Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 28

There was a long moment, with nothing but the sound of wind whistling past the side mirrors, the rumble of highway pavement under the tires. They hurtled through the dark, mysterious shadows of pine trees high overhead on both sides of the highway, headlights beaming at them from the oncoming cars in the distance.

Shawn was driving fast enough that no one was passing them, although possibly it was just that the road was empty, which should have been a little strange for the night before Thanksgiving. But Elisabeth didn't own a car and hadn't been out of Greenleigh in awhile, so she didn't know if the dark stretch of highway on a late autumn evening was normal or not.

And what was he talking about? It wasn't making any sense.

New York City. That was a place, a place far away from Greenleigh. She'd never been there. How could Shawn be taking her to New York City? How was that supposed to work? For dinner?

"I don't understand," she said, finally. "What do you mean by New York City?"

"My favorite restaurant," he said slowly, one word at a time, almost as if he were reciting. "It's in New York. And I want to take you there." He glanced at the display on the dashboard. "Our reservation is at eight."

Eight? Elisabeth glanced at the clock. That would mean a three-hour drive, more or less. And then a three hour drive back? All in the same night? Technically possible, she supposed. But why? Why was he so eager to take her to New York, so much so that he wanted to drive six hours? They wouldn't get back until well past midnight, maybe even one or two in the morning.

"Are you sure?" she said tentatively. "It's a long drive."

"I'm sure," he said. "Are you hungry?"

"No—I had that late lunch," she said. She was still perplexed.

"Good. Because I want you to be hungry for dinner, but I was worried you'd be starving all the way there." His voice was careful, controlled, his tone light, as if the issue were food.

Elisabeth wasn't fooled. There was nothing casual about this conversation and it had nothing to do with food. But she still couldn't figure this out. Had she misunderstood? She was tempted to check the phone to see if she had somehow missed something in their brief back-and-forth about dinner tonight. She didn't think she had, but she was new to texting, and maybe she'd missed one of his texts. Maybe that would clear it up.

She slipped her hand into her purse.

It wasn't there.

Damn it! She suddenly remembered that she had plugged it in to recharge—the phone was in the kitchen, exactly where she had left it.

All right. She'd lived without a cell phone until now. She didn't need a phone just to go out to dinner. She would look at those texts later.

"Shawn, why are we going all the way to New York for dinner?" she asked. "We could have gone somewhere closer." The wail of a saxophone interrupted her and she leaned over to turn down the volume on the jazz station.

"Because," Shawn began, then stopped. He seemed to bite back the words that were at his lips.

Elisabeth waited. When he didn't continue, she said, "It's a lot of driving, New York and back in a single night."

Shawn didn't reply, so she turned to scrutinize his profile. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the grip of his hands on the steering wheel. He was nervous, she realized.

"What is it?" she asked gently. "Is there something wrong?"

As soon as she said the words, she regretted it, because she saw him flush. Oh, no. She knew what was wrong, she just didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want him to start on about Gunnar again.