26
The old Youth Reform School was just across the Central Time Zone line, giving us an extra hour with our travel, but it still felt early when we met Roger the next morning. Addy fell asleep in the back seat within minutes of finishing her morning mocha and tucking the cup safely in the trash bag Roger provided.
At least he let us drink in the car.
Roger glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “This is getting to be a habit,” he said.
“A runaway sleeping in your car,” I asked, “or the three of us bonding American-style, burning fossil fuels to hurtle a hunk of steel?”
“We do look like a family out for the proverbial Sunday drive, don’t we?” he observed.
“Except for the German car.”
“And the fact that none of us are related, by blood or romantic entanglement,” he added.
“I assume t
