Along for the Ride(106)

‘Nah,’ I said. ‘But if it does, just tell him I said to get back on the bike.’

‘What?’

‘He’ll understand.’

I waved at her, then pulled my bag over my shoulder as I made my way down the hallway, then the stairs, to my car. It was just after five, and the sun was going down. By the time I got off the interstate two hours later and pulled into the parking lot of Ray’s, it had already been dark for a while.

I cut the engine, then sat there for a second, looking in at the bright lights and shiny tables. Ray’s was no Washroom, but the waitresses were nice, and you could sit as long as you wanted. Which was a good thing, when it was late and you had no other options, the way I had been when I’d first discovered it. Now, I had plenty, but one big reason to be here just the same.

I found him at table four, our favorite, the one in the corner by the window. Mug in his hand, slice of pie, half-eaten, by his elbow, totally immersed in the textbook in front of him. This semester he was taking an insane number of hours at the U, playing catch-up for the year he’d missed, and it had been tough for him at first, going back to school. Kind of new, definitely scary. But luckily, I knew all about inside things like this, and was more than happy to help him on his quest, one paper and test at a time.

I bent down, kissing his forehead, and he looked up at me and smiled. Then I slid in opposite him as the waitress approached, filling the mug beside me. As I picked it up, it was warm in my hands, and I felt his hand move onto my knee. Morning would come before we knew it. It always did. But we still had the night, and for now, we were together, so I just closed my eyes and drank it all in.



Writing a book is never easy, and sometimes you need a little help. For this novel and so many others, I am incredibly lucky to have had the wisdom and guidance of Leigh Feldman and Regina Hayes. Barbara Sheldon, Janet Marks, and my parents, Alan and Cynthia Dessen, provided the moral support any crazy writer needs, especially postpartum. And, as always, I am thankful for my husband, Jay, for making me laugh, helping me remember, and teaching me more than I ever needed to know about bicycles.

Finally, I’d like to recognize my own world of girls, my babysitters, without whom I would never have had the time to write this book: Aleksandra Marcotte, Claudia Shapiro, Virginia Melvin, Ida Donner, Krysta Lindley, and Lauren Caccese. Thank you for taking such good care of us.