Writing A Wrong (Write Stuff 2)

He nodded, stepping back and turning to face the RV. "I know."

Feeling defeated and responsible, I turned to leave as my emotions got the best of me.

"I can control my feelings. There's no reason to punish yourself," he called out, but I didn't turn around.

Monica, Tina, and Michelle were coming out of the convenience store as I approached. It didn't look like any of them had bought anything, but they were laughing like hyenas.

"Are you okay?" Michelle asked, seeing the look of frustration on my face.

"Huh? Oh yeah. I just couldn't find my wristlet with my driver's license and all my cards. I thought maybe I left it in Florida, but I found it in my purse. It's all good."

"Well, wait until you get a look at the sales clerk," Monica said, clutching her side. "Tina may have tried to get his number."

"For sure. He's so my type," Tina groaned, taking a swipe at her arm.

"Just put it this way, you're going to want some of this," Michelle said, reacting to my utter look of confusion. She held up a mini bottle of lilac-scented hand sanitizer.

Monica snorted with laughter.

Curiously, I entered the store and glanced toward the checkout counter where I saw their source of entertainment. A large man with a beard Santa would have envied sat on a small stool cleaning out his nose with his pinkie. He pulled out his finger and wiped it on the front of his shirt. Judging by the trail of dried crusties stuck to his chest, he had been working on it for a while.

I nearly gagged and without pausing, turned back around and left the store. I was no longer hungry anyway, especially after witnessing that spectacle, and I would force my bladder to wait.

The others were still waiting outside when I pushed through the door. Michelle already had the bottle of hand sanitizer open and squirted a generous amount on my palm, even though I'd only touched the door handle. "Told you," she said.

I grimaced, rubbing my hands vigorously."Bless you. That was just wrong."

"True story. Was he digging in his nose or his ear while you were in there? We were lucky enough to see both." She threw an arm across my shoulders as we walked back to the RV. "We voted to make Greg hit the Dairy Queen across the street before we get back on the highway."

"I'm in," I said, pausing in front of

the RV door. If I was going to eat ice cream there was no way I could sit in back. On the other hand, I was desperate for some comfort food for my frazzled nerves and a Blizzard was worth the risk. I climbed aboard and took my place on the couch. Greg's eyes remained forward and he didn't say a word. Welcome to Awkwardville—the place where uncomfortable silences and suppressed words thrived.

Chapter 15

Our visit to Awkwardville persisted through the afternoon. There was a thick cloud of tension in the air. Thankfully, either the girls didn't notice or they chose not to ask. I was happy that at least I was able to keep my frozen treat down in spite of sitting on the couch. Greg flipped on the radio to tune out the conversation in the back. He was obviously still protesting our conversation from earlier. I pulled my knees up, peering out the window at a light drizzle of rain.

We were an hour outside of Atlanta when my phone rang. I debated not answering when I saw that it was Alec. Things were already awkward enough. I realized, though, that maybe I was punishing Alec for something he hadn't done, just like I thought Mom and Olivia had done to me.

"Hey," I answered, cradling the phone against my ear. At least with the music on I had some semblance of privacy.

"Hey, sweetheart. How's it going?"

"Okay," I answered casually. I could practically feel Greg's eyes from the rearview mirror.

"You sound down, love. What's the matter?"

"I'm sad that the distance between us is once again growing. Every mile takes me farther away from you."

"Don't I know it, babe. It drove me nuts knowing you were so close last night and I still couldn't see you."

"How was your dinner?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"It was great. I told Candace she should open up a restaurant. Everything she makes is mouthwatering. Culinary school is giving her some mad skills."

I rolled my eyes. "You don't say." What other skills does she have that you're experiencing while I'm gone? That's what the less mature side of me wanted to ask. Thankfully, the composed side of my brain was in charge at the moment.

"She's making lasagna tonight she claims would make any Italian weep."