Page 9 of Merging Wright

And like I’ve explained to her, this trip is only for a few days. We have a funeral to attend, then the will reading, and a U-turn out of Wrightwood.

Growing up in a town named after my great-great-something certainly was interesting. You’d think with a name like Wright, knowing I was a descendant of the founding fathers of the place, I’d be treated like royalty. I wasn’t. There’s always a bad ruler or two among the lineage, and my grandfather, Fischer Wright, was mean and ornery.

You didn’t get an A.

It was an A-minus.

Not good enough.

Nothing was good enough for him. Certainly not his daughter, my poor mother. Not his son either, her older brother. Yep, Fischer Wright lived with a lot of disappointments. He’d added me to the list long before I decided to leave.

“So, when is the first scheduled bathroom break?” Jane’s smoky voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Why? Do you need to use the facilities?” She can’t possibly have to pee already. We’re hardly out of the city limits.

“Just trying to get a timeline of the day.”

“Just drive,” I snap with undue agitation directed at her. We’ll drive until we can’t. Then we’ll drive some more. We don’t need to talk. I don’t have much to say. I can’t believe I asked Jane to do me this favor. I can’t believe I bribed her with a partnership. Tucker is going to kill me for offering such a thing. I’m also a teeny bit disturbed that Jane accepted the offer, although she did fight me a little.

I’m well aware how hard she’s worked over the years. She deserves the title of partner for all she does for the company; however, it’s not something Tucker will agree to, and I dismiss my unease at the promise I’ve made her. I’ll cross that bridge and her wrath once the time comes.

For now, I have miles to cover and memories to slay.

+ + +

We make it just north of Indianapolis, roughly three hours south of Chicago, before we take our first stop. The location is good for topping off gas and a quick break. Again, I should consider some ice and some pain medication. Punching the truck was a stupid move. It didn’t help ease the ache in my chest or the images in my head. I could have gone seven more rounds with this old steel thing, and the truck still would have won every damn time. That’s the way of things.

“Coffee?” Jane rounds the front of the truck as I stand beside the gas pump.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I reach into my pocket to pull out my wallet, but Jane is already walking away. She didn’t even take my order. I like my coffee strong with a double shot of espresso.

Bad for the heart. Good for the pipes, Ma would say.

I haven’t seen my mother since Christmas. She came to visit Tucker and me. Since the passing of Tucker’s wife years ago, Ma has stepped up to play surrogate mother to a man who isn’t her child. A man who should represent deep regret and bitterness in her life. Tucker doesn’t hold anything against Ma, though, any more than she does him. I’ll never understand that kind of forgiveness in people.

Jane quickly returns, looking sumptuously seductive as she sashays across the lot. Why does she have to look so good when I feel like shit? Irritation is ready to lash off my tongue in full force when she cuts me to the quick by holding out a to-go cup and saying: “Tall blond grandé, although that’s not what they call it here.”

I’m afraid to ask how the hell she knows my coffee order and afraid to ask what a tall blonde grandé at a roadside gas station might mean. Still, I take a sip, burning my tongue, and cursing. The sudden blisters match the raised welts on my knuckles, and the combination seems par for the day.

“I also got you some ice and ibuprofen.” She holds out a baggie of ice cubes and a travel-sized bottle of pills.

The thoughtfulness pisses me off even more. I don’t need Jane mothering me.

“Thanks,” I grumble.

Re-entering the truck, I immediately grab my phone. The time is finally after eight, and I need to check in with Amelia, then Rebecca, and call Tucker. Jane reaches for the radio. This old thing doesn’t have a surround sound system with HD capabilities. Narrowing my eyes, though, I note the radio isn’t the original one. It looks similar but not quite the same.

Jane turns up the volume, and a deep bass comes from behind the seats.

“What the hell?” I shift despite the seat belt and then unbuckle completely to get a better view behind the bench where new speakers have been hidden. When my phone suddenly rings, the ringtone fills the speakers, drowning out the music. I glance around me as if I can visibly see the sound waves traveling inside the truck. “What the fuck?”

Jane laughs, and I still. “Sounds like this baby has had an upgrade.” She gives the dash a loving caress. The action, along with the glee in her voice, contradicts her appearance. Her high heels. Her sleek clothing. Her personality. Jane is like my TAG Heuer watch, titanium and modern, not an antique wristwatch like this truck.

I don’t even try to understand how my phone linked to the radio. Instead, I snap, “Turn that off.”

“I need music to distract me while I drive, your royal—”

“Royal what?” I’m still wound up as I settle back into my seat, refastening the seat belt.