slow exhale escapes me.
Charlie glances over in concern. “Do we need to stop?”
“No.”
He tries again. “You sure? We’ve been in the car a while.”
“Positive.”
He drums his fingers lightly on the wheel, the way he does when he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. Finally he gives in and asks, “What’s happening inside your head?”
“Plenty.”
“That’s a broad answer.”
“That’s all you need to know for right now.” I think to myself,For about another ten minutes.
He mutters, “Bossy,” just loud enough for me to hear.
I smile despite my rising anxiety. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t like it.”
“Busted. I like it when you’re bossy and when you’re telling me you want me to…”
I slap a hand over his mouth and admonish him, “Later. You can remind me about how much I enjoy you going down on me later.”
“Deal. Is there a reason we’re stopping in Worcester? I mean, I can arrange for an early check in?” He asks helpfully.
“Trust me; we need to stop here first.”
Charlie has no idea about the conversation we’re about to have. But it’s one I need to share with him. He told me about the betrayal living inside his chest due to his second so-called wife—the woman he married to save, who tried to kill him to save someone else—more than a month ago. He didn’t do it for pity. He told me because he was trying to give me a choice on whether I wanted to lay claim to the complicated organ that resides beneath his Yankees t-shirt.
And just because I’m wearing a Boston Red Sox one to annoy him doesn’t mean I don’t want to be a permanent part of his heart. It means it’s time to let him know I appreciate some of what he shared. Maybe not to the same extent, but I understand.
Because I’ve been betrayed too. I thought my heart was going to bleed out of my chest. It was just never caused by an actual knife. And I’ve never told him.
“Next exit,” I pipe up suddenly.
He blinks like he missed a step. “What?”
“Next exit, please. ‘Jane’ is taking you a shorter way, but it can get congested.”
He nods before using his signal and getting off the highway. The off-ramp leads us into a neighborhood of brownstones and narrow streets. Holy Cross is only a few minutes away and I know every turn like muscle memory.
“Left,” I tell him. Then, “Straight through the roundabout.” Before, “Past the one that says Do Not Enter. Everyone ignores it.”
He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “If I get ticketed?—”
“You won’t.”
“You say that with the confidence of a criminal.”
“Former student,” I correct. “Completely different.”
