“We’ll take it easy, Viv,” he said. “No rush. We’ll stop in Kansas somewhere. Find a nice little place. Get a good night’s sleep.”
I believed him.
I’ve been married to Mark Holloway for twenty-six years. You’d think I’d know better.
He pushed through the morning. Through the flat brown stretch of eastern Colorado where there’s nothing but wheat and sky and the occasional grain elevator standing up out of the prairie like a lighthouse.
Ezoic
He pushed through lunch. We ate gas station sandwiches in the car outside Burlington.
He pushed through the afternoon. Across the Kansas line. Past Goodland and Colby and Oakley. Past signs for the world’s largest prairie dog and a museum of barbed wire.
“Mark,” I said around four o’clock. “I’m getting tired.”
“Just a little farther,” he said. “Let’s make it to Hays.”
