A Song for the Road

by Kathleen Basi

  Memories took no time at all; Miriam was only a couple miles south of town when the sight of a bestickered suitcase and green backpack recalled her to the present. It took a moment to realize why it looked familiar. Then she remembered the pregnant girl who’d been sitting outside the quick stop yesterday. The one she’d thought was waiting for a bus.

  Clearly, she hadn’t found one. And now she was walking. Walking through the back country of back countries. Hadn’t this girl ever seen Deliverance?

  More to the point, where had she slept?

  Teo would already have hit the brake. “Come on, Mira. Shelter the traveler, right?” He’d elbow her, give her his big, goofy grin, making a joke out of the works of mercy to deflect attention from how effortless he made them look.

  She couldn’t just drive past. She knew too well how it felt to be pregnant and alone.

  Miriam stopped in the middle of the deserted highway. The girl was a quarter mile behind her already. She muscled the car into reverse and let her foot off the clutch, promptly killing the engine. Good thing Becky wasn’t here to see Miriam abusing her car.

  By the time she made it back to the hitchhiker, the girl had her wary face on. “I’m fine, thanks,” she said before Miriam even opened her mouth.

  Miriam put the car in first to coast alongside. At least, that was the idea. A standard transmission in first gear wasn’t built for rolling; the car moved in fits and starts. “Running away from home?” she ventured.

  The girl didn’t stop walking, but she did shoot Miriam a withering look. “Please. I’m twenty-two. I’m not running away from anyone.”

  Well, maybe that hadn’t been the best approach. But Miriam knew desperation when she saw it. The girl was definitely running from something. Miriam studied her a moment. She was lovely, with that tawny beige skin and her myriad short, puffy ponytails. It was like looking at Talia, only a year or two older and biracial. “Please let me give you a ride,” she said.

  “I don’t need help.”

  Miriam sighed as the girl walked on. Teo would have already coaxed her whole history out of her. He’d always been better at that sort of thing.

  Wait a minute. Was that leaf debris stuck to the girl’s jacket? And her socks? And her hair?

  Miriam had the engine off and the door open before she realized she’d decided to act. “Did you sleep in the woods?”

  The girl whirled. “Who the hell are you?”

  Miriam stopped, raising her hands in a nonthreatening gesture. “I’m not following you! It’s just, you’re covered in leaves. And you’re … you’re pregnant.”

  “Really?” The girl released her suitcase to flutter her hand over her heart. “Is that what all that kicking around in there is? Good thing somebody finally explained it to me!”

  Miriam eyed the bump in the girl’s midsection. Six months, maybe? What on earth could have made this self-possessed, self-reliant young woman desperate enough to sleep in the woods?

  Whatever it was, she clearly had no intention of letting herself be cowed. Miriam liked her already.

  Even if she was stubborn to the point of cussedness, she thought as the girl started walking again. The psychedelic suitcase bumped awkwardly along the uneven shoulder.

  Miriam hurried forward. “Look,” she said. “I’m not a psycho. I’m a church music director and a—”

  The reality of her loss crashed down again. A child who lost its parents had a name: orphan. But what did you call a woman who had lost her entire family? She’d lost even her identity. “Well, I used to be a mother,” she said quietly.

  A look Miriam couldn’t decipher flitted across the girl’s face. Finally, she’d made an impression.

  Miriam rallied. “Look, it’s sixty miles before you’re going to hit an interstate, let alone a town where you can get a hotel room or a reasonable bite to eat. Think about your baby. Let me give you a ride.”

  The girl stared her down. Then something seemed to give way. For a fleeting moment, Miriam saw again the lost look that had tugged at her heart yesterday. Then it disappeared into a casual shrug. “Fine, whatever.”

  It took a little rearranging to make room for the huge suitcase in the trunk. The backpack the girl kept in the front seat, her arms wrapped around it. She wore a bright blue metal bracelet on her wrist. It had writing on it, but Miriam couldn’t see it well enough to read it. As the Hyundai started moving again, the girl glanced around the car. “That’s a guitar, right?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What’s the other thing?”

  “A cello.”

  A beat, while the girl waited for an explanation Miriam had no intention of giving. Then: “Okay,” she said.

  Now it was Miriam’s turn to make conversation. “So where are you headed?”

  “Charleston.”

  “South Carolina?”

  “West Virginia.”

  West. Not south. Miriam hadn’t realized she’d been hoping for an excuse to turn around. “Is Charleston home?”

  “No, it’s the nearest bus station.”

  “Oh.”

  “What about you? Where are you headed?”

  “Who knows?”

  The girl gave her a quizzical look.

  Miriam shifted through the gears and settled into sixth. She cleared her throat. “My kids wanted me to see this part of the country.”

  “Your kids are …?” Clearly, the girl didn’t want to be the one to say it.

  “They died.”

  “How?”

  “A car accident.” Miriam had no intention of going into further detail. “They wanted me to take a trip across the country. A flip-a-coin road trip with a bunch of stops along the way.”

  The girl sucked in a gasp that unceremoniously launched a coughing fit. A bad one. Miriam was starting to worry by the time it finally settled. The girl pulled an enormous water bottle from her backpack and took a swig of water from it. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m Dicey, by the way.”

  “Miriam. Miriam Tedesco.”

  “Nice to meet you. And … thanks for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome.” She bit her lip as Dicey coughed again—a hard, forceful cough—but only one.

  The engine revved as they started gaining elevation. The silence stretched on for a bit. “So,” Miriam ventured, “how far along are you?”

  “Thirty-two weeks.”

  Miriam frowned and sized her up again. “Really? Wow. You’re so tiny! I was a whale at thirty-two weeks. Then again”—she sighed—“I was carrying twins.”

  Dicey shuddered. “I can’t imagine. My hips hurt all the time.”

  “Ligaments loosening up, getting ready for labor.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Miriam would have liked to inquire further, but they’d only just met. How would Teo have done it? She racked her brain, but before she came up with anything, Dicey spoke again.

  “I’m sorry you lost your kids.” Dicey traced the outline of the air-conditioning vent. “But your road trip sounds cool.” She cocked her head as if thinking. “How many stops have you done?”

  “Just the one.” Miriam shrugged. “It was kind of a bust. I missed the tours. I just went out and sang to the telescope.”

  “You sang to the telescope, and you call it a bust? Did you get a video? Oh, wait, I guess you couldn’t.”

  “Right. No phones allowed.”

  “Too bad. That would’ve been awesome!”

  Once again, Miriam was reminded of Talia. She smiled. “I’m glad you approve.”

  Dicey coughed again. “So, Tedesco,” she said. “What is that, Italian?”

  “Argentine-Italian. I’m impressed. Most people don’t guess Italian.”

  “I like names,” said Dicey. “Interesting names especially. Figuring out what they mean, where they come from. Names should mean something.”

  “Interesting hobby.”

  “Probably comes from having a name as boring as Smith.”

  “Smith has a mean
ing.”

  “Yeah, yeah, blacksmith, I know. But you have a pretty badass name.”

  “Um, thanks?”

  “Oh, come on. A church choir director oughtta know who Miriam was. Baby in the river, fooling a princess into letting his own mom raise him, singing by the Red Sea?”

  Miriam laughed, and for one blessed moment the tightness in her chest eased. “All right, all right. Yes, I know who Miriam was. Did you know Miriam is the Hebrew form of ‘Mary’? Even the Mary might have gone by Miriam.”

  A glance showed Dicey scowling, but it was a half-hearted one. “You’re stealing my thunder.”

  Miriam laughed again. “So what about Dicey? That’s the most not-boring name I think I’ve ever heard.”

  “It was a nickname for Laodicea Langston. She was from South Carolina, and she spied for the Patriots during the Revolution.”

  “No kidding? So is your name Laodicea?”

  “No, just Dicey.” Dicey expelled a breath, leaning back against her headrest. Apparently it didn’t bother her the way it bothered Miriam. “So sleepy. It wasn’t a very good night.”

  Miriam had intended to ask about baby names, but now she detoured. “I can imagine. I don’t understand how you didn’t get hypothermia.”

  “Found a bunch of dry leaves to burrow down under. Blanket on top. But it was still cold.”

  The warmth of the rising sun dropped in a line across Miriam’s forearm. The quiet seemed companionable. Dicey stuffed her backpack between her shoulder and her head and rested against the window. A mile unfolded. Two. Then, into the silence, she said, “You’re still a mom, you know.”

  Miriam looked over. “What?”

  The girl’s eyes remained closed; her words were soft, but they carried in the quiet. “You said you used to be a mother. But you’ll always be a mom. Even after you’re dead.”

  Miriam’s breath caught. Her vision blurred. She ran a finger over the puffy skin below her left eye. It came away wet. Just one tear—but a tear. How long had it been since she’d cried?

  She looked over at the girl in the passenger seat, but Dicey’s chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm. Miriam faced forward again.

  The miles unfolded in silence.

  9

  WHEN HER PHONE FINALLY dinged, Miriam almost ran off the road. It hadn’t made a sound in eighteen hours; she’d readjusted to life off the grid.

  The sound effects tripped over each other in their haste to alert her to everything she’d missed: ding-ding-bloopety-bloopety-ding-ding.

  Dicey’s phone buzzed too; she jerked upright with an audible gasp, blinking at the rock-and-tree-covered slope outside her window. “Crap, that scared me.”

  The sound effects continued. Miriam pulled onto the shoulder across from a wide field tucked into the valley. She turned the engine off and rolled down the windows. The mountain breeze carried the cool scent of pine and the same quiet that had unnerved her at the telescope yesterday. But at least this time she had something to occupy her.

  “All right,” she said, “time to play catch-up.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dicey unzipped her backpack and pulled out a can of Pringles and a bottle of water and started crunching as she navigated her phone. Miriam swallowed a bit of envy. If she ate that much fat and salt, she’d gain a pound a day.

  Miriam turned her attention to her own device. Nine texts, six missed calls, and a handful of voicemails.

  “Why haven’t you called me? I specifically said call me every day!” Becky sighed. “Call me when you get this.”

  Delete. Next message.

  “Miriam! Where! Are! You! You’re scaring me!”

  “Seriously, Becky,” she muttered. “Chill.”

  “Mira, it’s Mom. What’s this about a road trip? I thought you were going to get serious about finishing Blaise’s sonata. Please call me. I haven’t talked to you in weeks, and I can’t help thinking you’re avoiding—”

  Miriam felt slightly guilty deleting this voicemail. She’d e-mailed Mom instead of calling to tell her about the trip because, she’d told herself, it was too late at night. And because she knew Mom would bring up Blaise’s sonata. Mom’s enthusiasm on that subject seemed singularly unfair when her parents had worked so hard to discourage Miriam’s own musical ambition.

  But none of that was the real reason.

  The last voicemail was from her brother. “Mira, it’s Brad.” He sounded tired. Probably Mom or Jo had awakened him while he was recovering from a brutal day in the world of Hollywood face-lifts and breast implants. “What’s going on? Jo called, but I really didn’t follow it … something about a road trip?” He sighed. “Anyway, Mom’s a wreck, and Jo thinks you’re mad at her about the Easter thing. Can you just call one of them so they’ll leave me alone?”

  Miriam growled; Dicey glanced up from her phone. “Everything okay?”

  “Do you have siblings?”

  “Four brothers.”

  “Whoa.” Miriam regarded her with new respect. “Are they always in your business?”

  Dicey raised her eyebrows. “Well, duh.” Her lips quirked. “You?”

  “One of each. I guess my mom’s freaking out about this trip. Apparently she and my sister elected my brother to reel me back in.”

  “Let me guess. You’re the youngest.”

  “Yeah … why?”

  The girl pointed at her own chest and then spread her hands with a wry smile.

  Miriam looked back at her phone, but she couldn’t concentrate. Mom was right: embarking on this road trip did feel like abandoning her commitment to Blaise.

  “No heart,” Talia’s voice whispered.

  Miriam shuddered. If she’d loved her family better—loved them so they were in no doubt of it—surely Talia could never have entertained such a thought. But Teo and the kids were all demonstrative in their love, while Miriam—well, Miriam was her parents’ child.

  And that was the real reason she’d avoided calling her mom. The reason she’d been dodging her mother’s calls for months. Ever since Miriam’s subconscious started dredging up Talia’s accusations and Teo’s pleas for time and attention, she’d been seeing more clearly the parallels between her own marriage and her parents’.

  For years, she’d buried the question now bubbling up, but it felt too important to ignore any longer.

  Why hadn’t Mom and Dad ever gotten divorced?

  Had they decided it was too much hassle? That it wasn’t worth becoming the talk of the church? Of course, once Dad got sick, it was a moot point. What kind of person would leave a dying man?

  For several long moments, Miriam stared at the “Call” button beneath her mother’s name. But she couldn’t imagine having that conversation in front of Dicey.

  Cursing her cowardice, she navigated to her text messages. There were five from Becky and a handful from other choir members, at least two of which seemed to include the words Ella Emil. One from Father Simeon, short and sweet: God go with you. What a good guy.

  And of course, one from Josephine. It started with the un-word Srsly? Miriam flipped over to e-mail, where her social tab was filled with notifications about friends and choir members who’d mentioned her in their comments. “Well, at least I know the app works,” she murmured.

  “What app?” Dicey didn’t look up from her own screen.

  “Talia’s app.”

  “Who’s Talia?”

  “My daughter. She wrote the road trip app.”

  Dicey looked at her then, her hands frozen. “Hang on. Your daughter wrote an app? For this road trip?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Can I see?”

  “Sure.” Miriam returned to her home screen and tapped the nondescript green icon. Welcome to your Great American Road Trip! it read. Upload photo/video to unlock your next destination. She turned the phone toward the younger woman.

  Dicey’s lips parted. “Whoa. This connects to social media?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Dicey reached for Miriam�
��s phone, then paused. “You mind?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Miriam watched, bemused, as Dicey punched and swiped. “Look,” said the younger woman. “Up here, she has access to all the accounts, so if you want to post on one of them individually, it’ll take you straight there. Which means, I guess, if you post in the main tab—here—it goes everywhere. Where’s the list of … oh, there it is!” She was working on both phones now, pulling up apps and typing so fast, Miriam couldn’t keep up. “I’m following you, in case you’re wondering,” Dicey said. “That’s the worst selfie ever. No one would even recognize you.”

  “Good.”

  “This trip was seriously cool—and that was before I knew about this! I can’t believe you didn’t mention it in the first place.” Dicey handed Miriam’s phone back, but her thumbs continued to move busily. “So who’s this Ella Emil person?”

  Miriam froze. Then she went back to her texts.

  Josephine’s read, Srsly? I have 2 find out from Facebook? Miriam tapped on the pasted link and found herself looking at Ella’s blog, Atlanta Attaché. The headline read: A year after her family’s death, Atlanta widow sets off on cross-country pilgrimage planned by her dead daughter. “Shit,” she said.

  Dicey’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “Such language from a church choir director!”

  Miriam gave Dicey her best “Mom Look” and then shook her head. “I can’t do this trip with Ella Evil staring at my backside.”

  Dicey snorted. “Ella Evil?”

  Miriam threw her phone in the center cupholder and turned the car back on, easing out onto the road. “She’s a glorified gossip columnist in Atlanta. She did a write-up after Teo and the kids died.”

  Dicey flipped her phone end over end as the car got back up to highway speed. “That sucks,” she said. She tipped her chin upward and stared at the passing scenery for half a mile before continuing. “Still … this isn’t about her, right? It’s about your family.”