In the morning, my eyes shot open as if spring-loaded. The sun just barely peeked over the horizon and changed the sky from a deep navy blue to a beautiful mixture of pinks and oranges. I hurried out of bed, pulled on my sweater and slippers, and jogged down the stairs to the kitchen. Cara was already there with two steaming cups of coffee on the table and pancakes cooking on the stove.
“Good morning!” she said in a sing-song voice.
“Aw, you made me breakfast?” I sat down and smelled the sweet aroma of the pumpkin spice flavored coffee mixed with vanilla creamer. It was heaven to my nostrils.
“Your goodbye breakfast. Who knows when we’ll get to do this again.” For the briefest of seconds her eyebrows pulled together and her eyes fell down into a distant gaze. But she was quick to recover with a cheery smile as always. “Are you excited?”
“Yes, but I’m nervous too. I just hope I can make it through their training so I can get out there,” I admitted.
Cara cocked her head to the side and shot me a sympathetic smile that said I was being crazy. I hoped she was right. “You’ll be great. Trust me.”
Trust me. I hated when people said that. Of course I trusted Cara, but not on this. She knew even less than I did about my training, if that was even possible. Panic settled into the depths of my stomach. It twisted and rumbled as I grit my teeth.
Luckily, I had an immediate distraction in the form of butter-slathered pancakes with warm, thick syrup. I had tried on many occasions, but could never cook as amazingly as Cara. She had a gift. All I was good for when it came to meals was picking up some fried chicken at the drive-thru.
“Eat up and then we’ll head out, okay?” she said.
I dove right in with my fork, hoping the food would suppress my anxiety. When I finished, I realized all it had done was give me a stomach ache, and the coffee had given me the jitters. At least I had the car ride to the station and the train ride to Chicago to clear my head and calm my nerves.