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“We’ll stop soon,” she told her son.
“When?” Max asked.
“In about an hour.”
“An hour! That’s too long.”
Preston felt the same way. Glaring down at the odometer, he willed the miles to pass more quickly.
“Hey, Mom. There’s a rabbit!”
Max’s squeal of excitement startled Emma, who’d been about to nod off again. “What, honey? What did you say?”
“Did you see it? Huh, Mom? Did you see it?”
She covered a yawn. “See what?”
“The rabbit,” Preston muttered.
The exasperation in his voice acted like a jolt of caffeine. It also resurrected the tense expression she’d worn earlier. “Sorry,” she said, but he didn’t know if she was talking to him or to Max.
“You’re not looking,” Max complained.
“I am now,” she said.
Preston watched Emma gather whatever reserves of strength and patience she had left and turn toward the window, presumably in search of wildlife. But he couldn’t expect her to continue acting as a buffer between him and her son. He couldn’t be that much of a jerk. He didn’t know her whole history, but he was beginning to understand that her life hadn’t gone much better than his. If he was going to drop her off in Salt Lake, the least he could do was let her get some sleep along the way.
Still, he cringed at the thought of dealing directly with Max.
He put off what his conscience dictated, hoping the guilt would recede. But it didn’t, so he finally reached out and squeezed her shoulder.
When he touched her, she gaped at him in astonishment.
“Go to sleep,” he said briskly.
She shook her head. “I’m getting my second wind.”
“Bullshit. You’re exhausted.”
“Did you say the ‘s’ word?” Max asked.
“Max, it’s none of your business,” Emma warned.
“He said the ‘s’ word, Mom. I heard him.”
“That’s okay,” she replied. “It’s not up to us to tell Mr. Holman how to speak, especially in his own car.”
“Can I say the ‘s’ word?”
“Absolutely not.”
“He did.”
“I’m bigger than you,” Preston chimed in. “When you’re my age, you can decide what words to use.”
Max seemed satisfied with this answer, but not thirty seconds later Preston heard him murmuring, “Shit…shit, shit, shit.”
Evidently, Emma heard him, too, because she twisted in her seat. “Max! What do you think you’re doing?”
Preston adjusted the rearview mirror to see Max’s eyes widen. “Practicing,” he said innocently.
Emma shook her head, and Preston couldn’t help laughing. “Rest,” he told her. “You can worry about cleaning up his language later.”
“You’re smiling,” she said as though she was amazed that he could.
Preston instantly sobered. “Just get some sleep.”
“If my son says shit one more time, you’re going to have to take us all the way to Iowa.”
“Do you really have family there?”
With a yawn, she laid her head back. “No.”
EMMA CLOSED HER EYES but refused to relax completely. She had to remain cognizant of what went on in the car. Although she was beginning to doubt that Preston was really as unfeeling as he wanted her to believe, he made no secret about his dislike of children. She’d seen the way he looked at her son, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of him, and had no intention of letting Preston say or do anything unkind to Max while she slept.
“Are we almost there?” Max asked.
Knowing this question would probably annoy Preston more than any other, because Max asked it so often, Emma tried to summon the energy to answer. But Preston responded before she could, and with far more patience than she’d expected.
“We’ve got another thirty minutes or so.”
“Thirty minutes? Is that long?”
“It’s half an hour.”
“Is half an hour long?”
Preston chuckled. “Not really.”
“Can I have some ice cream when we get there?”
Emma made an effort to bring words to her lips. She’d given Max an insulin injection when they’d stopped, but his glucose level had reached 450 mg/dL, which was very high. She didn’t want him to have any more treats until she could get his blood sugar under control. “Don’t let him have another cookie, okay?” she mumbled.
Unless she was mistaken, Preston’s voice sounded almost gentle. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, remember?”
“He’s had enough sweets.”
“I won’t give him anything. We’re about to have dinner.”
She thought she said okay, but wasn’t sure. Exhaustion made her limbs heavy, her tongue unwieldy.
“My dad’s gonna be mad if we don’t go home soon,” Max announced.
The hot sun, glaring through her window, made Emma feel warm and lazy—as though she were lying at the side of their pool. Despite that, she realized her son was attempting to enforce his will by appealing to the power his father had always held in his life, and felt guilty for dragging him so far from home. They’d had to leave Max’s aquarium behind, his comfortable bedroom, his toys. Now they were struggling to deal with his health issues on the road. And they had almost nothing.
Except the chance at a new life, she reminded herself. She conjured up the little yellow house she’d imagined so often, and smiled inside. Soon they’d be safe and free.
“Does your dad ever play ball with you?” Preston asked conversationally.
“No.”
Emma let herself relax a little more. Maybe Preston wasn’t so bad. He was even trying to entertain her son. But his question almost made Emma laugh. Manuel wanted Max to excel at baseball, yet he couldn’t be bothered to stand out in the yard and play catch. He hired a private coach to work with him twice a week. Emma threw to him every other day.
“What’s your father like?”
The answers streamed through Emma’s mind like ticker tape: Controlling, obsessive, fanatical…
“He’s tall,” Max said.
“Did you live with him?”
Unfortunately…
“I still do.”
Not anymore, Max. Never again….
“So does he know you’re gone?”
