Lilac Wedding in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

I figured you had to have been told by someone. And you never sent a letter. I thought you didn’t want to hear from me.”

      “I always had a return address on those envelopes.”

      Cat heard a rustling in the backseat.

      “Mommy.”

      “We’ll talk later,” Cat whispered to Jake before turning to their daughter. “How are you, pumpkin?”

      “I’m hungry.”

      “We’ll stop someplace,” Jake said, passing an exit.

      “We could just get something at a gas station. I don’t feel like going into a restaurant and sitting down.”

      “Usually a gas station only has hot dogs at this time of night.”

      Cat shrugged. She didn’t have the energy to persuade him otherwise. She just hoped her money held out until she could get back to Minneapolis. She was determined to not open the envelope of money he’d laid on the seat before they began. She had moved it to the cup holder between their two seats. If it was charity, she didn’t want it.

      He pulled off at an exit that had a fast-food sign.

      “I’m going to meet your mother,” Cat finally said, suddenly realizing what that meant. “And I didn’t bring a dress.”

      One thing she knew about Jake was that he loved his mother. He’d written to the woman often from the home and Cat had envied him having someone. She couldn’t even remember her mother. She had a grandmother who had taken care of her until she died. Then Cat had been out on her own.