Page 4 of Lost With My Enemy

Her left eye does something. A tiny spasm, barely visible, but definitely there.

"I'd like to discuss the driving schedule."

"Can we discuss it while eating Timbits?"

"Can we discuss it before you start the engine?"

My grin is involuntary. "Hop in. We'll figure it out on the road."

The eye does the thing again.

Getting her suitcase into the truck bed takes some negotiation. She wants it covered. Reasonable. My tarp is bunched up under the canoe, which is less reasonable. After four minutes of rearranging, her luggage is safely beneath the tarp, her carry-on is behind the passenger seat, and her laptop bag is on her lap because she refuses to let it leave her immediate possession.

She climbs into the cab, surveys the interior, and pauses.

"Is that a dream catcher hanging from your rearview mirror?"

"My mom made it."

"Oh." Her voice softens by a fraction. "It's nice."

"Thanks." My thumb runs over the steering wheel. The dream catcher has been hanging there since the week after Mom's funeral, swaying gently over the dash of every vehicle I've driven in the last two years. My sister Kenzie wanted to put it in a shadowbox. Frame it. Preserve it behind glass where nothing could touch it.

Putting it behind glass felt like putting Mom behind glass. So it hangs here, catching light and dust and whatever dreams are floating around the Trans-Canada Highway at any given moment.

"Okay." Elise opens her laptop on her knees, pulls up what appears to be a spreadsheet, and adjusts her glasses. "I've mapped our route with daily distance targets, pre-booked accommodation for the first four nights, and built in a ninety-minute buffer each day for fuel stops and meals. If we maintain an average of five hundred kilometres per day, we arrive in Calgary on August twenty-third, which gives me two full days before my client walkthrough."

"What's on August twenty-third?"

"Our arrival."

"No, I mean what's actually happening on August twenty-third. The date."

She blinks. "We arrive in Calgary."

"Right, but what if we find something worth stopping for on the twenty-second? Or the twenty-first? What if there's a lake that's perfect at sunset or a town we've never heard of that has the best pie in Ontario?"

"Then we note it and keep driving, because we have a schedule."

The truck pulls out of the parking lot and merges onto Queen Street heading for the 401. Morning traffic is light for Toronto. Sun's still low, throwing long shadows off the office towers. My camera bag is in the back seat, and my fingers itch to grab it even though there's nothing worth shooting from this angle. Force of habit. When you spend six years turning the world into images for a living, everything starts looking like a frame.

"Can I see the itinerary?"

Elise hands it over with visible reluctance. The lamination is crisp. There are sub-sections.

Day one: Toronto to Ottawa. Distance: 449 km. Estimated drive time: 4 hours 30 minutes. Accommodation: pre-booked rental apartment on Rideau Street. Meals: lunch at 12:30 PM (location TBD based on route timing), dinner at 7:00 PM (reservation pending).

Day two: Ottawa to Sudbury. Distance: 484 km. Estimated drive time: 5 hours 15 minutes. Accommodation: pre-booked rental near Bell Park.

It goes on. For fourteen days. Every day has mileage, drive time estimates, accommodation, and meal windows. There's a weather appendix. A fuel station map. An emergency contact page that lists Sloane Barrett, two numbers for someone named "Dad," and her travel insurance policy number.

"You made this last night?"

"Between 10 PM and 2 AM, yes."

"Do you sleep?"

"When everything is organized, I sleep beautifully."