“They weren’t open when we called this morning,” my father adds. “But I’m sure she’s there. We can try calling them again in a little bit.”
Jacob’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. He doesn’t seem as convinced as my father.
I want to ask whether Maggie’s returned any of their texts or calls, but I’m sure they would have told me if she had. And I don’t want to bring it up and risk ruining my father’s lighter mood.
The city fades behind us, and we’re back among the rolling green hills, only they seem taller here. It’s a rare sunny day and the green’s so vibrant, the purple flowers along the road so bright, the sky so blue. I don’t know if my father’s optimism is contagious, or if it’s the weather contributing to my good mood, but I’m fully feeling it now.
We’ll find Maggie, and she’ll be fine. I’ll have a chance to make things right, and then I can leave this place and finally return home.
A buoyant, weightless sensation settles through me. The hum of the car and the white noise of the wind are calming, and it all slowly lulls me to sleep.
—
When I wake, we’re not moving. And the rain has returned.
My head is slouched over my chest, and as I try to correct my horrible posture, a dull pain throbs in my neck.
“Maybe it was too close to the date. But we’d talked about moving it, and she said it was fine, but maybe…”
“She didn’t want that, Uncle,” Jacob replies. “She liked the idea of keeping the dates close. Including him in that way.” He pauses. “She said it would be a new memory, a way to turn a hard time into a better one.”
I open my eyes slowly, blinking a few times.
“Is it—did I pressure her? Or make her feel like she had to…to justify it in that way?”
“No,” Jacob says. “It’s not that.”
“Then what? I can’t—I have to think she had a reason.”
“It wasn’t the timing.”
My dad turns to look at Jacob. They’re speaking softly, and neither of them seem to notice I’m awake.
“Did she say something to you? Anything that would make this make sense?”
From this angle I can’t see much of Jacob’s face, but I can see the way he opens his mouth then closes it.
He’s about to rat me out. I can tell. So I interrupt before it can happen.
“What’s going on?” I ask, but as I straighten and look out the window, the answer becomes clear.
Sheep.
We’re surrounded by sheep.
Their softbaa-ing is dulled by the plinking sound of rain, but they’re everywhere. A whole flock of them stretches out along the road.
A few people in front of us have gotten out of their cars, rain jackets on, hoods raised, and they’re lifting their phones, taking pictures of it all.
“We’re stuck,” Jacob says, unhelpfully.
“Yes, but how—”
“I went off the main road,” my father says. “Traffic was slow, and I thought this could be faster, but…”
A particularly loudbaaerupts then, and the culprit’s white face peers through my window. It reminds me of one of those drive-through zoos.
“So, how long does this usually take?”
