I open my eyes.
“Your mama ran without a road. I’m offering you one.”
My hand shakes around the phone.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You say yes or you say no. Both are yours.”
Mine.
The word hits almost as hard as Derby putting my truck keys in my hand.
Choice.
Again.
Why does freedom always show up looking like heartbreak?
I can’t say yes.
I can’t say no.
My throat won’t work.
Lottie steps forward and takes the phone gently from my hand.
“She heard you,” Lottie says into it. “Give me till morning.”
Morning.
My head snaps up.
Lottie listens for a second, then smiles faintly. “Yeah, yeah. Hot Mama don’t like ugly. I know.”
She ends the call.
The kitchen feels too small.
Too normal.
A burnt-pancake pan still sits near the stove. Coffee filters are in the cabinet. August’s cereal bowl is in the sink. Derby’s keys aren’t on the counter with the little dinosaur keychain I bought him hanging from the ring like a tiny piece of me he kept.
“Morning?” I whisper.
Lottie sets the phone down. “We leave at first light.”
My body goes cold. “We?”
“You, August, and me.”
“To Oregon.”
“To Lonerock.”
“Derby will get out.”
“Yep.”