A Thousand Miles

Part 24

Was this it?

    JoLynn turned her ignition switch off and slipped the key out, eyeing the ancient motor home skeptically. The thing had to be at least thirty years old. It couldn't possibly still run. But the old tank must have some life left, because it got him here. She glanced around at the other RV's hooked up nearby, weighing the odds that she was in the wrong place. When she looked back at the eyesore in question, Shane stood in the open door, grinning.

    She answered his smile with her own, relieved to see his expression returned to something more like normal.

    "You found me." Shane stepped down as she slipped out of the SUV. He met her halfway, greeting her with a soft, promising kiss.

    "So, is this seriously the RV you travelled around in as a kid?"

    He nodded and caught the corner of his lip with his teeth. "You want to see inside?"

    "Well, yeah."

    He stepped back up and opened the door, then extended a hand down to her. JoLynn took it and followed him in. But the place wasn't at all what she expected. While the old RV's age showed clearly in the outdated design of the exterior, the inside had been updated with modern carpet and upholstery. New cabinets. New captain's chairs. She stepped into the cab and ran a hand along leather upholstery.

    "So, did you mostly sit up here when your dad drove?"

    Shane shrugged. "Sometimes. I'd sit in back and read a lot. Or work on a lesson. Sleep."

    She tried to picture him as a kid, sitting at the small table, hunched over books, paper and pencils, while the world flew by outside the window behind him. "How many miles are on this thing?"

    "No way of knowing."

    She turned and took in the tiny interior again. "Where did you sleep?

    He stepped past her quickly. "This table..." He straightened up a mess of papers on the small table top. "...folds down and makes the base of the bed. Then there's a cushion to cover it, and a sleeping bag on top of that." He pointed to the back, urging her attention that direction. "There's a small bedroom back there. That's where Dad slept. Until he went into the nursing home."

    "And now you sleep there." She said softly.

    He swallowed and nodded.

    "Shane, is your dad OK?" She reached out for him, touched his arm, but he didn't reciprocate. Her heart sank at his lack of response and an ache rose in her throat. The cloud of introspection settled around him again. "You haven't been yourself this week. Is something wrong?"

    He drew in a deep breath and held it for a long moment. Something was wrong. And his pained expression revealed that the debate—to tell her or not—raged within him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again, expelling the air from his lungs along with any chance of confiding in her. Then he shook his head. "No. It's nothing."

    The ache in her throat intensified and tears stung. She blinked them back. "OK."

    Why was he suddenly shutting her out? What had she done? He had invited her here tonight. He suggested they go out and have dinner someplace nice. Just moments ago, he greeted her with a sincere smile and a wonderful kiss. But now they were back to this awkward tension. And she didn't even know the source of it. He wouldn't tell her.

    "OK, then..." She forced a smile. "Where do you want to eat tonight?"

    "This is your town." He offered her a smile that was a little softer, a little less forced. "Take me to your favorite place. Just let me get my phone and keys." He stepped into his bedroom.