Maybe I should stay home. It’s not too late to back out. Noah can go without me.
Then again, there’s another reason why I want to go on this trip. And anyway, the reservation is nonrefundable.
Working together, Penny and I manage to pry Emma off my hip, mostly with the promise of lots and lots of ice cream. We throw the kids’ luggage into her trunk, then they’re ready to go. I get a jab of sadness in my chest, knowing I’ll be away from my babies for a whole week. Even though we take a trip every year, it’s always painful.
“I’ll take good care of them,” Penny promises.
“Thanks.” I know she will. She’s like a super mom. Between my constant arguments with Noah and my busy job as a special ed teacher, sometimes I feel like I’m falling short in the motherhood department. But I would never give up my job—I love it too much.
“By the way.” She lowers her voice a notch. “Did you tell Noah about…？”
I glance at the house. Noah is still packing upstairs in our bedroom. “No. Not yet.”
Her eyes widen. “Claire, you have to tell him! When are you going to say something?”
“Soon, okay?” I don’t want to explain about our stupid fight over his T-shirt. “I’ll tell him before we get there.”
She flashes me her classic I’m-the-big-sister-who-knows-better-than-you look. I hate that look. Especially because she’s right. Noah and I need to have a talk ASAP. I can’t blindside him on this.
“I’ll tell him as soon as we get into the car,” I say. “Before we get Lindsay.”
Yes, that should make for an interesting ride.
I hug Penny goodbye and fold myself in half to lean into the backseat to kiss the kids one last time. Emma clings to me extra hard. Why can’t I push away this sick feeling? We’ve gone on a trip like this every single year we’ve been married. This is the first time I’ve had such a bad feeling about it.
It’s all Emma’s stupid dream. I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s weighing on me.
I need to put it out of my head. Before I let it ruin the week.
Chapter 3
CLAIRE
We’re taking my silver minivan on the trip, because it will hold all six of us. Noah thought I was being ridiculous when I bought the minivan, but I’m constantly driving carpool, so it’s come in handy a lot. There are three rows of seats, so the kids don’t have to be squashed on top of each other. I love it. As usual, Noah was absolutely wrong.
I remove Emma’s booster seat so all the adults will have a place to sit. Last night, I cleaned out the car, which was embarrassingly dirty. How did so many french fries get in the backseat? And why was everything so sticky back there? I did the best I could to clean it up, but there are probably still a few sticky patches left.
We each have one piece of luggage, but my bag is twice the size of Noah’s and stuffed to the breaking point. He tosses my luggage into the back so roughly that I’m glad I didn’t pack anything fragile. He’s decided to take out his aggression towards me on my luggage. On the plus side, at least he shaved for the trip.
“What the hell do you need so much stuff for?” he grumbles. “We’re only going for a week.”
Admittedly, I didn’t pack light. But it’s the end of June, which means it could just as easily be chilly as it could be sweltering. I have to be prepared. “You brought plenty too,” I point out.
Noah gently places his brand new tackle box into the back. “I’m going fishing. I have to have supplies.”
Right. He’s been excited about going fishing for months. “I still don’t get why you’re so excited about sitting on a lake for hours. It sounds excruciating.”
He shrugs. “I just… I need to clear my head.”
Fine, whatever. As long as he doesn’t ask me to go with him. If the two of us go out on a boat into the middle of the lake, I have a bad feeling only one of us will come back alive.
Noah takes the spare car keys from the pocket of his jeans and slides into the driver’s seat. It’s a strange move, considering this is my car. I rap on the driver’s side window. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What? Aren’t we going?”
“Yeah, but it’s my car. Why are you driving?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Come on, Claire. You’ve had this car for three years, and there are already like ten dents in it.”
That’s not entirely inaccurate. Still. “Not all of those dents are my fault.”