Harper is in her own universe with her journal. Josh highlights passages here and there in his book. Kayla moans softly in her sleep, caught in dark dreams, I guess. Only Brecken and I seem present, both of our gazes fixed on the road, the view interrupted by the soft shh-thum, shh-thum of the windshield wipers.

Traffic grows heavier, and the three miles to the next exit take fifteen minutes to drive. It’s not a real exit or the travel plaza Brecken wants, but he pulls in anyway. It’s a no-frills rest stop with a dark-windowed building situated at the top of a small hill. Two sidewalks lead up from the different sides of the parking lot, and a smattering of snowy picnic tables sits off to the right. We pass the first section of the lot—for tractor trailers and RVs. There are two tractor trailers there, but our automobile lot is empty.

Brecken parks and Harper closes her book, checking her phone. The dashboard clock says it’s already 1:08 p.m. Great. It’s mid-afternoon and we can’t be more than 75 miles from the airport. Hopefully we’ll pick up some serious time on the next leg.

“We should all try to go,” Harper announces. “To the bathroom, I mean.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” Kayla says.

“Play nice,” Brecken says, but his tone is too flat for teasing.

“Are you doing okay?” Harper asks. She’s looking at me, so I glance around, but her gaze doesn’t shift. She’s not asking anyone else. Just me. And everyone else is watching, too, four sets of eyes pinned on me like it’s the most obvious question in the world. But only for me.

I give an awkward half laugh. “I’m fine.” Then I look around at everyone pointedly. “Do I not look fine?”

“No, no,” Harper says. “You’re just quiet.”

By the time I glance back, everyone is already busy with their own phones or bags or bathroom plans and who knows what else. It’s almost like they weren’t all looking at me just now, but I’m sure they were. I didn’t imagine that.

Stop it. Stop being paranoid.

Josh twists, looking for his crutches, and I squirm, suddenly desperate to get out of this car. This is probably my best chance to find some privacy so I can call my mom in peace. I want to climb over Josh or Kayla, who are both dragging their feet, but the civilized part of me that actually remembers manners and human decency knows it’s best to help people who are injured.

“I’ll get them,” I tell Josh, twisting to slide the crutches out of the back, where they’re wedged between our bags. Staying with my trend for manners, I ask him if he needs anything else. Then I ask Harper about her finger. I even ask Brecken if he needs anything.