It was nothing like our night drives—no joking back and forth, no talking about silly or mundane things. Ezra talked to me, and I knew he was trying to distract me, get my thoughts off going home, but my mind was already in Toronto. He finally gave up and turned the radio on. I was vaguely aware of him shooting me concerned glances every few minutes, and when he reached over and took my hand, I held on tight. He entwined our fingers and rested our joined hands on his thigh. When we passed the signs for Belleville, Ezra turned off the first exit. I remained silent, assuming he was stopping for gas, but he pulled into the parking lot of a Denny’s. I looked over at him, confused. Including the ferry time, we’d been on the road for about an hour and a half, and still had two hours to go. “I’m sure the last thing you want to do is stop and eat, but you’ve got to have something. Your dad told me to take care of you, and I take that seriously.” His mouth lifted slightly, his eyes soft and pleading.
