Page 9 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

“I still have a phone, and your dad lives here, too.”

Jenna rolled her eyes. “That helps.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ll be in Breck for the holidays, and I’ll be home in early January.”

“Oh,” Jenna said, a light bulb going off. “Are you doing this as a change of scenery for Christmas?”

“Maybe,” she admitted. Last year had been terrible. “But I also do need a job, and this will be better than being a clerk somewhere.”

“True.” A voice called from off-screen. Jenna glanced over her shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Mom. Gotta go.” She blew a kiss and ended the connection.

Unlike Jenna, her sons never liked phone calls. She texted them both at the same time.Hey, I got a job, and I’m going to be on the road for a few weeks, leaving next Wednesday. If you need anything, you’ll have to go to your dad. Do you want to come over for dinner Tuesday?

The only other person who’d care was Amber, a friend she’d met in forced group therapy after her arrest. Everyone else had either decided to take Spence’s side or had been horrified by her arrest. Understandably.

Eventually, she’d have to tell Spence about the trip, but there was time. She didn’t have to do it now.

She managed to get in to see her doctor on Thursday, was dosed up with vaccines and malaria pills. “I’m also giving you a prescription for antibiotics and an antidiarrheal,” Dr. Romero said. “Take IMODIUM with you, lots of it. And a really good mosquito repellent with DEET.”

Veronica typed notes into her phone. “Isn’t DEET bad for you?”

“Not as bad as malaria or dengue fever.”

“Point taken.”

“Also, you’ll want Benadryl, and the usual NSAIDs. Do you have a water bottle with a filter?”

“No.”

“You can buy a good one at REI.” She dropped her readers on the table. “Saves a lot on discarded single-use plastic, and you’ll always know you have it. Don’t drink the water in Morocco or India, even to brush your teeth.”

“Got it.”

“Also,” she said with a smile, “don’t let the warnings scare you. It’s going to be an amazing trip. Happy for you.”

Dr. Romero had been the one to see Veronica after she broke her wrist one winter night, and when she’d been arrested, she prescribedXanax to help get her through the worst of the madness. Thinking about it now, she felt deep shame. A normal person would not have lost her mind over the loss of a marriage.

“Thanks. I’m really excited.”

Both arms vaguely tender from the vaccinations, she drove to the giant REI near campus and found the filtering water bottle, then wandered the aisles looking for other things that might make travel easier without loading herself down. In light of Mariah’s needs, Veronica had already mentally limited herself to one medium bag. She picked up a stretchy clothesline that could be hung up in a shower, individual packets of laundry soap, a cube that adapted electronics to various power sources, including direct plugs for USB and C cords. She eyed the first-aid kits but decided she could make one herself. Although she browsed through the hiking pants and wicking shirts, she didn’t see anything she didn’t already own. Before the divorce, she’d hiked most weeks with a group of women from the neighborhood. Those outings had ceased with her arrest, but she still had the clothes. They were sturdy and drip-dry—perfect for this. She did add some drip-dry underwear, and then, wary of putting too much on her credit card, checked out.

She was loading it all into the back of her Subaru when her phone buzzed and Spence’s face showed on the screen. She almost ignored it, but as they were coparents, he did have a right to know that she’d be out of the country.

“I guess you heard the news,” she said.

“Uh . . . what news?”

She took a breath, unwilling to do this in a parking lot. “Nothing big; I’ll call you later. What’s up?”

“Did you sign the papers my lawyer sent over?”

She scoffed. “The reduction in alimony, you mean? No. I’m barely making it as it is.”

“Ronny, come on. I’m going to have a new baby! And we have three kids in college. I’m not a wealthy man. Give me a break.”

“Don’t call me Ronny,” she said for the millionth time. “You’re the one who wanted a divorce. These are the consequences.” A fit young man with messy hair carried a sleeping bag to his car. Veronica realized she was appreciatively watching only when he gave her a sunny smile and lift of the chin. She smiled back. “If it’s that dire, sell your precious house.”

“It’s been in my family since 1925!”