“Thank you.” I clear my throat as she hovers over me, her bare thighs right at eye level.
“What are friends for?” She smiles, then disappears into her bedroom.
Friends . . . ?
#AlabamaAllStarAssaultis trending on Twitter. My life as I know it is over.
“Give me that.” Laney snatches the phone from my hand. “We are disappearing, remember? That means no phones or computers or Twitter or Facebook.”
“How shall we ever survive?” I jest, glumly.
“We’ll eat, drink, and be merry,” she says dryly as she turns on her car. It’s a little, red, sporty thing with two doors. Definitely not conducive for a six-foot-three college athlete. My knees are practically touching my chest. “There’s a reason it’s called comfort food.” She pulls out of the parking lot.
“I don’t think much is going to comfort me,” I say as we drive past my house. I pull my hood over my face and slouch down as she speeds by. There is still an entourage of reporters camped out on the large front lawn.
“Vultures,” Laney spits.
“Appropriate comparison,” I add disheartened.
It takes two and a half hours to get to the cabin, but we need to stop for food and supplies if we are going to disappear comfortably. About an hour and a half into the drive, Laney pulls up to a food store. She knows it’s the closest grocery chain for miles.
I feel some apprehension when we walk into the busy market. I don’t want anyone to recognize me. And luckily, no one seems to take notice of us as we start to stroll the aisles.
“What do you want to eat? What will make you feelcomforted?”Laney jokes.
I grin. What a loaded question that is.You—stripped naked in the freezer aisle.
“Um . . .” I keep my dirty thoughts to myself. “What’s that sandwich your dad used to make?”
“Which one?” she asks as she throws a couple bags of chips into the cart.
“The one with the cheese and the sauce he used to bake.”
“Oh, Reuben.”
“Yeah. That one.” I snap my fingers.
“Okay, I’ll grab the ingredients and some other stuff for lunch and dinner. I’ll stock up just in case we are missing for a few days. Can you grab another cart and get drinks?”
“Sure.” Missing for a few days with Laney?Yes, please.
We meet up at the checkout aisle. She has a cart full of food that looks like it will last us a few months, not days. And I have enough Gatorade to hydrate an elephant. I grabbed Laney a few bottles of Snapple Iced Tea because I know she likes that brand. No southern sweet tea for this girl.
I will never understand.
Once the groceries are loaded into the car, we make the last leg of our trip to the cabin. It’s midday by the time we get there. The house is nothing extravagant, but it sits right on the lake and has a killer view. There’s even a boat dock. I couldn’t tell you how many nights Laney and I hung out on those wooden planks just talking and gazing at the stars.
“Well, you wanted to disappear. This is definitely as close as it gets,” Laney remarks as I open the front door. The inside décor still has my mother’s touch. Flower-patterned furniture and plush throw rugs over the hardwood floor. In the divorce, my mother got the house I grew up in and my father got the lake house. He doesn’t come here often—I think the last time was Fourth of July last year. The town puts on a huge fireworks display over the lake that’s pretty impressive.
“Okay.” Laney slaps my back. “You grab the bags, and I’ll start lunch.”
“I can do that.” It takes me three trips to bring in all the food bags. By the third trip, Laney is practically done with prepping lunch.
“You’re fast.”
“I’m hungry.” She pops a piece of lunchmeat into her mouth.
“How come I only like the Reuben sandwich that your father makes?” I grab a piece of meat for myself. “I’ve tried them a few times, and they’re never quite the same.”
