Page 7 of New River Gorge(ous)
Lizzy and Joey are high school freshmen, and both earned their varsity letters this year in cross country. I thought I’d have a week or two to get my things together, and that Mom would make the trip with me, but instead, a four a.m. phone call from Meemaw changed the plans.
“Brooke, she needs someone right now,” Mom begged. And because I already committed to going and staying with her through her recovery period for at least the next two months, I’m shooed on my way.
Lizzy and Joey’s varsity letters mean that Mom couldn’t miss their big race this weekend. So instead of Mom and I going on a road trip, Matt is driving with me down to West Virginia. I’ll have Meemaw’s ancient car to drive while I’m there, and Matt will return to Michigan and his girlfriend without me.
“What has you all quiet?” Matt’s voice jars me from thoughts about his girlfriend, who I just don’t really like.
I roll my eyes, then focus on the road.
Matt tries again, this time intwin. “It’s about Melanie, isn’t it?”
“No,” I snap, faster than I should have—and now he definitely knows he’s on the right track.
“Brooke, you just haven’t met the right person yet. Maybe you will when you’re here.”
I let out a snort before adopting a dramatic, fake Southern accent. “So many handsome men in these here hills. Just the right kind of man to challenge me to adventure andnotwant what I’m not giving.”
Matt snorts. “Can we stop at the rest area?”
“Being a passenger princess too much for you?”
“Hardly. I let you drive my car because I know you like to be in charge. Maybe it’s time to let go a little bit.”
Great.Now my brother is calling out my insecurities.
“Fine,” I huff. “There’s a rest stop in two miles. But I’m only stopping because I need to go.”
“And I’m driving the rest of the way.”
“What? No, I’m not ready for that.”
“Brooke, let go a little.”
I snarl at the road in front of me, but a yawn escapes me, and I think,Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I got to sit in the front seat and nap.
Carly Rae Jepson’s “Friday” wakes me. ItisFriday, and Matt has always loved that song, but the fact that he turned it up to the highest possible volume means that I jump in my seat, whack my head against the window, and scream.
“Matt!” I shriek. “Why would you do that? You gave me a heart attack!”
Matt sits in the driver’s seat of his truck, arms crossed, and a smug grin on his face. He tips his head toward my window and raises his brows. The music still blares. I turn my head and discover a man standing just at the place where the driveway splits to a different house. My eyes widen at his very attractive physique. He’s wearing a short sleeve black tee, and his forearms are crossed over his chest, which makes them flex. He’s not the tallest man—maybe only five-foot-ten or so—but he’s taller than my own short five-foot-three stature. I can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses he wears, but he has coppery hair, and a short reddish beard covers his jaw. He holds a bunch of letters and scowls at me.
To my mortification, there is very clearly drool on the window.
I open the door, which thankfully stops the music, and climb out of the truck. I reach into the back and grab hold of my duffle bag. It’s heavy. Matt has already disappeared inside Meemaw’s house.
Would it be nice if Matt helped me? Yes. Do I expect him to do it without me directing him? No.
I sigh because my brother has learned nothing.Good luck with Melanie, you twerp!
I loop the strap across my chest to distribute the weight better, then pull a moving box out of the truck bed and balance that on my hip. There’s a pair of hiking boots and hot-pink high heels that I tossed into the bed right before we left that need to come inside too. Grunting, I reach into the truck and pull each shoe toward me. There’s one more box and my backpack left. But I am not making more trips than I have to.
I can get this all inside in one go.
I place the box on the ground, slip off the duffle, and crawl across the blue-painted truck bed, where I reach the box that slid into the farthest corner during the drive. When I’m back on solid ground, I stare for a moment at the pile of belongings that will make up my life for the next three months.
It takes a moment, but I figure out how to carry it all. I am nothing if not efficient. I am strong, I don’t need Matt’s help—besides, I can do it on my own.
I loop the duffle strap across my body, which causes the bag to hang awkwardly by my knees, then the backpack with my crochet supplies and journal, then the stack of two boxes with the shoes on top. I can hardly see in front of me, but it’s fine.
