Amos holds the keys in his palm.
“I can drive if you're not feeling well,” he says.
“Sometimes it helps to drive,” I explain.
“You just wanna steal my truck again, don’t ya.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
I pull him close for a hug, then reach for the keys and turn them in the ignition.
Cool air flows through the vents once again.
My lips are parched.
The back of my neck is red from the sun.
I let the truck idle for a moment.
“Do you have any chapstick?” I ask.
“I do, somewhere.”
Amos slides his sketchbook out the duffel bag.
He delves a hand inside each compartment.
Curiosity gets the better of me.
I open the sketchbook to take a peek.
Maybe I can find that drawing he did of me while we were driving yesterday.
But instead, I find a sketch of two people walking through a field beneath a starry sky.
The man looks just like me. A
nd the woman looks familiar too.
She’s a little older, but shares the exact same smile.
Their backs are turned.
And the man is looking at her as though he hasn't seen her for a while.
“Is this me and...?”
“Her?” He nods. “Yeah.”
Handing me a small tube of lip balm, he smooths my wayward hair with his fingers.
I lift my eyes to the road stretching ahead of us.
The road toward Mum.
“She's less than an hour away,” I whisper.
Amos lays a hand on my knee.
