She uses her sister now for a pillow, resting her head on Minnie's pink-polka-dot stomach. After she closes her eyes, she feels Mom drape her jacket across Samantha's body. Mom brushes hair from Samantha's cheek; Samantha can feel Mom's eyes watching her like when she was a little kid.
"The kid's had a tough day," Dad says.
When she opens her eyes again, the sky has turned to twilight shades of orange, pink, and blue outside. A few more hours and they will be home, but home will never be the same to her anymore. She left as a child and will return a woman.
"Are you getting hungry back there, kiddo?" Dad asks.
"I'm fine," she says again.
Dad looks over at Mom. "Well, I have to stretch my legs."
"We better turn off here. There's not another exit for thirty miles," Mom says, looking at the map. No matter the situation, Mom always is organized. She's probably already memorized the guidebook to know where and what they should eat.
Dad pulls off at the next exit consisting only of a truck stop. Rows of tractor-trailers sit in the rear of the parking lot. Mom cringes when they pass a potbellied trucker wearing a stained shirt. "Time for some local color," Dad says. He parks with the handful of other cars near the front of the truck stop.
Samantha puts on Mom's jacket before she gets out of the car, the oversized sleeves making her feel like a kid again for a moment. She doesn't get far before Mom throws an arm over her shoulder.
"Stay close, young lady. I don't want you wandering off and getting lost out here. You'll get eaten by a coyote."
"Mom, I will not. You worry too much."
Mom's eyes start to water. "Mom, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing. I'm going to use the little girl's room. Find us a nice table." Mom hurries away, leaving Samantha and her father to walk through the truck stop's gift shop and its rows of T-shirts, bumper stickers, and shot glasses. The rest of their trip Dad had stopped at such places to examine the merchandise and buy some worthless trinket. This time he breezes through to the restaurant without looking at anything.
The waitress leads them to a vinyl booth patched with duct tape and hands them menus stained with half the items listed. "So, are you ready to go home?" Dad asks.
"Not really," Samantha says.
"Did you have a good time?"
"Yes."
"That's good." They study their menus in silence, as if wrestling with a difficult choice. Samantha wonders what has gotten into her parents. She thinks back to the scene in the motel this morning. That must be it.