A Song for the Road

by Kathleen Basi

  “Three,” said Annamaria.

  “Going on thirteen,” added the father wryly.

  Miriam smiled. She remembered Talia perfecting a teen-worthy eye roll at this age. More than once she’d told her parents, “Talk to the hand!” Where she’d even picked that up, Miriam and Teo had no idea. They came down hard on her, but sometimes it was all they could do not to collapse into giggles. Almost every night when they went to bed, they’d trade Talia stories, laughing until tears squeezed out of their eyes.

  Nothing Lena was doing qualified as “going on thirteen,” but Miriam refrained from saying so. She remembered how condescending comments from older parents had infuriated her. As if her experiences were without value, her frustrations without justification.

  “How much longer?” she asked instead, gesturing to the bump around the woman’s waist.

  “Fourteen weeks.”

  “Ah, you’re in the good part of pregnancy.”

  “That’s why we’re traveling now instead of in June. We’re on our way to Omaha. Lena is crazy about zoos.”

  The wind gusts on top of the bluff made Miriam grateful she’d worn her jacket. Lena buried her face in her father’s legs. He picked her up, and she wrapped her arms around him so tightly, it was a wonder she didn’t cut off his circulation.

  “Give me a break-me hug!” Talia again. That was one of Miriam’s favorite memories of parenthood: the warm, chubby arms and legs wrapping her up in sweetness.

  “What brings you across Nebraska?” asked Annamaria.

  Miriam shrugged. “Just seeing the country.”

  Dicey shot her a look razor-sharp with disapproval, but thankfully, she held her peace.

  “There’s a lot to see. I want my little girl to see it all!” Annamaria patted her daughter’s back.

  “Lena,” said the father, peeling his daughter’s arms away from his neck, “you can’t squeeze that hard.”

  “But, a’pá, I love you!”

  “Yes, but I can’t breathe, chiquita.”

  Miriam smiled to see how Dicey watched them: hungrily, fixedly, as if trying to see into her own future. Miriam could have told her there was no being ready for parenthood, no anticipating the experience. But she didn’t. Some things had to be discovered for oneself.

  “I guess I have to tickle you!” roared the father, and the little girl, giggling, made a dive for freedom. She landed on her feet and scampered away, her parents scurrying after her. “Good luck with your trip!” Annamaria called over her shoulder. Little Lena grabbed both her parents’ hands. “One-two-three-WHEE!” said the father, and they hoisted her, giggling, into the air.

  Apparently every young child was born knowing that game. The twins had certainly loved it. It was a constant battle, the two of them bickering over whose turn and how many swings. Miriam and Teo tired of it long before the kids ever did.

  “Bitter grace,” Dicey murmured, watching the young family walk away.

  Miriam looked at her. “What?”

  “Annamaria. It means ‘bitter grace.’ Although that’s a German thing.” Dicey took a deep breath. “Never mind, just thinking out loud.” She wandered away, snapping photo after photo on her phone.

  Miriam took a few photos too, but her heart wasn’t in it. She glanced back at the little family. Would Annamaria, too, someday face a daughter who saw only the worst in her? Motherhood could be a bitter grace indeed.

  The little girl’s giggle floated back on the wind. Talia had such an enchanting giggle. Like audible silver. And such a temper! On her third day at St. Gregory Elementary, she’d tackled a second-grader for making fun of a kindergarten classmate who was crying for her parents. Miriam had been ridiculously proud.

  But the best part came a week later, when Miriam walked by the playground and saw all three children playing ring around the rosy. “He said he was sorry,” Talia explained with a shrug.

  That was her daughter in a nutshell: she’d fly off the handle in an instant, but she was just as quick to forgive.

  A wind gust slapped Miriam’s face with grit. For a second, she couldn’t breathe, her mind processing a realization that had never occurred to her before:

  Talia would have forgiven her too.

  As bad as things were in her last months with her daughter, there had been good moments too. The hilarity of playing Apples to Apples the night they’d been snowed in—a term that only loosely applied in Georgia. The seamless ensemble as they played Christmas carols at a fundraiser for the children’s shelter. The very existence of the road trip app.

  Yes, things had been strained, but they wouldn’t have stayed that way. Not forever. Talia would have grown. Miriam would have grown. They would have bickered and struggled and eventually found each other again.

  What she’d lost when Talia went into the sea was not a lifetime of butting heads, of hurled accusations and simmering resentments. What she’d lost was everything that came after: lunch dates, college graduation, taking grandchildren to the pool.

  The wind scoured away the walls Miriam had been hiding behind for so long. The truth was, excoriating herself for her mistakes was less painful than facing the reality of what she’d lost. Here, from this windswept ridge that towered above the vast plain, she could see everything, from the town to the east, to the fields and ridges and undeveloped plains stretching out of sight in every other direction. It was like standing on the threshold of heaven, the world spread before her in all its far-flung beauty, its wounds and pock marks reduced by distance to texture on a vast tapestry. Not flat. Not featureless. Beautiful.

  Her life was like that too. Not the wasteland of tedium and obligation she’d perceived it to be, but a richly textured mosaic stretching into a tantalizing unknown.

  Except now, she would traverse it alone.

  The weight of the word, the sorrow it carried, nearly crushed her. Miriam could feel it pressing down on her shoulders, the gaping emptiness where there should have been a lifetime of experiences yet to unfold. It was too great a weight for anyone.

  And she knew, too, that what death had stolen from her and Talia, she’d willfully withheld from her own mother. Jo was right about that, at least.

  Dicey had the camera trained on her now. Miriam could see it in her peripheral vision, but she didn’t protest. It was only right that this moment should be captured—from a distance. As for herself, she only wanted to settle into the moment, to let it imprint on her memory. It hurt. Oh, how it hurt. But there was peace in it too. Because despite all the dysfunction, Talia had loved her. It was too late to repair that relationship, but it was not too late for Miriam and her own mother.

  For now, that was enough.

  28

  Thursday, May 5

  Scottsbluff, Nebraska

  DICEY AND MIRIAM SAT at a table beneath the awning of an old-fashioned drive-in, nibbling burgers and fries beneath a neon sign that read “Scotty’s.”

  “So I decided with such archaic video editing equipment, two seconds and a fade was enough. No need to get fancy. But you were already dead to the world. And you … are not paying attention. Earth to Miriam.”

  Miriam blinked, her finger freezing where it had idly been scrolling her phone. “What?”

  Dicey sighed and wadded up her waxed paper. She’d stayed up half the night assembling a video montage of photos of Chimney Rock and Scotts Bluff, and she had a sort of wild-eyed manic vibe going on. “You planning to eat that sometime today?” she said, motioning to the French fry in Miriam’s other hand. “Or are you just going to stir your ketchup all day? Excuse me, miss?” She flagged down the teenager who was emptying trash bins. “Do you happen to have salt packets?”

  “How many you need?”

  “A handful, if you can spare them.”

  “Sure, back in a jiff.”

  Miriam shook her head.

  Dicey coughed a few times. “Anyway,” she went on, “clearly something is eating at you. You never scroll your phone that much. Why don’t you tell
me what’s bugging you?”

  Miriam ate the fry. It was soggy from all the ketchup. “Jo quit calling,” she said. “And that worries me.”

  “I think I’d be relieved.”

  Miriam shook her head. “It means she’s moved on to phase two. Whatever phase two is.” Her phone dinged. Gus: Gorgeous video and a gorgeous shot of you. You can use it for the album cover when you record Blaise’s sonata.

  Yesterday he’d been all Stevie Stalker, and today he was giving her compliments?

  “What’s up?” asked Dicey.

  Miriam turned the phone toward her.

  Dicey raised her eyebrows. “What is with that guy? Didn’t you say he’s married?”

  “Mm-hmm. This is totally Gus. It’s part of his charm.”

  “Yeah, you say charm, I hear ‘asshole.’”

  Miriam smiled. “And you want me to go talk to him.”

  “Well, he likes my video. That’s bona fide charming.”

  Miriam laughed; Dicey touched her phone, and the soaring strains of Dvořák’s New World Symphony started up. It had to be the fourth time she’d enjoyed her handiwork since they sat down.

  The employee came back and dumped a handful of salt packets on the table; Dicey ripped one open and started dipping fries in it.

  The sun went behind a cloud. A puff of wind whisked away a napkin; Miriam managed to catch it by stomping on it. The big, billowy clouds racing across the plains were getting closer together. There was something unsettling about the feel of the air. Something that made the back of Miriam’s head prickle. As if someone were watching.

  She looked around but saw nothing noteworthy.

  “Miriam.”

  “Hmm?”

  Dicey leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her legs splayed wide to accommodate her belly. “You’re still not talking.”

  Miriam pulled together their trash. “Dicey, I appreciate that you’re concerned, but …”

  “But it’s none of my business.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You thought it.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Dicey sighed and heaved herself out of the chair. “Well, you’re right about that. But crap is easier to handle with help. Trust me on this.”

  The sun came out as Dicey returned to her phone. Miriam stared at the top of her head. Unbelievable. The girl who turned every conversation away from herself and refused aid—even when she clearly needed it—had the nerve to tell Miriam not to go it alone?

  Something was going on with Dicey. All Miriam’s instincts told her so. The question was, what?

  She shook her head. She had enough to worry about. Like this bad feeling that Gus was going to pop out of the bushes to stalk her for real.

  It was time to get out of here. “Come on, Dicey. You want to flip the coin?”

  “Sure.” Dicey pulled out a quarter and slapped it down on her wrist. “Heads,” she said.

  Miriam tapped the icon on her phone. “Pikes Peak,” she said.

  “Well, that’s unusually predictable.”

  “You sound disappointed.” Miriam got up and tipped their tray into the trash can—and froze. A tan-colored two-door had just stopped abruptly as it passed the restaurant, and was now backing up. “Oh crap,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Jo is here.”

  Dicey looked at her like she’d lost her mind. But she followed Miriam’s gaze anyway.

  Jo had already parked and was striding toward them. Her sister wore a pencil skirt and pumps, though her French roll hadn’t survived the flight. Clearly she’d gone straight from the office to the airport.

  “I guess this is phase two?” Dicey whispered.

  Miriam raised her shoulders. “Jo,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “You won’t answer your damn phone, that’s what!” Jo’s phone blipped; she silenced it but waved it around as she continued. “Six times I’ve called you, Miriam. Six times! You owe me an answer.”

  “Not calling back is my answer.”

  “Yeah, well. Too bad. I told you, whether you know it or not—”

  “This is not your business,” Miriam said as Dicey tugged on the keys in her hand. Miriam released her death grip on them. She sympathized with her companion’s desire to escape.

  Unfortunately, Dicey’s action drew Jo’s attention. “So you’re Dicey,” she said, looking her up and down.

  “Hi.”

  Jo reached into her purse and pulled out a Visa card. “Here. This has got a thousand dollars on it. You can Uber to the airport and fly home.”

  It was a breathtaking presumption. Miriam saw the telltale flash of anger in the way Dicey’s face tightened, but she kept her cool. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

  “Well, it’s no skin off my back, but you might as well take it, because you’re not riding with Miriam anymore. Miriam’s going home. I’m riding with her to make sure of it.”

  “That’s not your call, Jo,” said Miriam through gritted teeth.

  “You made it my call,” Jo said. “You made it my call when you decided to go incommunicado. You know I had to follow her social media”—she waved her phone toward Dicey—“to figure out where you were? I’m missing three meetings today alone—and at least two of my kids’ soccer games by the time we get you back home.”

  Miriam refrained from pointing out that she was sharing every road trip stop with the faceless e-universe. It didn’t matter anyway. “You don’t have to miss anything. You can go right back home. I didn’t ask you to come out here.”

  “No, Mom did.” Jo dropped her bomb with cool efficiency. “She’s worried about you, Miriam. And she’s hurt because you don’t want to talk to her. You act like you’re the only one who lost something. Mom lost her grandchildren.”

  The catch in her sister’s voice stopped Miriam in her tracks. That wobble betrayed love. Deep, fierce, protective love for their mother. A love Miriam had rarely shown.

  Her conscience, awakened yesterday on the blufftop, stung. For twenty years, she’d been guarding her heart. Her mother was still waiting for that magical day Miriam would never get with her own daughter—the meeting of adult minds, independent yet devoted to each other. She’d never be able to properly grieve Talia until she made peace with her role as a flawed daughter to a flawed mother.

  Sunshine and shadow whirled in tight circles, the wind gusting and quieting depending on which held dominance.

  She shoved the keys into Dicey’s hand. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Dicey made good her escape while Miriam tried to redirect her emotions. Jo’s abrasive, aggressive personality served her well on Wall Street, but it brought out the worst in Miriam. “You’re right, I should have called you back,” she said now. “But I needed to sort things out, and it’s hard to do that with … other voices in my head.” It took a lot of willpower to make that a neutral statement instead of an accusation.

  She met her sister’s eyes. “I know I need to do better by Mom. But I have a life, Jo,” Miriam said. “Just because it doesn’t fit your vision of success doesn’t mean it’s not important. It’s important to me. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

  Jo was silent for a moment. “I don’t get you. Clearly you’re a hard worker. Why wouldn’t you focus all that energy on something that lets you get ahead?”

  “I do what I do because it’s who I am,” Miriam said quietly. “And if I were to move to Albuquerque, I’d do the same thing there. But I’m not going to move to Albuquerque, Jo. I have a life and a community. I’m going to be all right. And so is Mom.”

  Jo stared at her, nostrils flaring. But at least she was thinking about it. “You know I can’t just leave you here. Mom—”

  “Oh, come on, Jo. I’m not ten years old. You, me, Mom—we’re all adults now. Mom was wrong to ask you to come. If she needed to talk to me, she shouldn’t be hiding behind you.”

  “She did it because—”

&n
bsp; “I know why she did it. But that’s on me, not you. None of this is your …” business, she thought, but what she said was “ problem. Go home. Go to your kids’ soccer matches.”

  Jo was tempted; it was clear that the prospect of driving across the country together appealed to her no more than it did to Miriam. “Well, you sound more with-it than I expected,” Jo said grudgingly. “So I guess I’ll let you go. On one condition.”

  Miriam held her temper. “What’s that?”

  “You text me and Mom and Brad at least once a day until you’re home again.”

  It was still an unnecessary oversight, but considering she probably should have been doing that all along, it seemed ungracious to refuse.

  The sun disappeared again. Miriam looked up; it seemed to be out for the count. A tumbleweed skittered across the street and past them, like something out of a spaghetti western.

  She looked back at Jo. “All right,” she said.

  Jo blew out a breath, looking toward her rental car. “I wish you had called me back so I didn’t have to waste the time and money coming out here,” she grumbled. “Now I have to go explain to the rental car place why I’m turning in a car I just checked out.”

  Miriam pinched her lips shut on the apology that tried to worm its way out. She hadn’t asked Jo to come. It wasn’t her fault.

  “Bye, Jo,” she said.

  “C’mere.” Jo reached in and gave her a brusque hug. “Take care of yourself. Let us know when you get there. Wherever ‘there’ is.”

  “Pikes Peak,” Miriam said, touched despite herself. “And you too.”

  She headed for the car, where Dicey was sitting in the passenger seat with the door open to take advantage of the stiff breeze.

  “You carried the day, then?” Dicey asked with an impish smile.

  Miriam returned it. “I think we’re working on understanding each other.”

  “Good for you,” Dicey said, closing the door.

  Miriam fastened her seatbelt. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, and pulled out toward a highway that stretched as far as she could see beneath an endless, glowering sky.

  Part 7