Driving With the Top Down by Beth Harbison Page B

number, right? Come along, and if you see a stop you prefer to Florida, just rent a car.”
    The woman balked immediately, much to Tamara’s relief. “No, no. Thank you,” she added, though it seemed like an afterthought, “but I don’t want to impose.”
    “It wouldn’t be an imposition—we were good friends once.” Colleen’s voice had changed, but it seemed to be working back toward supportive. Sincere, anyway. She was obviously a chronic savior. “Some strange coincidence brought us both here tonight at the same time. I don’t know how long it’s been since you were here, but it’s been years for me—”
    “Me too.”
    “—so maybe it’s fate.”
    “Or hunger,” Tamara tried. She didn’t want to ride in that little car with this woman for God knows how long. Awkward conversation with Colleen was bad enough; she couldn’t even imagine adding this particular brand of discomfort to the mix.
    “Hunger.” The woman met Tam’s eyes, and for just a second they were probably on the same page. “Like you said, when you see the exit for Henley, it’s impossible not to remember and I just needed a piece of this pie to fortify me for the road.”
    “So let’s get you back on it,” Colleen said. “We’re going to stop in a couple of hours for the night anyway. If you prefer, we can stop in a bigger town so you can find a Hertz or something.”
    The woman looked hesitant, but more than that, she looked ragged. Worn down. Beat up, without the bruises. She didn’t have any fight in her. She didn’t look like she ever had, actually. She looked how Tamara imagined herself to look after most conversations with her dad. So it wasn’t a huge surprise when she gave a limp shrug and said, “Thank you.”
    Tamara’s heart sank, and she took a moment to think worse of herself for having such an uncharitable reaction to someone who was obviously as fucked over as she was. At least in some way.
    “Good,” Colleen said, and it was obviously her Mom Voice. “Then it’s settled. We’ll pay up here, hit the road, and aim for—what, do you think? Rocky Mount? Farther, if we feel like it. But at least Rocky Mount. I’d hoped to stay only in little bed-and-breakfasts, but our day got hijacked, and at this point I’d welcome a bed in a Hampton Inn.”
    “What happened to your day?”
    Tamara was more than willing to answer that one. “We were driving, and this truck driver pulled up next to us and—”
    “He was driving very aggressively,” Colleen interrupted, throwing a pointed look at Tam. “It felt threatening, so I took the first exit that felt safe, which was Henley.”
    “Ah, so you are the coincidence here. I came for the pie, but you were just escaping.”
    “I might have stopped for the pie too, though.”
    The woman smiled, and for the first time, Tamara could see how she could be pretty. Or maybe once was. If she’d ever had any sort of meat on her frame instead of just looking like skin stretched over a plastic skeleton. She was what people meant when they said that skinny didn’t equal hot.
    “The pie was always worth it.”
    “We should get some for the road.”
    Tamara’s mouth watered at the idea. They weren’t leaving the good food behind now; they were taking it with them. Truth was, this beat the hell out of easy mac or canned spaghetti or anything else she ate on a regular basis.
    “Coconut cream to go?” Colleen asked, looking to both of them.
    Both agreed, though Tam did it louder and with more urgency.
    Colleen called the order out—it was that kind of place—and the waitress said she’d box it up.
    Another one of those pregnant pauses stretched between them.
    “So,” Tamara said, unable to quell that old instinct to fill it. “I’m sorry, but I’m not really sure what you want me to call you … Mrs. Camalier? Or—?”
    “Bitty,” the woman interrupted. It was the strongest her voice had been the entire time they’d been talking. “My name is Bitty