"Are You Sending Sophia Postcards?"
It's one of those trips that has an end point, but the goal is to take as long as need be to get there. No mapped route. No determined stops. If she finds a campground or a cheap motel in a place she likes, she stays an extra night or three. Her sister and her mom know where she's headed, but nobody knows exactly where she'll be. Or if she'll be. Even her.
But this is the third time (one roadside motel, two campgrounds) she's showed up, checked in, and been told "oh, I think there's some mail here for you...", followed by the clerk presenting her with a hand-addressed picture postcard.
The postmarks are all from a town in Ohio she's never been to or heard of. The pictures on the backs all sort of suggest trips from her past, without actually depicting places she's been. The handwriting looks a little like that of her gramma (who to her knowledge never went to Ohio and who died four years ago). The brief messages describle visits to attrcations that the writer has visited in this particular town she's visiting now. They don't say, "you'd love this or that attraction", but more just "we visited here today".
The first one freaked her out a little, but now she just reads them, sticks them in her backpack, and wonders where they're coming from.