The Road That Leads to Us (Us 1)

She spread the map out on her lap and made this little humming sound as she scanned it, dragging her finger down the surface.

“I’m not really sure what I’m looking at.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw her tilt her head from side to side as if that would somehow help.

“This is so confusing.”

I wanted to laugh at her, but I was as clueless at reading a map as she was.

Technology had made us all spoiled.

It made things too easy. When you didn’t have to work at something you couldn’t learn to appreciate it.

Willow traced her fingernail along what I assumed was an exit and muttered under her breath something I couldn’t hear.

“I think we’re going to exit in about thirty miles.”

“Think and about doesn’t sound very confident,” I jested.

“Hey, Map Boy, this was your idea,” she grumbled, still studying it like a complicated textbook.

“Map Boy,” I laughed, scratching at my jaw, “sounds like a superhero.”

“A really annoying one,” she added, “that irritates his sidekick Lolligum to no end.”

I busted out laughing. “Lolligum? Really, Will?”

She wrinkled her nose. “It was the only thing I could come up with off the top of my head.”

“You need that on a shirt.”

“Noooo,” she drew out the word, “what I need is to know how to read a damn map so that we actually end up in Florida.”

I shook my head and laughed some more, because I might not be able to read a map, but common sense told me we needed to stay on the interstate a lot longer than thirty miles if we were going to make it to Florida. But this trip wasn’t about getting somewhere. It was about the journey. If Willow thought we needed to exit in thirty miles, then I was going to exit, and who knew what we might find along the way.

We both grew quiet, and it was the easy kind of quiet where you didn’t feel the need to fill it with endless chatter.

I couldn’t recall a time where I didn’t feel comfortable around Willow.

Some time later Willow told me to take an exit.

And then I drove.

And drove.

And drove some more.

***

“We’re lost,” Willow cried, collapsing in the booth of the roadside café we’d stopped at for lunch. “Like so lost.” She propped her head in her hands.

I slid into the booth across from her and thanked the waitress when she handed me a menu.

“It’s not a big deal,” I assured her.

“Ugh,” she groaned, sliding all the way to the end of the booth and putting her back against the wall so she could stretch out her legs. “It is a big deal. I’m a pathetic map reader.”

“All part of the fun,” I assured her as I scanned the menu. “Stop whining and get something to eat.”