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“What even gave you this idea?” Wylie demanded.
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Sanders,” I said, leaning across to speak into the phone. “It’s my fault.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.”
“No, it was. It was all my idea. I guess I just remembered what you said about that road trip you took? And…”
“Look, it’s just four and a half hours to LA,” Russell interjected. “Nothing’s going to happen to the Bronco.”
There was a silence, then Wylie sighed. “Fine,” he finally said, sounding resigned. “This is what comes of talking up my youthful road trips. I want you to drive the car back by Thursday at the latest.”
“Great,” Russell said, giving me a smile. “That’s—”
“And you and I are going to go to Michigan together.”
The relief that had washed across Russell’s face was replaced by something more complicated. “I don’t know, Dad. I think—maybe Mom? I…”
“I’d like to be there with you. It’s a real moment. Okay?”
Russell let out a breath, then nodded. “Okay. It’s a deal.”
“Good. Okay—Darcy, take notes.” Wylie cleared his throat, then started giving us increasingly detailed instructions about the car. He reminded us that we were driving through the desert, in August, and that we should be careful not to let the Bronco overheat, not to let the gas get too low, things like that. Then he’d made Russell promise to call the second he was back inside the LA city limits.
Then he said goodbye, and Russell hung up and glanced at me. “Sorry about that.”
“No, I’m sorry. Now I’ve gotten you roped into a trip with your dad.”
“Well, it’s appropriate, right? The only reason I even got into Michigan is because of my dad’s donation. And so it’s probably good that he goes with me and shows his face on campus. They can at least get their money’s worth.”
I glanced over at him, taking in the unhappy twist of his mouth, the way he was trying to sound like this was just no big deal, but not pulling it off. “It’s just… I mean…”
“What?”
I thought about it before I spoke, replaying the conversation I’d had with Wylie. He’d never told me I wasn’t supposed to relay it back to Russell. And it just felt like something that he should know. “I actually… had a talk with him this morning. Your dad, I mean. He made me breakfast.”
Russell gave me a look—like he was smiling in spite of himself. “Did he make you a scramble?”
I nodded.
“He only makes those for the most important people. It’s a compliment.”
“We got to talking. About you and him. And I just…” I took a deep breath. “I think that in terms of Michigan… he was just trying to do something nice for you. To give you a gift. To… let you know how much he loves you.”
Russell flushed, his hands tightening on the wheel for just a moment before he released them.
“I don’t think he ever thought you couldn’t do it on your own. He’s really proud of you.”
Russell nodded, still not looking at me. “Thanks, Darcy.”
“Should I not have told you?”
“No,” Russell said immediately, shaking his head. “I’m glad to know it.” He changed lanes on the highway, going around a slow Tesla.
I looked out the window, taking it all in. We were still in the Vegas proximity bubble, because all the exit signs and billboards were telling us about things we could do and places we could stay back on the Strip. I kicked off my Birks and stretched my feet toward the dashboard, then hesitated. “Sorry—is this okay?”
“Fine with me.”
I rested my feet against the glove compartment and looked out the window, taking in the huge swath of sky, the mountains in the distance, the vastness and scope of it all. I was going to trade all this for New England? Church spires and leaves turning and cold winters? “I, like, logically know it’s happening. But I can’t actually believe that soon, I won’t live in California anymore.”
