She drains the last of her coffee from the dainty mug and sets it in the sink. Bills crowd the counter. She slides one into a drawer, as if hiding it might make it vanish. She takes one final look around the kitchen, then shuts and locks the door behind her.
Outside, clouds hang low over the mountains. The morning is cool here and she turns to go back inside for a heavier shirt as the chill settles around her. She pauses briefly, her hand on the knob. She decides against it. She’ll be in the car for hours, and by the time she heads east and the early summer morning turns to midday, the temperature could climb twenty degrees or more.
Her daughter is already in the back seat, a small pack beside her filled with activities and snacks to keep her occupied on the long ride. The larger suitcase is wedged in the trunk, nestled beside the same boxes of donations she’s been meaning to drop off for weeks.
The child’s legs are bouncing with excitement and she is humming something, probably that song her grandmother taught her last summer. The woman can’t remember the words, something about the beach. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and slides behind the wheel.
It’s only 8 a.m., and she’s already exhausted. Too many hours spent working this week, juggling her day job teaching and long evenings sitting with the elderly woman down the street. She is not looking forward to the long drive, but eagerly awaits a relaxing summer at the coast. This school year has been difficult to say the least.
By the end of the day, she will finally get a few weeks of rest. Though knowing her mother, there will be no pretending.