Page 31 of The Girl with No Name
“Fuck it, I’m in,” I announce with my mouth full.
“You want another one?” She holds out a second donut, this one chocolate glazed. “They’re so good once you start.”
“Yeah. And I’m in for the whole thing. Let’s go to the concert.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up. She jumps forward to wrap her arms around my neck in a hug, but backs off immediately. “Sorry. That was involuntary. I know you’re not a big hug guy. You said that last night.”
“I’m not,” I confirm.
“Well…sorry.”
Dunn comes out of the shop with a few bags of chips in his hands, and we meet at the car.
“Fuck it,” I tell him. “I’m in.”
“You are?” He looks like a kid at Christmas.
“I am.”
“Hell yeah!” He holds up a hand for me to high five.
I shake my head. “I’m still mad. Not gonna high five you right now. I need to sleep off this hangover. Which I can’t do because I’m gonna have to work from the car on this drive.”
“Fuck yeah, Walker! Let’s hit it. I love you, buddy. I knew you’d come through.”
“Just give me a moment. I need to grab something from the gas station to hydrate. How many hours to Lexington?”
Once we’re backon the road, I fire up my laptop and hotspot from the backseat. On our way out of Terre Haute, we drive by another sign that says Boot City.
“Well, we have to stop there if we’re going to a country concert,” Luna says.
“I thought this wasn’t country, it’s Zach Bryan? Now itisa country concert?”
“Stop worrying so much about labels, bro,” Dunn says.
He pulls off the road into a place named Boot City, and I don’t know how it happens, but I end up dropping three hundred dollars in that store. We all come out with new boots, cowboy hats, and some fresh jeans and short sleeve shirts. I have a fresh change of clothes now—jeans and a t-shirt.
The Red Lemons play on the car stereo as we drive through southern Indiana, and I work in the backseat. Maybe it’s the hangover, but I’m paranoid now. Would they fire me for blatantly disobeying Hal’s work-from-home order? No, surely they wouldn’t.
Eventually Dunn switches the music to Zach Bryan. I know he’s trying to convince me this was a good idea.
“Good shit, right?” he says, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.
“I admit he’s got some good lyrics. It’s like poetry. Not typical country.”
“We’ll convert you yet.” He winks.
Luna turns around. “How’s work?”
“Busy. How’s the book?” I point to her lap. She’s readingThe Body Keeps The Score.“I tried to read that once, but it was so dense.”
“It’s part of my whole rebirth journey,” she says. “I’m learning about trauma.”
“Oh.”
“So back to your job. Do you like it? I think I heard you saying you work in tech.”
I shrug. “Pays the bills. It’s stable. I’m grateful.”