Page 15 of The Last Road Trip

“Mom, what is this?” Coris whispers, looking at the blood on Buck’s chin.

“Go inside, girls,” Gary says. He looks down at his brother. “I heard what you said on the deck, Buck. I am calling the county sheriff. Drugging your wife is a felony, and you are not staying under my roof tonight.”

Buck gawks at his brother. “You’re taking her side over a sleeping pill?”

“You did this to yourself,” I say.

I pull my phone from my pocket and dial 9-1-1. Gary puts a hand on each of the twins’ shoulders, turning them around and pushing them into the house before the police cruiser pulls into the driveway. He looks at Kwemby, and Kwemby nods.

When the operator answers, I state the address. I explain that my husband put a Xanax pill into my water bottle without my knowledge and used physical force to keep me from leaving the driveway. I do not look at Buck while I talk.

The ten minutes it takes for the deputy to arrive pass in complete silence. Buck sits on the bottom step of the porch with his head in his hands, breathing heavily. Gary stands by the front door with his arms crossed.

The police cruiser pulls into the driveway, its blue and red lights flashing against the trees. We give our statements, the deputy takes a photo of the red marks forming on my arm, and he puts handcuffs on Buck’s wrists before leading him to the back seat of the car.

When the cruiser drives away, Kwemby lifts my suitcase. “Ready?”

“How did you know where to find me?” I ask as we pull onto the highway.

“You turned right at the diner,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road. “I know your driving routes, Harriet. I knew exactly where you were going, and I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Thank you.” I reach across the console and press my hand against his forearm. “Thank you for being there.”

I stare out the window as we drive. My feelings for Buck are gone. I married the wrong man, and I have spent decades wishing my life was different.

We pull into the parking lot of a hotel with tinted windows. Kwemby shifts the car into park but leaves the engine running.

“My place is twenty minutes down the road,” he says, turning in his seat. “I can check you in here and head home if you want to be alone. But I do not want to leave you by yourself tonight.”

“Please don’t go,” I say, reaching for his hand. “I do not want to sit in an empty room right now.”

He nods, turns the key to cut the ignition, and grabs my bag from the back seat.

Inside, the lobby is quiet. The clerk checks Kwemby’s ID and slides a plastic key card across the counter.

We open the door to room 312. The lamps are already on, casting yellow light over the king-sized bed and the thick, drawn curtains. I set my suitcase down near the wall, but my legs begin to shake so badly I have to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Kwemby stays near the door, his hands in his pockets, watching me quietly.

“Do you want me to sit in the armchair, Harriet?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Just tell me where to go.”

I look at the white duvet, then back at Kwemby, who came to the driveway the moment I needed him.

“Please don’t sit over there,” I say, holding out my arms. “Just hold me. Don’t let me be alone tonight.”

He crosses the room, takes off his shoes, and sits on the mattress beside me. He pulls me against his chest, holding me firmly until my shoulders stop shaking. I close my eyes and fall asleep.

Chapter 10

Harriet

Iwake to sunlight cutting through a thin gap in the curtains, a warm line across the white duvet. Kwemby is already awake, propped on one elbow beside me, watching me affectionately.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice rough with sleep.

He smiles. “Good morning.”

“I hope last night wasn’t weird, with me sleeping here.” He gestures at the bed we both occupy.