Rush Home Road

by Lori Lansens

  Addy dreamt that she flew downward, the tips of the cornstalks tickling her tummy, to see her father’s face. Even in her dream Addy felt confused, for it was not anger on Wallace Shadd’s face but fear. “ADDDDDDDDDYYYYYYY!!!!” he called. And Addy cried back, “Here Daddy! Look up! I’m right here! I’m flying!”

  And then, though Wallace did not look up, he stopped and looked down, and there he saw his daughter, curled up with the grey kitten in her lap. He lifted her and shook her gently, whispering, “Baby? Wake up, Baby. Wake up, Addy,” until she opened her eyes.

  He drew a flask of water from his pocket and brought it to her dry lips. When she drank greedily and wanted more, he knew she would be fine. “Daddy,” she whispered. “You see me flying?”

  Wallace nodded and hugged her to his chest, for he knew he nearly lost Adelaide and he loved his daughter well.

  “I forgive you, Daddy,” Addy whispered.

  “You forgive me?”

  “I know you been waiting a long time to hear it.”

  “Adelaide?”

  “I know you loved me. I know.”

  “Adelaide?”

  Addy cleared her throat and looked down. She saw that her hands were not young and small but old and afflicted. She cleared her throat and looked up and didn’t know what to say to Nedda’s granddaddy from Detroit City, who was sitting at her kitchen table with a pencil in his hand, asking, “Are you all right, Adelaide?”

  “I’m fine. Mmm-hmm. Just fine.”

  “Sure you’re fine?” Earl Bolton looked uncertain.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You seemed to…”

  “I was daydreaming is all. I was thinking about when I was a little girl.”

  Earl chuckled to take the chill out of the air. “I do that myself. I do that myself.”

  “Suppose it’s natural, when you know there ain’t a lot of forward steps left, to take a few back from time to time.”

  “Amen to that. What was it you was thinking of, Addy?”

  “I was remembering a summer day when I got lost in the corn.”

  Earl Bolton shook his head, for he understood the dangers of the corn. “Someone leave you in the field?”

  “No. I was by myself.”

  “You said Daddy.”

  “I did?”

  “You said, ‘I forgive you, Daddy.’”

  Addy looked down at her hands. “I said that?” She cleared her throat as she recovered the memory and the sawdust smell of her father’s neck and the strength of his bare arms. “I suppose I do then. Yes, I do forgive my father.”

  “He didn’t leave you in the cornfield though?”

  “No,” Addy said, and nothing more.

  Earl was silent for a long time. He sipped the cold beer Addy set in front of him and drummed the pencil on the table. Addy took a moment, reading the upside-down words on the notepad. She remembered now. She’d sent Sharla to fetch Earl Bolton so he could write out some recipes. She’d been thinking of the bakery and the fire and how she never did teach Chick how to make apple snow or walnut squares. She’d been thinking how she wanted the recipes written out so Sharla’d have them after she was long departed.

  From the moment she’d opened her eyes that morning, Addy sensed it would be a day to remember. She’d think on it later and wonder about the precise moment everything changed, when the clock started ticking in half-time and there was a slow-motion feel when she turned her head or drew breath. It was still dark when she woke but the flittering birds and fluttering curtains warned her there was a storm coming in from the lake. She closed her eyes and saw the storm approach and didn’t fear or hate it, but recognized it was kin to all the other storms she’d ever known.

  The bed was warm and the pillow soft, and though she didn’t want to move her tired old body, Addy shifted to make room, knowing Sharla’d be along any time. When the thunder roared and the lightning struck and a fierce rain assaulted the trailer roof, Sharla did come into her Mum Addy’s room to snuggle in beside her and whisper, “I hate that.”

  “Hate what, Honey?”

  “Thunder and lightning.”

  “Why you hate that?”

  Although she knew she could tell Mum Addy anything, Sharla still hesitated. “Sounds mad. Sounds like somebody’s gonna get it.”

  Addy caught one of Sharla’s curls in her baby finger and twirled. “I like the thunder and lightning. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “My Mama told me about storms when I was a little girl and I happen to know there’s nothing mad about it.”

  Sharla loved when Mum Addy talked about her Mama, and waited for the rest.

  “My Mama told me lightning happens when new angels get to Heaven and God puts on their wings.”

  “The wings make a flash?” Sharla asked, her little fingers making an explosion in the air.

  “That’s right. And the thunder, well that’s just the old angels clapping for the new angels.”

  Sharla rested her head on her Mum Addy’s chest, breathing in her scent and wishing away the wheezy sound of her lungs. Together they listened to the storm and wondered fleetingly what lay ahead. After a moment, Sharla asked, “That really what thunder and lightning is? What your Mama said?”

  “It could be that, and it could be some other things too. Few things got just the one explanation.”

  “What’s the other explanation?”

  “I recall something about the cold air meeting warm air and the two not getting on so well. That’s a thing you best to ask Mr. Toohey.”

  “School’s nearly over.”

  “Then we got a whole long summer with you underfoot. Have to get you some new sandals and whatnot.” Addy looked out the window and said it again like she hadn’t said it at all. “Have to get you some new sandals and whatnot. When Daddy’s home next I’ll have him take you downtown for your shoes then over to the parlour for some ice cream. Just the two of you. You like that?”

  Sharla nodded and waited, but there was no more.

  “ARE THERE MORE, ADDY? Are there more things to write down for this here one on the butter tarts?” Earl Bolton had been careful about his accuracy and penmanship, and since Addy had gone off again, he feared she might have missed a crucial ingredient. He imagined Sharla Cody in some kitchen of the future, cursing a recipe she never could get right.

  “Just put down that the nuts is optional,” Addy said, admiring his commitment.

  Earl wrote out loud, “Nuts is optional.”

  Addy smiled. “I appreciate your help, Earl. I know you come to Chatham to see your daughter. She mind you having a visit with me?”

  Earl shook his head and said, “I don’t mind if she minds. Fact is I mind. I mind her man and I mind the way they’re raising my granddaughter and I mind the way she minds me speaking my mind.” He chuckled. “Bonita’s never too happy to see me.”

  Addy nodded and glanced out when the sun appeared from behind a cloud. The window was open and Addy realized she could smell the strawberries growing in the nearby field. She wondered why the smell of the berries didn’t drown her the way it did every other year. She started back for the answer but Earl Bolton stopped her. “What say we go for a drive, Adelaide?”

  “A drive?”

  “Sure. We’ll get the girls and go for a drive. Lake’s nearby, ain’t it?”

  Addy grinned, thinking of Earl’s fine car. “I never rode in a Cadillac before.”

  Sharla and Nedda didn’t enjoy the Cadillac the way Addy did. The back seat was so plush and low that neither could see properly out the window. The girls knew they were heading in the direction of the lake though, and instinct told them the precise moment they passed by the Sweet Freeze. “Maybe we’ll get a cone on the way back,” Mum Addy said.

  They hadn’t bothered with swimsuits or towels or a picnic basket so Nedda said it didn’t feel like a real trip to the lake. Sharla had never been to the lake before, and when that was announced, Addy and Earl just shared a look and hung
their heads. Sharla wasn’t eager to see the lake and worried, “Ain’t the lake polluted though?”

  Addy, in truth, didn’t know. She cleared her throat. “Course not.”

  “Collette said the lake’s polluted and there’s fish eyeballs all over the sand.”

  “From time to time you’ll find a dead fish in the sand. That’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Nedda kicked off her sandals, put her dirty toes on the back of the front seat, and was told for the fourth time to keep her feet in her sandals and her sandals on the floor. She slumped and whined, “Why we going to the lake if we can’t even swim?”

  By the time they left the sky was angry again, and without sun the June water’d be too cool for swimming. Earl and Addy agreed neither had the strength in their old bodies to wrestle a child from the undertow anyway. Sharla and Nedda fought for back-seat territory, a hand gaining inches, a foot slipping over the wrong side of the hump. In the end, they retreated to their corners and quietly watched the grey sky above.

  It would rain again, Addy knew, and likely hard. Earl studied the clouds too. “Should we head back?”

  “Only if you care to.”

  “I don’t mind the rain.”

  Addy stroked the leather seat beside her and thought she’d never known a chair that loved her back so well. “It’s a fine car, Earl.”

  The lake road was long and winding and so close to the water in some places you could feel the spray when the window was down. In other places there were cottages separating the road from the water. Some were summer places, built new for the well-to-do, and some were old clapboard shacks that were home to poor folks all year long. Some of the dwellings were built up on stilts, protected from the lake and her unpredictable temper.

  Sharla climbed onto her knees to look at the houses on stilts when Mum Addy said it was something to see. The child thought it looked like the houses could up and walk away if they had a mind to. Nedda said the underneath part looked like a good place to play. Sharla imagined herself crushed beneath the weight of a tired-of-standing stilt house and said she’d rather play with the dead fish in the sand.

  The lake road curved and straightened and curved again. Earl drove slowly and deliberately, his gnarled hands clutching the wheel in a way Addy knew they never had in his youth. Even with his glasses Earl had to squint, and Addy wondered just how long it took the man to drive the fifty miles from Detroit.

  When they reached a stoplight, Earl leaned down to turn on the radio. Addy liked the music and the way it masked their silence. For a moment she wished she was young and that Earl might reach across the seat, take her hand, and look at her with soft eyes. She surprised herself with her yearning and was startled when Earl did reach across the seat. He gestured for Addy to look in the back. The ill-tempered little angels were both fast asleep.

  It was the first time since The Oakwood that Addy had been on the long lake road and the first time since she was a child that she considered travelling further along it. They’d set out to see the lake and to look across at the horizon and never said how long they’d drive before turning back for the Lakeview. Earl lost track of the time, but Addy knew by the shifting land and the fragrant air and the quickening rhythm of her own heart that the gold Cadillac had made some decision on its own and was taking them all to Rusholme.

  Addy heard it again, as she’d been hearing it all her life. “Rush Home, Addy Shadd. Thou Shalt Rush Home.”

  Rush Home Road

  WHEN THE RAIN FINALLY came, it pounded on the Caddy’s roof like it was locked out and mad and somebody better open up now. Nedda and Sharla woke, wondering where they were. Addy could barely see through the lacquered windshield and Earl couldn’t get the wipers working on fast speed. The road to a town was somewhere nearby, Earl knew, for he could make out a sign to his left, though he was too intent on driving to read the words.

  The sign had not been there when Addy was a child. She was troubled to find no sentiment when she read it and she even wondered at its sincerity. WELCOME TO RUSHOLME, it said.

  Though the air conditioning was on high, Earl Bolton was perspiring, and it was the first time, inching forward on the unseen road, he allowed that his eyesight might be poor enough he shouldn’t be driving at all. He was relieved when Addy reached down to turn off the radio, for he badly needed quiet to concentrate.

  Knowing how a woman’s voice can grate on a man who’s skitty at the wheel Addy whispered and made it a question. “Should we pull over to the shoulder and wait till the storm passes, Earl?”

  Earl didn’t say that was just what he was trying to do except he couldn’t see the road or the damn shoulder. Instead he said, “I’m fine.”

  Addy glanced into the back seat. Sharla and Nedda were straining to peer out the back window at a big farm truck speeding up behind them. Addy couldn’t see the driver but knew he was young, for who but a youth would risk a life whose value he’d yet to learn?

  Earl checked his rear-view. He saw the truck and quietly cursed the fool inside. When he turned his attention to the road ahead and saw there was another car speeding toward them, Earl cursed out loud, “Damn.”

  The truck driver behind them leaned on the horn and flashed the bright lights on and off and on again, saying he would not or could not slow down. The second car was coming just as fast. Earl might have closed his eyes for all he could see as he swerved to avoid being plowed from the rear.

  Addy would thank the Lord for many things on that day. The first thanks she would give was that Earl was old and blind and slow at the wheel. Otherwise they might have hit the ditch with enough force to throw the girls through the front windshield. As it was, Nedda was hurled forward and sent crashing into her grandfather’s skull. Though neither was seriously hurt, it was no pleasure for Earl to reach back and find a sticky, bleeding wound where the sharp edge of a baby tooth had embedded in his scalp.

  When she saw the truck coming up from behind, Sharla’d hidden on the floor and so was spared being thrown anywhere at all. Addy had braced herself against the dashboard. She knew what was coming and only lost her breath, for now. The truck had seen them take the ditch, Addy knew, but the driver didn’t stop and come back. After the damage was assessed, the four sat quietly on the plush leather seats and realized the rain had stopped.

  “My stomach hurts,” Sharla whispered after a time. It didn’t really, but she desperately wanted to get out of the car and thought if she said so it might sound like whining.

  “Mine too,” Nedda huffed. She folded her arms and licked the blood from her lip. “We’re supposed to get a cone.”

  Addy reached into the back seat and squeezed Sharla’s hand as Earl turned the key in the ignition. The engine wouldn’t turn and for a moment he wished he’d never met Addy Shadd and never offered her a drive to the lake or anywhere. “How far are we from the trailer park?”

  When Addy didn’t answer he looked at the road sign behind him. “Rusholme,” he said quietly. “Why’s that sound so familiar?”

  Addy gestured at the ignition. “Try again, Earl.”

  Sharla held her breath. Rusholme. Could it be the same place? She looked around at the wet green fields and the grey-blue lake and the quiet road to town. Was this the place where Mum Addy and L’il Leam were born? And where they saw the crickets, and had the church suppers, and watched Laisa in the kitchen making apple snow? Was it truly the place from the stories, the ones Mum Addy never even knew she told?

  Earl cleared his throat. “How far we outta Chatham?”

  Addy shrugged. “Too far to walk.”

  Earl mumbled and opened the car door, slamming it into the muddy ditch. “Damn. Damn.”

  Addy didn’t care Earl was cussing, for she’d have done the same. She slid out the driver’s-side door and helped the girls get out the back. They looked at the surrounding fields and trees like they were in some faraway land and had never seen either before.

  Earl’s fine leather shoes squished as he slid up the b
ank of the muddy ditch. He looked at the sign again. “WELCOME TO RUSHOLME. Welcome to the damn middle of damn nowhere.”

  Addy nodded and didn’t say that a mile or so past that clump of trees was the church and cemetery. And she didn’t say that just a ways down the other road was the town and old Fowell Street. And she didn’t say if they continued on a bit they’d pass Teddy Bishop’s, and that way there they’d find the school. Addy held her breath a moment and wondered if any of the places still existed. She wasn’t sure what to hope for.

  There was a green smell that rode on the wind and snuck up Addy’s nose, making her turn her head. The crick, she recalled, was just beyond those bushes. She closed her eyes, remembering the crick and the lake and the church and her house and she was puzzled why nothing was as she thought it would be. Addy’d thought often of her return, but she imagined it’d be tormented and sorrowful. Instead, here she was in Rusholme, and it just was. Like a dream, Addy thought, when you’re facing down the devil and you’re hardly even scared.

  Earl found a long stick and used it to wipe the clumps of mud from his shoes. Sharla and Nedda found sticks too but didn’t bother about their mucky sandals. A few fat worms had struggled up from the earth and writhed, unsuspecting, in the gravel. The worms could never have foreseen that two little girls would take such pleasure in halving them with wood-stick swords.

  “Leave them worms alone, girls,” Mum Addy scolded, and went to join Earl.

  Earl used his stick to point at Rusholme Road. “That way there looks like the way to town. Imagine they have some kind of body shop or towing service. Could just wait here I guess.” He focused on the long lake road. “Someone ought to be along.”

  Addy nodded and called back over her shoulder, “Come on, Sharla, Nedda.” But the girls did not appear. Addy turned around. The girls were gone. The water, she thought, and hurried through the bushes. She was relieved to see the pair had not drowned in the swollen crick. “Girls!” she called, but they pretended not to hear.