Page 81 of A Real Goode Time
As we left the diner, I shot a look at her. “You wanna switch, keep driving, or call it a night here in Minneapolis?”
She leaned her butt against the hood, considering. “Honestly, I’m not tired at all. That nap was like power fuel or something. I’m good to keep going, if you are.”
“Sounds good to me. Let me know when you get sleepy.”
“I will.”
Onward, then. Silences alternated with conversation and we played a game with the songs on queue, trying to pick the next song based on ever-changing criteria—number one hit that same year, or bands that ended up sharing a member, or words that appeared in both song titles, until we’d covered almost all of classic rock and moved into southern rock and country.
By the time we reached North Dakota I could tell she was getting tired, but I figured I’d wait for her to call it.
I was about to suggest a switch, but then she seemed to get a second wind, perking up, finding new energy that took us through half of North Dakota before we had to stop and pee and refuel. She let me take over, then, well past midnight. We’d agreed to keep going until we were both too tired to drive anymore. We both got coffees and snacks and, somehow, despite the seemingly endless hours and miles, we always had something else to talk about.
We reached the border at Raymond, Montana, and drove over to Regway, Saskatchewan where we talked to the Canadian border agent. We answered a few questions and crossed without issue, but not before Torie got her first stamp in her passport. And just for fun I got one, too. I’d driven up to New Brunswick a few times to get car parts, but I’d never got a stamp in my passport, so it was fun to share a first with Torie.
Despite the coffee, Torie eventually fell asleep, leaving me to the music and the miles and my thoughts.
I was glad we’d kept going. I knew we were putting off the inevitable, but neither of us wanted to address the elephant in the Jeep.
About six a.m., I started yawning uncontrollably, and I needed to stretch my legs and get some air, so I pulled over on the side of the deserted highway just before dawn—when the sky wasn’t quite gray, but not quite light. It was cool, with a sweet smell to the air. The land was very flat where we were, just beyond Regina, a stand of trees here and there, but mostly flat farmland.
I tried to open the door quietly, but Torie stirred and woke up, smiling sleepily at me—the smile that got my heart every time. It was a smile that said she was just so happy to see me, even though she’d been right next to me in that passenger seat for hours at this point. It just got me, that sleepy little grin.
She got out of the car and stretched, up onto her toes, arms overhead, shirt lifting to bare her belly and the undersides of her breasts, which trembled as she shook with the force of the stretch.
“Where are we?” she asked, yawning, her voice muzzy, and something about it felt like the most familiar sound in all the world, somehow.
“Regina, Saskatchewan, or just past it.” I yawned, then, catching it from her. “We’re more than halfway to Alaska, now.”
“Rhys…” she started, and then trailed off. She strode out into the grass beyond the shoulder. I followed. “When are you going to turn around?”
Good question. I picked a long stalk of grass and twisted it in my fingers. “I dunno. Been trying to figure that out, but…”
Her pale brown eyes searched me. “But what?”
“It’s complicated,” I said, avoiding the meaning behind her question.
“No, it’s not. You have to get back to New Haven. You have jobs lined up. Yet here you are in Regina motherfucking Saskatchewan with me. So again, I ask you—how far are you willing to go?”
I swallowed. Dropped my eyes to the grass—watched a big green grasshopper struggle up a stalk of grass. “I don’tknow, Torie. I’ve been thinking about it for hours and I don’t fuckin’ know, okay?” I felt honesty rising in my throat like bile. “The thought of just…leaving you outside a bus station makes my stomach hurt. I just don’t know that I can do that.”
“I’d be fine if you did, Rhys. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”
“MaybeIwouldn’t be fine,” I muttered, more to the grass than her. “I know you’re capable—it’s not about that.”
She was rocked back by that answer. “Then what’s it about?”
“It’s about a whole big, deep, hard conversation we’ve been avoiding since fuckin’ Ohio.”
“Oh.” She kicked at the tall grass, walking away a little bit. “Maybe…maybe we should agree to not…to notdoanything for right now. Until we do figure that out.”
“Yeah, probably a good plan,” I said. “I’m for sure too tired to talk about it right now.” I yawned again. “We should just go back to Regina and crash.”
She shook her head. “I’m good to go—I’ll stop for gas and coffee at the next stop, but I want to keep going, if you’re okay sleeping in the car again.”
I nodded. “Fine by me. I’ll put the seat back and crash.”
She laughed. “Since we’re driving, maybe don’t use the term ‘crash.’”