Page 57 of Decoding Morse

“We’ve lost her for the rest of the trip,” Amelia said with a good-natured smile. “I swear, she’s made it her life’s goal to read every book ever written.”

“Not every book,” Morgan argued. “Only the exceptional ones.”

“Glad she likes the iPad,” I replied. At Amelia’s quizzical look, I realized what I said and expanded. “I like mine, too.”

She seemed appeased with that answer, but I distracted her anyway by handing over the phone I’d hooked up to the car’s Bluetooth and encouraging her to find us something to listen to. She took the bait and began shuffling through the music she wanted to introduce me to. It reminded me of the old days when I didn’t know shit about music, and she was bound and determined to catch me up on everything I’d missed out on since the only music I’d been exposed to was hymns with organ accompaniment. She’d been the first to open my eyes to what else was out there. Her taste was eclectic, and we sipped coffee and drove in companionable silence, sampling oldies, rock, hip-hop, alternative, rhythm and blues, pop, country, and even metal as we followed I90 all the way to Colfax. There, Specks and Prospect joined us for sandwiches at a downtown bistro with giant storefront windows that allowed us to monitor the vehicles.

“You okay?” I asked, noting Amelia’s slight limp as I opened the café door for her.

The smile she gave me looked forced and tired. “I will be after I stretch my legs.”

She walked laps inside the small bistro as we waited for our food, and then she ate standing up. When we got back into the car, I encouraged her to take a pain pill if necessary, but the stubborn woman insisted she was fine.

“At least lay your seat back,” I said.

“Yeah, Mom,” Morgan chimed in, already refocused on her iPad. “You were awake most of last night. You should try to get some sleep.”

Amelia craned her head back to look at her daughter. “Only if you talk to me.”

Morgan frowned. “About what?”

“Aren’t you even a little excited about these college visits?” Amelia asked.

Morgan shrugged. “I guess.”

“Have you selected a major yet?” I asked.

“Not yet, but I have time, right?”

“Yes,” Amelia assured her. To me, she added, “Morgan has several career paths she’s interested in. The idea of choosing only one makes her a little anxious.”

“Theo has had his career path mapped out forever.” Morgan met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Did you go to college, Morse?”

“Not a physical college, but I got my degree online while I was in the military.”

“Morse didn’t have the same opportunities you have,” Amelia said.

“Because you grew up in a cult?” Morgan asked.

“Yeah. I didn’t have any money or schooling when I escaped. Your parents helped me get my GED so I could join the military and have some options.”

Morgan was still watching me in the mirror. “That must have been terrifying for you.”

“It was different, for sure. I went from knowing the life story of everyone I saw to being an outsider in a world with rules I’d never learned. But I don’t have a single regret about leaving.”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t miss your family?”

I considered her question for a moment before answering, “The people I grew up with weren’t family in any way but blood. Family prioritizes your safety. They accept you, no matter how different you are. My parents and brother… they weren’t like that. They wanted me to buy into their contradictory beliefs and turn a blind eye to all the messed-up shit happening within the cult. The Dead Presidents are my family now.”

Amelia grabbed my free hand and squeezed. “I’m glad you found them.”

“Me too.”

The pain in her eyes wasn’t all sympathy, though. I could tell she was hurting. “You should lay back and try to get more comfortable.”

Nodding, she reached for the button and reclined her seat.

A rifle cracked in the distance.

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