Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Ren didn’t expect a road trip to be anything like a trip on a plane, but just in case more preparation was required than she expected, she was ready and at the curb in front of Davis Hall by five on Tuesday evening. By five fifteen, she was pretty sure road trips worked nothing like air travel. There were plenty of people walking around, plenty of cars pulling to the curb, but no Fitz.
It gave her time to sit with the thoughts she’d done her best to outrun for the past forty or so hours. What was she doing? Was she really thinking about leaving? For the past five days, she’d felt unfamiliar in her skin—frantic, anxious, suspicious. She’d been frustrated with her parents before, of course, but only in small ways. Things like when they wouldn’t let her try something new to help with the harvest, or they didn’t want to branch out and add a new farmers market to their monthly rotation. But nothing like this, when the confusion and hurt seemed to tangle into a ball of ache she wasn’t sure how to look at straight on.
But was she really doing this? This, as in getting in a car with a virtual stranger and driving for days? What choice did she have? She had to meet Christopher Koning. The curiosity had transitioned overnight into a burning, desperate necessity. Unfortunately, she only had sixty-three dollars to her name. Not nearly enough for a bus ticket, let alone a plane trip to Atlanta and back. But if Fitz could get her to Nashville, she figured she’d be able to afford a bus to Atlanta from there.
The bigger issue was her parents. This wasn’t sneaking off campus to grab a sandwich or buy a new alarm clock. This was leaving leaving. Today was Tuesday; Steve and Gloria would be there Friday evening to pick Ren up, expecting her home for the entirety of spring break next week. She had to delay them but hadn’t figured out how yet. What if they showed up early, before she’d thought of a good excuse for them to stay home? Would they go to her room and ask Miriam where Ren was? Would she tell them she hadn’t seen Ren in three days? And then what? What would she do if she actually managed to find Christopher Koning? Was finding him really worth the chance that her parents wouldn’t let her return to school?
Panic clawed its way up Ren’s throat at the possibilities that spiraled from there, and she blinked hard, trying to clear it. Behind her lids, she imagined a highway passing beneath her, the skyline of Atlanta coming into view, and the soothing relief of fireworks popping all around everything. The jittery adrenaline cleared from her blood when her mind went unfocused and she felt the safety of a big, warm hand holding hers, when she saw the sparkling lights glowing just in front of her.
The truth was, this trip was only partly about finding Christopher Koning. There had always been something inside Ren that knew there was more out there—more to learn, more to see, more people to meet, and more to her story. She knew, each time she imagined the fireworks, that the fantasy somehow took her off the homestead. Ren’s entwined dread and hope that this was a clue to all of that made her feel like she was a boulder balanced precariously at the lip of a cliff.
She reached down, absently winding her watch, before pulling her sleeve back to peek at the time. Five thirty.
The coffee shop across the street was open. Inside, it looked cozy, with soft lighting and a pastry case full of baked goods she could practically smell from her place on the curb. Digging into her pocket, she felt the small wad of cash there. It had to last her the next week at least. But if Fitz was driving her across the county, the least she could do was spare a dollar for a nice coffee for him, right?
When she stepped out of the small shop, the four-dollar coffee in hand, Fitz was bent over the hood of a rusty white Ford Mustang parked at the curb. “I might have to take her,” he mumbled as she stepped up behind him, “but I don’t have to be nice about it.” A loud ping sounded from somewhere inside the engine. Fitz slammed the hood closed, and the sound was echoed by a pop. “Bet she doesn’t make it to Missoula. We’ll see who breaks first.”
“Who’s breaking before Missoula?”
He turned, startled. “Hey. Oh. No one.” He scowled, and a tiny corner of her attention was pulled to the sight of his hair sticking up sweetly on the side, mussed from his fingers running through it, she guessed. She straightened. The appearance might be cute, but the man was grumpy: “I told you to be here at six.”