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“I’ll hold you to it.”
The radio cuts to a commercial, and Juliet gnaws on her lip, silence stretching between us. She folds and unfolds her hands, fidgets with a hangnail.
“What kind of kin are you searching for in Peachtree Grove? A cousin or something?”
She tips her head, peering over at me. My stomach squeezes, acid from the coffee churning round and round, as I debate what to say.
“Not exactly. Not a cousin. More like a half sister.”
Gasping, her hand flies to her mouth.
“What? How?”
I focus on the road, grateful for the distraction of driving.
“What do you mean how? Same way all babies are made, Juliet.” My voice is gruff, the words terse. I’m not mad with her, and I know it’s unfair to be short. It’s my natural reaction to this entire mess, though.
“You know what I mean, King. Your dad?”
I shake my head.
“No. My mom.”
Juliet inhales sharply, and I hate that I’m making this damn trip at all.
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“I know. It’s a shock to us all.”
One hand on the wheel, I pull my wallet from my pocket, hand it to her.
“Open it up. There’s a letter in there. From her. My half sister.”
Juliet rifles through my wallet, then pulls out the now-worn aqua paper. She reads it, her eyes flying over the paper.
“You sure this is legit?” She waves the note through the air.
“Rome checked into it. It’s true. I want to lay eyes on this woman, see for myself who this Lacey McCauliffe is. I suppose she deserves to know why no one’s written her back.”
I swallow hard over the lump in my throat, the reaction the same every time I realize my mom’s really gone.
“Well, in that case—I’m glad I came with you. This is a lot to deal with on your own.”
I reach over and squeeze her hand. Find comfort in the warmth there, the inherent strength coursing through her small body.
“Me too.”
Morgan Wallen comes on the radio, crooning about whiskey shots, and Juliet joins in. A nice shot of whiskey sounds good right about now, but that’ll have to wait until later tonight, once we’re in Peachtree Grove.
The gas gauge dings, the truck chirping at me that it’s thirsty. I take the next exit, pulling into the nearest gas station. Juliet heads in to use the ladies’ room while I pump the gas. Effectively this time. A few minutes later, she walks out with a plastic bag bursting with stuff.
She waves the bag at me.
“I got us snacks. Chips, soda, and those sweet-and-salty nuts you like.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. I can’t believe she remembers that.
“Thanks. I appreciate it. Gimme a sec to use the restroom; then we’ll get back on the road.”
