Conventionally Yours (True Colors 1)

Distracted by a particularly funny story about Alden’s pre-algebra class, my pulse barely jumped as we passed the “Welcome to Kansas” signs at the border. But after we passed Topeka and the highway turned achingly familiar, each exit a memory, my muscles tensed one by one. And to make matters worse, I kept yawning. Apparently my body had decided escaping to sleep might be preferable to this onslaught of emotions.

“What’s wrong?” Alden asked.

“Nothing. Maybe we’ll stop in Salina for coffee or an energy drink or something.” I needed to get through this stretch as quickly as possible.

“No. We’ll stop sooner. You keep blinking. Coffee now. And I’ll take a turn driving.”

The blinking wasn’t entirely tiredness, but I didn’t want to explain, so I nodded and started looking for an exit. “We could probably use gas anyway.”

We ended up at a truck stop, getting gas before going inside where I tried to decide between a pricey energy drink and cheap coffee. Cheap won out, but I added a ton of powdered creamer and sugar and grabbed some granola bars to chase it with. I’d been tempted by the candy, but Alden’s prodding about the quality of my diet had me making the healthier choice.

As we paid, a family came in, sleepy little girl in her dad’s arms, older boy holding his hand. Something about the way the boy gazed up at his dad made a memory slap into me, so hard I almost gasped.

I’d been nine. Maybe ten. We’d been on the way back from some football scouting trip, back when he took me along all the time. And maybe it had been him trying to get me into the game, but to me, it had been…magical almost, that time together, long hours on the road, away from Mom and the girls who were just toddlers back then. Dad had been laughing, letting me load up on soda and candy, telling me how good I’d been at the game while he took notes. Back then, his praise had been easy and free, long before I started disappointing him at every turn.

Back in the present, my adult self struggled to see beyond the ghosts, feet rooted to the spot.

“I’m hungry,” the boy said. His T-shirt was faded, two sizes too small, sneakers more battered than even my own. The dad’s ancient work boots weren’t much better, and his jeans looked like they were about three washes away from disintegrating.

“You’re always hungry.” The father yawned, eyes filled with the same weariness I’d seen in my own mirror a lot the past year. “And we’re only here to use the restroom. We don’t have money for anything extra. You know that.”

The boy’s face fell, the kind of crumple that preceded a major tantrum, and without overthinking it, I stepped forward, addressing the dad.

“Hey, sir? I happened to buy extra.” I held out two granola bars. “Think I could give some to your kids?”

“We don’t need—”

“Please,” the boy whined, eyes pleading with his dad.

“Okay.” The dad sounded defeated, the sort of worn out that came with long days of worry. I knew that sound well. “If you’re sure?”

“Yeah. Big dinner, and I don’t need more snacks anyway.” I passed him over the food.

“I’ve got an extra juice.” Handing over a container, Alden gave me a searching look.

“Thank you, guys. Really.” The guy nodded at us. “God bless.”

“You too. Have a good night.” I had to swallow hard, and when we got back to the car, I slumped into the passenger seat, head falling back. I’d put my coffee in the cup holder, but I knew I wouldn’t be touching it now.

“What’s wrong?” Alden frowned at me as he turned the car on. “Do you want to go back in? Get more food for you? That was a nice thing you did.”

“It was nothing. And I’m good.” My breathing like a freight train said otherwise, and I knew I needed to calm down if I didn’t want to have to dig an inhaler out of my bag. It had been years since I’d had a situational-triggered asthma attack, but I could feel one teasing at the edges of my awareness.

“No, you’re not. Tell me.” Alden’s usual bossiness was mixed with a gentleness I didn’t usually associate with him, and it was that quiet kindness that made me start talking as he headed back to the highway.

“I’d been there before.” My voice came out ragged. “That truck stop. As a kid. With my dad. Probably more than once.”

“Oh.” Alden made a noise that was halfway between surprise and understanding. “Conrad, are we close to your town?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want to stop? You could try texting—”

“Wouldn’t help. And I don’t want to get Cassie in trouble.”

“But your mom,” he persisted. “Maybe if you call? We could go ahead and stop for the night. Maybe in the morning, you could—”