The road to Millbrook

The road stretches ahead, two lanes cutting through rolling farmland dotted with early autumn color. Janelle drives exactly the speed limit, both hands still locked at ten and two. The ginger tea thermos sits between you in the cupholder, untouched. The silence has been going on for about ninety seconds and it already feels like it's going to calcify into something permanent if neither of you breaks it.

You break it.

"Janelle."

She glances at you—just a flicker, eyes back on the road immediately. "Yeah?"

"We have a lot to talk about. And I want to do it—I do. But I can't do it in a twenty-minute car ride."

Her jaw works. You watch her throat move as she swallows. "Okay."

"I mean it. What happened between us—it's not a windshield conversation. It's not something we can wrap up before we hit the Millbrook town limit."

She nods slowly, her knuckles finally loosening on the wheel. "I know. You're right." A pause. "I've been thinking about what I'd say to you the whole drive and I couldn't... I kept writing speeches in my head and none of them were right."

"That's because there isn't a speech. There's just... us, figuring it out. And that takes time."

And I have an appointment in thirty-five minutes that I need to be present for, and I can't be present if I'm crying in your passenger seat.

Janelle reaches for the thermos, unscrews the cap one-handed. The smell of ginger fills the car. "My mom packed this. She said you mentioned stomach trouble." She holds it out toward you without looking. "I wasn't sure if you'd want it but she insisted."

You take the thermos. The tea is still warm. "Tell Colette thank you."

"I will." Another silence, but this one is different—less like held breath, more like the space between sentences in a conversation that's still happening. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"After your appointment. Do you... would it be okay if I waited for you? I don't have anywhere to be. I could just... sit in the parking lot. Or go get coffee. Whatever you need."

You sip the ginger tea. It's good—spicy and sweet, settling something in your stomach you didn't realize was knotted. "You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to. I want to." She says it simply, without drama. "You shouldn't have to call a rideshare after... whatever you're going in there for. And I want you to know I'm not going anywhere."

Not going anywhere. The words land differently than they would have a week ago. Before the Lantern. Before her face in the crowd of your nightmare.

"Okay," you say. "You can wait. But Janelle—the real conversation? That happens later. Not today. Today is about the appointment."

"I understand." She nods again, more firmly this time. "Today is about you."

The road curves ahead, and a sign appears: MILLBROOK — 12 MILES. Janelle reaches for the radio, glances at you for permission. You give a small nod. She turns it on—low, just background, some indie folk song you don't recognize. The tension in the car doesn't disappear, but it shifts. Becomes something you can both sit with.

You lean your head against the window. The glass is cool against your temple. Your reflection ghosts across it—cream blouse, gold clip, tired eyes that look like they belong to someone who's been carrying something heavy for a very long time.

Today is about you.

You take another sip of Colette's tea and let the miles pass.