Fated

she’s looking at him, I know she’s as nervous as I am. “So, what do you say, shall we head inside and make sure?” She grasps my hand in hers, squeezes tightly, if not briefly, then props her door open, slides from her seat, and motions for me to follow suit.
    I shove my hands deep into my pockets and walk in behind her. My feet dragging across worn beige tiles, my head tilted in a way that encourages my hair to fall forward, obscuring my face. Determined to get a better look at him than he can of me, carefully noting all the small details I missed at first glimpse: his turquoise-tipped bolo tie that falls halfway down the front of his carefully pressed and starched shirt, his high cheekbones, broad nose, and startling dark eyes that are filled with such kindness my shoulders sink in relief.
    You’re in good hands.
    The thought swirls through me, though I’m quick to discard it. I can’t trust the things that I hear any more than I can trust the things that I see. Besides, it can’t be that easy; he needs to earn my respect.
    We head toward the back, toward the very last booth where he sits. Watching him rise when he sees us, moving in a way that’s surprisingly agile for someone his age. And as much as I’m prepared to hate him, as much as I’m determined to find some big glaring flaw that’ll change Jennika’s mind and cast a final vote against him, the smile that greets us is one of the most genuine I’ve seen in a very long time.
    He reaches forward, offers his hand, and introduces himself as Chayton—Chay for short—and I’m pleased to find his grip both firm and sincere. He doesn’t give me some wimpy handshake just because I’m a girl.
    I slide onto the opposite bench, moving toward the wall as Jennika slides in beside me. And when Chay folds his hands on the table, leaning forward as he speaks, I can’t help but like him even more for not talking about sports or the weather or some other dumb thing that ignores the disturbing reality of what brought us all here.
    He gets straight to the point when he looks at me and says, “I won’t pretend to imagine how you feel right now. Only you know that. And whatever feelings you’re experiencing, whatever thoughts you may have, I have no doubt they’re justified. What I can say is that the drive to Albuquerque runs around seven hours. And then it’s another three from there to Enchantment where your grandmother lives. You and I have a long trip ahead, but we can spend it however you chose. We can talk if you want, and if you don’t, that’s fine too. If you get hungry, we’ll stop. If you need to get out and stretch your legs for a bit, we’ll stop for that too. If you just want to speed on through, aside from filling up on gas when we need it, we can manage that as well. I have no expectations. I ask nothing from you. Whatever it takes to make your trip comfortable, you tell me, and I’ll do my best to see that it’s done. Any questions? Anything you’d like me to know about you?”
    I pause, unsure how to respond. The speech I’d prepared—the one where I make clear that I’m not one to be messed with—is no longer appropriate. So I shake my head and stare at my menu instead. Studying laminated pictures of hamburgers, sandwiches, salads, and pies as though a pop quiz will follow. And still, when the waitress comes for our order, I ask to go last, needing more time to choose something I probably won’t eat.
    Jennika orders a coffee with cream, says her stomach’s too nervous—she’ll grab something at the airport or eat on the plane—while Chay forgoes all thoughts of nutrition and asks for a slice of pecan pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side—an act that scores him another point in my favor. And though I’m tempted to do the same, I ask for a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke. Telling myself that if nothing else, it’ll provide a distraction, give me something to toy with if the conversation becomes as unbearable as I expect.
    “So, how’s Paloma?” Jennika asks, the moment the waitress moves on.
    “Good.” Chay nods, splaying his hands on the paper place setting before him in a way that showcases his intricate silver ring that, from what I can tell, bears the head of an eagle, with deep golden stones standing in for the eyes.
    “What’s she up to these days? Still growing herbs, I know, but what else? Is she still in the same place? What does she do for a living? Does she get by purely with the