I climbed into the truck and smiled at Etta, who was kicking her feet excitedly, her thumb in her mouth and little blond wisps of hair flying in every direction.
“You ready, Freddy?” I asked, reaching over to roll up her window. God, I hoped the air conditioner in this thing worked. I really didn’t want to deal with the wind coming through the windows as we drove seventy on the freeway.
“Weddy,” she replied.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and took a quick photo of her and sent it off to Trevor. He’d appreciate the tired-but-thrilled look on her face. Immediately regretting the message, I tucked the phone away without waiting for a response. Trevor wasn’t my friend. I needed to stop treating him like one and tuck him into his neat little box with other unimportant people.
“We’re off like a herd of turtles,” I mumbled, the same old saying my dad would use anytime it took Miranda and me a long time to leave the house. I hadn’t even started driving yet and I was already exhausted just thinking about it. I waved at Carmen and carefully pulled on to the street, getting a feel for the truck I was driving.
I may have been overstating my confidence when I’d talked to Trevor the day before. I’d driven a moving truck before. Once. But this was the first time I was pulling a car behind me. It was nerve-racking as hell. The entire contraption was just so freaking long. I was afraid I would take a corner too sharp or something similar and hit someone.
My hands were sore and throbbing from gripping the steering wheel by the time I got on the freeway. As soon as I was in the slowest lane I felt like I could relax a little. At least on the freeway I didn’t have to make any corners or deal with any cross-traffic. I didn’t even have to switch lanes if I didn’t want to. It wasn’t like the truck could go fast anyway. The entire thing felt like it was groaning every time it switched gears.
I dreaded the moment Etta told me she was hungry or needed her diaper changed and I had to take an off-ramp in this thing. I was just hoping that by the time that happened, I was feeling far more comfortable driving the beast.
* * *
Etta made it three hours before she started fussing to get out of her seat, and by that time I was so impressed that she’d lasted such a long time that I wasn’t even frustrated or worried about how I’d exit the freeway. I pulled off at the first exit I could see with some fast-food restaurants, then very carefully parked in a lot filled with big rigs. So far so good. I was feeling pretty proud of myself.
I unbuckled Etta’s seat so she could climb out of it, then checked my phone. Normally I wasn’t such a stickler about texting and driving, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to try and check messages when I was driving this behemoth—at least that was what I’d told myself. I’d also been forcing myself not to check if I’d gotten a response from Trevor.
I had one message from my dad telling me to give him updates as I drove—he was stuck at work and hadn’t been able to help with the move—and four texts from Trevor. The first was a reply to the picture message I’d sent, but the others were variations of the same theme, to let him know where I was and how the drive was going. I wasn’t sure if he’d kept texting because I wasn’t replying, or if he was just that worried, so I just gave in and called him, ignoring the thrill that ran up my spine when I heard his deep voice.
“Trevor,” I said, the minute he answered. “It’s illegal to text while I’m driving.”
He laughed a little but it didn’t sound genuine. “How’s it going?” he asked. “Easy as you thought?”
“Not too bad,” I replied, gathering up the diaper bag and my purse as Etta climbed onto the seat next to me. “It was kind of hard at first, but I think I’ve got the hang of it. We just stopped for some food and a diaper change.”
“How’s Etta doing?”
“Surprisingly well. I think she’s enjoying being in the front seat and sitting so high. She’s been waving at God-knows-what all day.”
“Other drivers?”
“Uh, no.” I snorted out a laugh. “We’re sticking to the slow lane, so there’s no one on her side of the truck.”
Trevor laughed. “Probably a good idea. Takes a lot of practice to switch lanes with a rig that long.”
“That’s what she said,” I quipped, making him chuckle again. “Hey, I better get going. I need to get her cleaned up so we can get back on the road.”