Peyton took a look himself and could see that they were still in Georgia. No palm trees in sight. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Could you tell me where we are?”

“J-just north of . . . of . . . Waycross. You get off . . . in . . . Waycross?”

“No, sir, St. Augustine.”

“I g-get . . . off in . . . J-Jacksonville.”

“Thank you for your help,” Peyton said with a smile.

The man tried to smile back but looked as if he hadn’t done it in so long that he had forgotten how. “I have . . . a . . . b-boy your . . . age,” he volunteered.

“I’ll bet he’s excited to see you.”

The man looked confused, as if he couldn’t fathom anyone being excited to see him, then turned to stare out the window again. Maybe he was just tired of talking.

Peyton opened the lunch sack his mother had packed for him and pulled out a piece of fried chicken from the hospital cafeteria. She was doing her best, he knew, to make things at least a little bit normal for him. “Sir, would you care for a piece o’ chicken?” he offered. The man shook his head and turned back toward the window.

Peyton hadn’t been down to Florida since he was little. His mother spent occasional long weekends with her Aunt Gert in St. Augustine, mostly in the fall and winter. She would give Peyton the option of coming with her or staying with his father, and he always took option two. During football season, his dad would take off work on Friday and they would drive to Athens, check into the best hotel in town, and go to the Georgia game on Saturday. Then they’d sleep late on Sunday and leisurely make their way home—sometimes stopping in Augusta to play a round of golf. Right now that seemed like somebody else’s life.

After putting his lunch away, Peyton leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and thought of Lisa. Soon he was dozing again, dreaming of her. She was dressed in the emerald-green ball gown she had worn to the spring formal. It was sleeveless with a V-neck, which showed off a double strand of pearls close to her neck—nothing flashy. He had given her a single pink rose. In his dream, they were back at the dance, and he proudly escorted her onto the ballroom floor. But then a crowd of dancers swirled between them. He kept getting glimpses of Lisa in a sea of satin and silk, but he could never touch her. Every time he got close, the crowd of dancers pushed her away.

The bus driver jolted him out of his misery. “Next stop, Jacksonville station!”

As the Milledgeville man stepped into the aisle, Peyton stood up and offered his hand. “Nice traveling with you, sir,” he said. Looking more apprehensive than excited to be home, the man shook hands with Peyton before making his way up the aisle and out the door.