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“Do you think he’s good over there?” Eddie asks, glancing at the door connecting their adjoining motel rooms.
Buck flops back on the bed, the old mattress groaning under his weight. “Yeah, Eds. I think Chris is gonna be fine. I think he’s gonna like having the room to himself.”
Buck turns to his side, pops his head on his hand and gives Eddie his best come hither look. “He’s not the only one.”
Eddie looks down, at Buck stretched out on the covers, and grins. “You actually gonna stay awake this time?”
Buck rolls his eyes. “Come find out.”
“It’s a really big tree,” Christopher says, head tilted all the way back to stare up at the canopy of the massive sequoia.
Buck stands behind him, a hand on his back for added balance. “The biggest,” Buck agrees. “275 feet tall. Weighs 4.1 million pounds. Scientists estimate she’s about 2,200 years old.”
Eddie watches them. “Sequoias have these shallow roots,” he says, and Buck looks back over his shoulder, mildly surprised. “But they spread really wide. And they tangle up with the roots of other trees, and it makes them all stronger together."
Buck blinks slowly. “Together.”
Buck groans so loudly around his bacon cheeseburger that the next table looks over.
“Nice,” Eddie chides, but he’s so happy he could die from it.
"Why do adults love diners so much?” Christopher asks.
They’re somewhere between Santa Rosa and Redding, settled into a creaking booth with fries and milkshakes and pretty decent jalapeño poppers.
“Well,” Eddie starts. “They’re usually pretty cheap–”
“Except in California,” Buck interrupts.
“And you kind of just know what you’re going to get. It’s familiar.”
“Boring,” Christopher counters, chin-deep in chocolate shake.
Eddie shakes his head and knocks Buck’s foot under the table. “Never.”
Eddie wakes up without realizing he’d fallen asleep. The rumble of tires on asphalt has become a soothing kind of lullaby. In the driver’s seat, Buck hums softly along with whatever song is playing, completely out of tune.
When Eddie checks in the backseat, Christopher only has eyes for his Switch.
“I said he could,” Buck murmurs. “Seemed fair after 6 hours at the Crocker.”
“I love you,” Eddie says. Because he probably doesn’t say it enough.
Buck takes his eyes off the road for just a moment, just enough to smile, soft and sweet, at Eddie.
“Love you too.”
“What’re you doing?” Chris asks.
“A smash book. It’s a scrapbook for people who don’t like to scrapbook,” Buck explains. He’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched under the coffee table, little piles of paper spread in front of him. Ticket stubs, receipts, pamphlets from museums and national parks.
“Are these from our road trip?” Chris asks, scooting forward to get a better look.
“Yep. I’m gonna tape them into this book. Maybe write some notes about what we did.” Buck holds up a Sharpie.
“Can I help?”
Eddie runs his fingers through Buck’s hair and thinks about wedding rings.