Jasper didn’t answer. He was probably too polite to say You’re terrible and it’s obvious.
Lily took another pull from the water bottle. Her knee had stopped bleeding, the scrapes gleaming under a sheen of Neosporin. “I thought it would be nice for Morgan and I to have some time together, but she’s barely spoken to me since we got in the car.”
Jasper gave a sage nod. His braids rustled as he moved. “I’ve got two sisters. I know how that goes. Teenage girls and their mothers.” He pushed his hands together and made a noise like an explosion before pulling them apart. “How about I put your bike in the van and we motor on to the lunch stop?”
“That sounds…” Lily swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “Yes. Please. Let’s do that.” Jasper got to his feet, extending his arm, waiting for Lily to put her hand in his so he could pull her to her feet.
“What did your mother do?” Lily asked as he walked beside her, wheeling her bike to where the van was waiting. “When your sisters were awful?”
“She hung in there,” he said. “She waited until they got older. I think that’s all you can do. And call on Jesus, if that’s your thing.”
Lily started to say that it was absolutely her thing, that her husband was a pastor, that maybe Jasper had seen him on YouTube. Then she pressed her lips together. Sometimes Morgan got funny about having strangers know she was a preacher’s kid. “I’ll call on anyone who can help me,” she said, and Jasper held the door open, giving her a boost up into the van. Lily pulled her seat belt across her chest and stared at the cars and buildings rushing past the window. She thought that maybe Jasper’s mother had the right idea. The way things were going, it actually would require a divine intervention to get Morgan to open up.
Sebastian
Lunch the first day was a picnic in a park. They’d ridden another easy twenty miles, parallel to the Saw Mill Parkway, with cars humming past, just on the other side of the trees. Sebastian knew there were towns they were passing through, but it felt almost like riding through a tunnel, just greenery overhead and on either side, without a house or a street or a car in sight.
A few miles’ ride off the trail, on twisty two-lane roads, brought them to their hotel in Mount Kisco at just after five p.m. Sebastian and Lincoln were sharing a room with two twin beds. They did rock, paper, scissors to see who’d get the first shower, and after they both picked paper, then both picked rock, Sebastian won the third round. The hot water made him groan happily. He tilted his head back and let the water rain down on his sweaty face, feeling his muscles unwinding after the day’s sustained effort, his entire body glowing and relaxed. As far as Sebastian was concerned, that feeling was one of the best parts of working out, running, or riding your bike—not how you felt while you were doing it, but, instead, how you felt when it was done.
He stayed under the spray until Lincoln started politely knocking and inquiring whether Sebastian intended to use up all the hot water. Then he dried off, pulled on his off-the-bike outfit of khaki shorts, short-sleeved navy-blue linen shirt and suede sneakers, patted aftershave on his cheeks, smoothed product through his hair, and sat on the bed to wait for Lincoln.
“Good day?” he asked his friend.
“Good day,” Lincoln replied. “Let me see the pictures?”
Sebastian got his phone, and they compared shots from the day’s ride: the wooden birdhouses nailed to tree trunks amid the verdant woods in Westchester; a sugar maple tree with leaves that had just begun to change, falling to the ground when the wind blew in a shower of green and gold coins. A squirrel, perched on its hind legs on the side of the path, watching the bikes blur by; the bridge over the Harlem River; the bits of milkweed fluff that filled the air, the brown water, far below. Sebastian’s stomach grumbled, and Lincoln checked the time. “Let’s go,” he said. Five minutes later, the group was gathered in the parking lot. At Abby’s direction, they piled into the sag wagon and the Spoke’n Four’s RV for the ten-minute ride to the night’s restaurant, which served, per their schedule, “traditional American cuisine.”
The hostess led them to a long table and handed out the menus. Sebastian’s stomach growled as he smelled fresh bread, garlic, and roasting meats. The old folks had claimed one end of the long rectangular table. The family of four was seated at the other side, with the rest of the group filling in the seats between them.
Sebastian saw that the chair across from Abby was conveniently vacant. He paused, eyebrows lifted. “Anyone sitting here?” he asked.
Abby smiled tightly. “Help yourself.”
Sebastian grinned, sat, and perused the menu: steaks and burgers and a spicy fried chicken sandwich, various pastas and local cheeses. He thought he’d be able to eat one of everything and, after a quick consult with Lincoln, narrowed it down to shrimp linguine as an appetizer, a pan-roasted pork chop with spiced Hudson Valley apples for his main course, and a side of buttermilk Vidalia onion rings. He set his menu down to look at Abby, who had her head bent over her menu. There were the curls he remembered, still damp from the shower, the pale skin that had flushed so enchantingly, the full pink lips. The humorless expression, however, was new.
“Good ride today?” he said. She wore small sparkly earrings, which made him remember nibbling at the tender spot just beneath her earlobes.
“Yes,” Abby said tightly, before turning away from him and toward the woman sitting beside her. Sebastian looked her over: middle-aged, petite, and well-maintained, with short brown hair, long eyelashes, lots of jewelry and a suspicious gaze. Abby said, “Sebastian, this is my mother, Eileen Fenske. Mom, this is Sebastian… Pierson?”
“Piersall,” said Sebastian, extending his hand to the woman who, now that he was looking, bore a slight resemblance to Abby. Eileen’s hair was darker; her body was almost boyish, but she had the same wide forehead and firm chin as her daughter. “Pleasure to meet you.” He smiled more broadly. “You’re Abby’s mom? I would have guessed you were her big sister.”
Eileen waved away the flattery with a smile that didn’t touch her eyes, and studied Sebastian, tilting her head, lipsticked lips pursed. “Did you two know each other before the trip?”
“We’ve met,” Sebastian said, at the same time that Abby said, “No.”
Eileen’s eyes flicked from her daughter to Sebastian and back again.
“We met very briefly. In New York. Years ago,” Abby said.
“Hmm.” Eileen’s eyes were bright, her gaze even sharper. “Where in New York?”
Sebastian and Abby looked at each other. Abby said, “Convention,” at the same instant that Sebastian said, “Bar.”
Eileen tilted her head, looking like an inquisitive bird contemplating a worm.
“We met at the bar, at a convention,” Sebastian said. He shot Abby a look that he hoped said, Help me out. Abby shook her head slightly and stared down at the table.
“What kind of convention was this?” Eileen inquired. “And why were you at a convention in New York?”
“It was more of a job fair,” Abby said.
Eileen’s brow furrowed. “So not a convention,” she said.
“Convention, job fair. Six of one, half dozen of the other,” Abby said, sounding a little desperate. She kicked Sebastian’s shin under the table. Not gently. Sebastian winced.
“You were job hunting in New York?” Eileen’s manicured fingertips tapped at the table as she stared at Abby.
Abby squirmed. “Just, you know. Keeping my options open,” she said, her voice faint. “You know, I should probably go check on”—she gestured toward the end of the table—“everyone else.”
Eileen wasn’t letting her off the hook. “Would Mark be willing to move to New York?” she asked.
“We haven’t discussed it,” said Abby.
“Who’s Mark?” asked Sebastian.
This time, it was Abby and her mother who spoke at the same time. Abby said, “My boyfriend,” while Eileen said, “Her boyfriend.”