I’m wrong.
Twenty minutes later, Reagan is busting through my front door with a suitcase dragging behind her. She won’t take any chance to miss a road trip, and she just quit her job so right now, she’s as free as a bird. I own my apartment; after Gran died, Mom made sure I had something I could own, so I can just lock it up for now and leave it.
I called my boss; she was happy for me to take a month and then let her know what I want to do.
It’s all falling into place, a little too easily.
I try not to see that as any kind of sign.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Reagan asks, leaning against the doorframe.
I exhale. “No. But I will never forgive myself if something happens to him and I don’t go...”
She slides a hand onto mine. “We’ll do it, for Travis.”
I nod. “For all of it.”
Within an hour, we are in the car, my hands curled around the wheel, staring at the closed garage. Mom has left, and now it’s just Reagan and me, ready to face something I honestly thought I wouldn’t have to face again.
“We got this,” Reagan claps her hands together, as I pull out of the driveway.
Ahead, the road home stretches out—uncertain, frightening, but necessary.
