“For good reason. That Mercedes had two hundred and fifty thousand miles on it and looked as though it’s spent the past few years doubling as a ranch truck. My guess is it would’ve stranded you in the desert.”
No wonder Amelia had been interested in her earrings. “So you came to get us instead,” Emma said.
He didn’t respond.
“How did you know Manuel was at the Gas-N-Go?”
“Max told me he drives a Hummer. It’s not like you see one of those on every corner, especially out here.”
Why did you come back? The biggest question of all remained unasked. But Emma didn’t want to broach that subject yet. She knew it would lead to why he’d left them in the first place and she wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened at the pool. She owed Preston an apology, but she’d only choke up if she tried to say the words right now.
“Have you had anything to eat since breakfast?” he asked.
Emma remembered the lunch the hotel manager had provided for Max. She’d been so concerned about Max getting enough to eat that she hadn’t dared take so much as a bite of his sandwich. With Manuel in town, she hadn’t dared go out, either.
“I haven’t been hungry,” she lied.
Preston’s eyes swept over her, but the appreciation she’d noticed when he was in the Jacuzzi last night was gone. “You’re too thin already.”
It bothered Emma that he thought so, but she couldn’t think of one good reason it should, so she shrugged off her reaction. “I had a few extra pounds to shed.”
“Well, you can’t afford to lose any more,” he said. “We’ll stop in Eureka for dinner.”
ONCE HER STOMACH WAS FULL and Max had nodded off, Emma couldn’t keep her eyes open. She felt guilty letting Preston do all the driving. Especially now that he was going so far out of his way. But she’d offered to help, and he’d refused.
As she leaned her head against the door, the hum of the motor and the warp, warp, warp of the tires worked better than a lullaby. She was afraid that after eating so late, Max’s blood sugar might be too high to go through the whole night without more insulin. But she couldn’t test him and make any adjustments until the fast-acting insulin she’d administered at dinner had done all it was going to do, which would take about three hours. Then she could get a better indication of whether or not she needed to give him another injection.
“I’ll check him when we stop.”
“What?” Preston said.
Emma hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until he questioned her. Obviously, she was half-asleep already. “Nothing. Nudge me if you need a break.”
Preston had been quiet at dinner but not resentful, like before. He’d helped with Max, insisted she eat more than she wanted and picked up the tab. Being with him was actually enjoyable—until the waitress told him they were a beautiful family. Then he withdrew.
“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “We’ll get to Salt Lake before too long.”
And then what? Emma wanted to ask, but after the day she’d spent, she couldn’t face the answer. He’d drop them off at some motel, the way he had last night.
At least Salt Lake was a lot bigger than Ely. She and Max could hide there, take a day or two to rest, buy some underwear and a change of clothes, figure out how to move on.
“Any budget motel will do,” she murmured.
“What?”
“When you drop us off.” With a brief yawn, she fell into the first dreamless sleep she’d had in a long time.
WHEN YOU DROP US OFF…
Preston frowned at Emma’s sleeping form and shook his head. He couldn’t drop them off. He’d been trying to ever since they’d met, but something always brought them back together. At this point it’d be better to drive them all the way to Iowa. They might make the trip more difficult, slow him down a bit—this little detour was costing him probably five hours—but he felt the precaution was justified. He could make sure they arrived safely in the Midwest, and then, when they parted, there’d be no guilt, no second thoughts, no doubts.
He just hoped putting several states between them and the man he’d met at the Hotel Nevada would be enough. Manuel seemed pretty determined.
The miles to Carlin and Interstate 80 from Eureka passed quickly. When Preston pulled off at a truck stop on the edge of Elko, Emma woke up. She tested Max’s blood and gave him more insulin while Preston filled the gas tank. Then Max and Emma fell back asleep and Preston drove on.
When they reached Wendover, it was midnight, and he was starting to get tired. His eyes burned, and his legs were cramping. But he decided to press on. Manuel could be any number of places, but if he’d headed to Salt Lake from Ely, he would’ve connected with Interstate 80 at Wendover. Although Preston hoped his roundabout approach had reduced any chance of meeting him, they could be on the same highway now, which made him cautious. Once they reached Salt Lake, he could relax. For one thing, he wasn’t sure Manuel was going to Salt Lake or that he’d know they’d be stopping there. And finding someone in a mall was difficult enough; in a big city like Salt Lake, locating Emma and Max without a good lead would be next to impossible.
But they weren’t in Salt Lake yet.
Passing through the salt flats seemed to take forever, partly because he was so exhausted and partly because the land deserved its name. It was absolutely flat—and monotonous. The only sign of civilization in well over an hour was the Morton Salt Factory, which sat out in the middle of nowhere, a dark, amorphous shape, half-hidden behind huge piles of salt waiting to be iodized and purified.
As they drew closer to Utah’s capital, the Great Salt Lake came up on their left. Its marshy, shallow water reflected the moon’s light, stretching as far into the distance as he could see, and he could smell mold. He remembered taking Dallas swimming in the Great Salt Lake, remembered how excited Dallas had been that he could float without a raft because the salt content created such buoyancy.
Tooele, a small community separated from Salt Lake City by a mountain range Preston couldn’t recall the name of, appeared next, off to the right. He’d never visited Tooele, but judging by the small cluster of lights, it wasn’t very big. He guessed it was like so many other Utah towns—originally settled by Mormon pioneers and organized on a grid, with small brick homes and plenty of well-tended gardens.
A smokestack stood at the point of the mountain like a sentry as they drove into Salt Lake City. He and Christy had occasionally visited the ski resorts in the area, but he hadn’t expected to feel such a bittersweet rush of familiarity.