A Familiar Way Forward

"Suspicious Miles"

 

The bus had settled into its long, steady hum, the kind that blurred the edges of thought. Roxy sat halfway back on the right side, journal open on her lap, pen moving without much intention. Lines, half-sentences. Things she didn’t plan to keep.

She hadn’t noticed the man until he sat down beside her.

He moved carefully, like someone aware of his own knees, setting a garment bag upright between his boots before easing into the seat. The bag was black and stiff, the kind that had seen a lot of miles. He adjusted his belt buckle, nodded once to her in greeting, then looked out the window.

They rode like that for a minute.

“You writing something important,” he said, not looking at her, “or just keeping your hands busy?”

Roxy glanced down at the page, then back at him. He wore a pale blue button-down, sleeves rolled neatly to the forearms. His hair was silver at the temples, the rest slicked back with care. There was a warmth to him that didn’t ask anything.

“Little of both,” she said.

He smiled. “That’s usually how it starts.”

She capped her pen and set it across the spine of the journal. Her earbuds dangled loose against her collarbone, the cord tucked into her jacket pocket.

He tipped his head toward them. “You forgot something.”

She followed his gaze and huffed a quiet laugh. “I do that sometimes.”

“Me too,” he said. “Wear my stage glasses all day without lenses in ’em. Don’t realize till I can’t read the menu.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“On my way to Sunshine Hollow,” he said, patting the garment bag. “Convention this weekend.”

“Elvis?” she asked, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

“That obvious, huh?” His grin widened. “Been him longer than I’ve been me, some days.”

She smiled back despite herself.

They talked the way people do when there’s nothing to defend. About the bus. About how the route curved away from the highway and slowed everything down. About Sunshine Hollow—how the locals said holler and meant it. About how he still got nervous before every show, even after all these years.

“Doesn’t matter how many times I’ve done it,” he said. “Soon as I’m dressed and waiting, my stomach starts acting like it’s never been here before.”

Roxy nodded, fingers worrying the corner of her journal. “I’ve got… something on the other end of this ride,” she said. “Not a performance. Just a meeting.”

He didn’t ask who or why. Just nodded once, like that was enough.

“Hard part’s not the thing,” he said. “It’s the sitting still beforehand. Once your feet hit the ground, your body usually remembers how to do what it needs to.”

She let that settle. The bus rolled on, the scenery thinning, then thickening again.

A few minutes later, the driver called out Sunshine Hollow.

The man stood, lifted the garment bag with care. “Well,” he said, “this went faster than I expected.”

He paused, then added, gently, “Feels a little closer now, don’t it?”

Roxy smiled, small but real. “Yeah,” she said. “It does.”

He tipped an imaginary hat and stepped off the bus.

Roxy watched him go, then looked back down at her journal. The page didn’t feel so heavy anymore. The bus pulled forward, and for the first time since she’d boarded, she let herself believe she could stay seated until the end.