Shattered

The hills, on both sides, were green.
        When they got on the Pennsylvania turnpike at Valley Forge and went west toward Harrisburg, Colin said, “What about our tail? “
        “Still there. Some poor FBI agent tracking the wrong prey.”
        “He'll probably lose his job,” Colin said. “That'll make an opening for me.”
        “You want to be an FBI agent?”
        “I've thought about it,” Colin admitted.
        Alex pulled the Thunderbird into the left lane, passed a car pulling a horse trailer. Two little girls about Colin's age were in the back seat of the car. They pressed against the side window and waved at Colin, who blushed and looked sternly ahead.
        “It wouldn't be dull in the FBI,” Colin said.
        “Oh, I don't know about that. It might be pretty boring when you have to follow a crook for weeks before he does something exciting.”
        “Well, it can't be any more boring than sitting under a seatbelt all the way to California,” Colin said.
        God, Alex thought, I walked into that one. He took the car into the right lane again, set the automatic accelerator for an even seventy miles per hour so that if Colin got too interesting they would still make decent time. “When that guy following us gets us on a lonely stretch of road and runs us into a ditch, you'll thank me for making you wear your belt. It'll save your life.”
        Colin turned and looked at him, his big brown eyes made even larger by the eyeglasses. “I guess you aren't going to give in.”
        “You guessed right.”
        Colin sighed. “You're more or less my father now. Aren't you?”
        “I'm your sister's husband. But… Since your sister has custody of you, I guess you could say I have a father's right to make rules you'll live by.”
        Colin shook his head, brushed his long hair out of his eyes. “I don't know. Maybe it was better being an orphan.”
        “Oh, you think so, do you?” Doyle asked, full of mock anger.
        “If you hadn't come along, I wouldn't have gotten a plane ride to Boston,” Colin admitted. “I wouldn't get to go to California either. But… I don't know.”
        “You're too much,” Doyle said, ruffling the boy's hair with one hand.
        Sighing loudly, as if he needed the patience of job in order to get along with Doyle, the boy smoothed his mussed hair with a comb he kept in his hip pocket. He put the comb away, straightened his King Kong T-shirt. “Well, I'll have to think about it. I'm just not sure yet.”
        
        The engine was silent. The tires made almost no noise on the well-surfaced roadbed.
        Five minutes slipped by without awkwardness; they were comfortable enough with each other to endure silence. However, Colin grew restless and began to tap wildly elaborate rhythms on his bony knees.
        “You want to find something on the radio?” Alex asked.
        “I'll have to unbuckle my seatbelt.”
        “OK. But just for a minute or two.”
        The boy relished the slithering retreat of the cloth belt. In an instant he was on his knees on the seat, turned and looking out the car window. “He's still behind us!”
        “Hey!” Alex said. “You're supposed to be finding a radio station.”
        Colin turned and sat down. “Well, you'd have thought I was slipping if I didn't try .” His grin was irresistible.
        “Get some music on that thing,” Alex said.
        Colin fiddled with the am-fm radio until he located a rock-and-roll show. He set the volume, then suddenly popped up on his knees and looked out the rear window. “Staying right on our tail,” he said. Then he dropped into his seat and grabbed for his belt.
        “You're a real troublemaker, aren't you?” Alex asked.
        “Don't worry about me,” the boy said. “We have to worry about that guy following us.”
        
        At eight-fifteen they stopped at a Howard Johnson's restaurant outside of Harrisburg. The moment Alex slotted the car into a parking space in front of the orange-roofed building, Colin was looking for the van. “He's here. Like I expected.”
        Alex looked out his side window and saw the van pass in front of the restaurant, heading for the service station at the other end. On the side of the white Chevrolet, brilliant blue and green letters read: Automover. One-Way Move-It-Yourself Convenience! Then the van was out of sight.
        “Come on,” Alex said. “Let's get some breakfast.