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WINNIE
C’était horrible!
CASE
How’s the drive going?
WINNIE
Long. Maria has commandeered the radio, and it’s been nothing but Olivia Rodrigo since we left.
CASE
You know, someone once got mad at me for belittling OR.
CASE
Not that I’m hung up on it or anything.
WINNIE
OR has a place and that place is on call for when I’m mad about a boy or maybe a breakup.
CASE
So not recently…
WINNIE
Aïe, merci pour ça.
CASE
Ha.
CASE
Gardez-le juste reel.
CASE
You’re just mad there’s no Tim McGraw.
WINNIE
I mean. I don’t think that’s asking too much.
“Earth to Winnie!” I drop my phone in my lap and look up, immediately wiping the smile off my face.
“What?”
Maria’s grin is all-knowing. “You hungry? We’re thinking of stopping early to eat, since there’s a long stretch ahead that won’t have much outside of fast food.”
I consider the money I have in my wallet and nod. “Sure, I could eat.”
We’re on our way back to Amarillo, two stunning new quarter horse stallions in tow, when my phone rings. I’m sitting in the passenger seat this time, though Maria is still in charge of music because “No one under the age of thirty listens to Shania Twain unironically, Winnie.” But I’ve opened my window wide to let the dry, hot air blow through my hair, so I quickly move to close it and turn down the radio.
“Hey!” Maria protests. I hold up a finger, seeing a number I don’t recognize.
