The Long Way Home

by McQuestion, Karen

  Laverne broke into her thoughts. “Bet you can’t wait to see Troy. It’ll be a real good reunion.”

  “I hope so,” Marnie said. Despite what Matt Haverman had said, some part of her still worried that her appearance on Kimberly’s doorstep wouldn’t be a welcome sight.

  “It will be,” Laverne said confidently. “That mother-to-son bond is strong.”

  “Except I’m not technically his mother.”

  Laverne snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not important. Everyone says blood is thicker than water, but I’m here to tell you that that’s a load of crap. I’m speaking from personal experience here. I got three kids and my oldest boy is technically my stepson. Not that I think of him that way. I raised him from little on. Just like the rest of ’em, I fed him, taught him to tie his shoes, took care of him when he was sick, helped him with homework, and so on and so forth. Didn’t make a bit of difference that he wasn’t born to me.”

  “And do you feel the same way about him as you do about the others?”

  Laverne’s head bobbed up and down. “Heck, sometimes he’s my favorite. Depending on the day.”

  “That’s good to know.” The voice of the GPS spoke up then, directing her toward the freeway on-ramp.

  “There’s no stopping us now,” Laverne said, exuberantly hitting the dashboard with her palm. “I can’t believe I’m going to Las Vegas.”

  “Me either.”

  They were on their way.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Rita drank a cup of coffee in the back of the restaurant and thought about her encounter with Davis. She was still shaken up, still wondering what it all meant. She’d had some vague hope that talking to Davis would give her answers about Melinda’s death. Instead he’d brushed her off and walked away.

  She sighed heavily and Mike, who was nearby chopping onions, paused. “Did you need something?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” she said, manners at the ready even when it wasn’t her best day. “If anything, I should be helping you. Are you sure there’s not something I can do?”

  “You ladies are our guests,” Beth said, unloading a tray of dirty dishes. “It’s bad enough we put Jazzy to work. Although she was a lifesaver, I’ll give you that much.”

  At two thirty the restaurant closed, not to open again until dinnertime. Beth flipped the sign around and locked the front door.

  “What do you do now?” Rita asked. “Siesta?”

  Beth laughed. “I wish. Generally we prep for dinner. Sometimes, if we’re caught up, we leave and run errands. But that doesn’t happen too often.”

  “And you do this day after day after day,” Rita said. “I can’t even imagine. Having a dinner party for eight people makes me nervous. I can’t imagine cooking and serving so many on a regular basis.”

  “We love it,” Beth said, and to her husband, “Right, hon?”

  “She loves it,” Mike said. “A real people person, this one.” He jabbed a thumb in her direction. “And if she’s happy that’s all I care about.”

  “You are one smart man,” Rita said. “You’ve discovered the secret of a happy marriage.”

  From the front of the restaurant she heard peals of laughter coming from Jazzy, followed by her saying, “Oh, you!” and the snap of a towel. Rita couldn’t help but smile. They were like children, those two.

  Jazzy found washing dishes at the restaurant to be enjoyable. She whistled while hosing off the plates and arranging them carefully in the square plastic rack. She didn’t even mind being surrounded by steam and the smell of detergent. “I’ve never seen anyone do dishes so joyfully,” Carson had said.

  “I’m happy most all the time, as long as I’m doing something helpful,” Jazzy said.

  “Yeah, I’m getting that,” he said. He looked pretty pleased himself, the way he wrapped up trays of food to store in the cooler. There was a simplicity to restaurant work that appealed to Jazzy. People came in wanting food and drink, they got food and drink. Everything else existed to support that need. Customers had to be seated, drinks required ice, food needed to be cooked, and dishes had to be cleaned. Getting the timing right was the trick of it all.

  After helping serve lunch, she welcomed the mindlessness of cleaning up. As she scraped and rinsed and stacked, she was startled by a sudden flash of vivid images. She saw a police station and a lady in uniform, clearly a police officer. She paused and closed her eyes, bidding whoever it was to send more. What does this have to do with me? she thought, questioningly. In a moment, she had her answer when she saw an image of herself at the station with Rita. Together they sat across the desk from the female officer who was listening intently to what Rita had to say. They were, she realized, filing a report. The police officer came into focus now. She was in her late forties or so, with brown shoulder-length hair threaded with gray. Not the kind of woman to pay much mind to her appearance. Still, she looked kind. She saw this police officer writing something down, and she heard the word ditz, which made her smile. Melinda was coming through forcefully today. A name came into her head as clearly as if someone had spoken it. Davis. It was rare for her to experience that kind of clarity in a psychic message. Again: Davis. And then, after that, she sensed the spirit of Melinda receding. It was over.

  “Got it,” she said aloud. “Will do.” Certainly, she was now talking to herself. Still, you never knew for sure. Her grandmother had told her that spirits lurked even when they couldn’t be felt.

  Rita was finishing her coffee when Jazzy came through the swinging door ten minutes later, holding up a ring of car keys. “Look! I got permission to use the car. We’re free to go.”

  “Where are we going?” Rita asked, bemused.

  Jazzy said, “Beth and Mike said we can borrow their car for the rest of the day, because they’re staying anyway. They’ll call later when they need a ride home.”

  “Honestly?” Rita said. These people were the most trusting souls she’d ever met. They’d picked up strangers stranded on the highway, let them use their cars, and opened their home to them. Amazing.

  “Yep.” Jazzy went back behind the prep counter and retrieved her purse.

  As they made their way to the car in the parking lot, Rita said, “I was hoping we could talk about my encounter with Davis and what you think it all meant. I was pretty rattled by it.”

  “We can talk, if you want,” Jazzy said, unlocking the car door with a beep. “But I tend to think action speaks louder than words. And there’s something we have to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Once they’d cleared the on-ramp and were back on the expressway, Marnie gunned it. Traffic was moving briskly enough, but she felt the need to be the front-runner. Anytime she approached a cluster of vehicles, she maneuvered deftly to the front of the pack until she had the lane to herself.

  “Whoa there, Nellie,” Laverne said, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I know you’re in a hurry, but it’s better to be late than dead.” She fumbled down by her feet until she located her bag, then reached in and pulled out wraparound sunglasses. “I hate wearing these dad-blamed things, but the older I get, the more my eyes bother me. You’ll see; it happens to everyone.”

  “So much to look forward to,” Marnie observed dryly. “I can hardly wait.”

  “Heck, you’re only in your thirties,” Laverne said. “You don’t need to worry about it. You’re good for a while.”

  They traveled in silence for a few minutes, passing landscape flatter than Marnie expected, for Colorado anyway. She’d somehow imagined crossing the state line and coming smack-dab into a mountain range. Wasn’t that what Colorado was all about? Skiing and mountain climbing? Clear running water and views to die for? She was still waiting for that.

  “It doesn’t bother you?” Laverne asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The sunlight. Doesn’t it bother your eyes?”

  “Only a little.” Marnie shifted in her seat and adjusted her visor.

&nb
sp; “It wears on me, I can tell you that much.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Sometimes it gives me a headache too.”

  Marnie said, “If you don’t mind, Laverne, I’m not feeling much for small talk.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “I’d like to drive as far as possible today, and it’s easier for me to concentrate if we don’t talk.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Marnie glanced over and saw Laverne stiffen, noticed the way her mouth set in one grim line. She said, “It’s not that I don’t like to talk, it’s just that I’m very focused on getting to Las Vegas.”

  “And talking will slow the car down?” The way she said it made Marnie’s point sound ridiculous.

  “Well, no.” Marnie came up behind a semi and then veered wildly into the left lane. Assertive driving. This is what they should have done right from the start of the trip. They could have put so many miles behind them if Rita hadn’t been so slow and cautious the first day. “I just don’t multitask well.”

  “I don’t think that’s it at all,” Laverne said. “I think you just don’t like me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is. I can tell. You always sit next to Jazzy or Rita, if you have a choice. And you act like I annoy you, which is a bunch of hogwash, because I’ve been nothing but nice to you this whole time.” On the word hogwash she slapped the dashboard for emphasis.

  Marnie winced. Where did this come from? The truth was that Laverne wasn’t really her favorite, but they’d just had a nice conversation about Laverne’s stepson. She’d thought they were good. “I do like you,” she said, in measured tones. “Honestly. If I gave you the impression I don’t, I apologize. I’m having a tough time and I’m not completely myself.”

  “Everyone is having a tough time,” Laverne said. “Everyone has something. You’re not alone here. Having problems is something all people have.” She turned away and made a pretense of looking out the window.

  “I know,” Marnie said, miserably. “You’re right.” Laverne said nothing. This last stretch of the trip would be very long if they continued like this. She imagined the pained silences going on for hundreds of miles. And it wasn’t going to get any better when they arrived in Las Vegas. Speaking of which, how was she going to explain the old lady when she went to see Troy and Kimberly? How would she even introduce her? They weren’t friends. Until three days ago, she’d never laid eyes on Laverne, even though they lived in the same house. But they were the only ones in the car, and they needed to get along. For the sake of peace, she said, “I guess talking would be fine. I’m sorry I was grouchy.”

  Laverne didn’t answer, which just killed her. Marnie hated it when people were mad at her. The quietness between them, which had seemed peaceful a few minutes ago, was now toxic. A void of hurt feelings. When the car went over a bump, they both bounced slightly upward. Marnie felt the pressure of her seat belt on her shoulder for that instant and Laverne must have too, because she finally turned to face forward. “I sure felt that one,” she said. “You really know you’re alive when your head practically hits the roof of the car.”

  To Marnie’s relief, she didn’t sound mad. “That’s one thing you can say for Wisconsin. We’ve got good roads, for the most part.”

  “We should,” Laverne said, grumbling. “We pay enough taxes.” Now they were back on familiar terrain. Laverne had an opinion about everything. Marnie listened politely as she griped about taxes and road construction. Ironic, since Laverne didn’t even have a driver’s license. Marnie wanted to mention that fact, but Laverne was in the flow now. She moved from tirade to tirade without a transition. “And that bed at Beth and Mike’s last night? I swear it was filled with sawdust. I barely slept a wink!”

  This barely sleeping a wink was one of Laverne’s favorite expressions. Which reminded Marnie of something she’d meant to tell her. “Laverne,” she said. “Are you familiar with a medical condition called sleep apnea?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The police station turned out to be a nondescript brick building with a flat front and large glass doors. Jazzy pulled the car into an empty space near the entrance, next to a parked squad car. After the last two days, Rita found having someone else drive comforting. “Are you ready for this?” Jazzy asked, shifting into park.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Rita pulled her purse tight to her side but made no move to open her door. “You know, seeing Davis again was not what I thought it would be. Somehow I thought it might bring me answers. Or maybe a sense of something? I’m not even sure what that something might be.”

  “Closure?” Jazzy’s face was thoughtful.

  “No. Not closure.” Rita shook her head. “I can’t tell you how much I hate that word. It’s such a Lifetime movie channel word. There is no closure when you lose a child.” A lump formed in her throat, but she pushed past it. “No closure at all. The pain lessens with time, but the loss is always there.”

  “Of course.”

  “There’s no getting her back, you know? It’s not that I don’t appreciate all you’ve done, but somehow I wish it could be so much more. And I’m jealous of you too, and I hate that I feel that way.”

  “Jealous of me?” Jazzy pulled an elastic off her wrist, lifted her hair up in back, and expertly wound it into a ponytail. “How come?”

  “Because you get to feel Melinda’s presence and communicate with her. I’d give anything to see her and talk to her for one minute. Anything.”

  “I know. It’s hard. If it makes you feel any better, what I experience isn’t the same as talking to a person.”

  “Still.”

  “And you know, the times you feel like she’s with you, she is. You don’t need a psychic to feel her love. My grandmother said everyone has the ability to varying degrees. It’s just a matter of developing it.”

  “Sometimes I look at the front door expecting her to come through it. Out of nowhere, it happens. I won’t even be thinking about her, and it happens. Even after all this time, I feel like she might come home.”

  Jazzy turned off the car and they both sat quietly and stared straight ahead at the building.

  “It’s not much of a police station. It almost looks deserted,” Rita said. “Why are we here again?”

  “Your daughter wants us to file a report.” Jazzy jangled the keys. “The police lady we’re going to meet is really nice, but she’s kind of a ditz.”

  “You saw her being a ditz?”

  “No, Melinda told me she was a ditz. Words don’t always come through clearly, but this time there was no mistaking it.”

  Now that the car’s air-conditioning was off, the front seat was getting warmer. “I guess we need to do this,” Rita said. “But I’m not sure what we’re reporting. Davis isn’t wanted by the police back home. They questioned him as a person of interest, but he had an alibi for that night. The detective in charge of the case told me that it’s not against the law to move out of the state. Suspicious maybe, but not criminal. I think they thought I was a hysterical mother. But both Glenn and I were sure he killed her.”

  “He did,” Jazzy said, opening her car door. “The guilt poured off him in waves.”

  The heat of the day radiated off the pavement as they walked toward the building. The first set of glass doors led them to a second set just inside. When they entered the station, a blast of cool air hit them. There was no reception area or cubicle dividers. It was just one large room made up of a few desks and some random chairs. Display cases filled with plaques and framed photos lined one wall. In the back, a hallway led to parts unknown. One lone police officer, a trim man of about thirty, sat at a desk in front. His hair was just long enough to be parted neatly to one side, like a small boy just returned from the barber. When they walked in he was on the phone, but he acknowledged their presence by raising a hand. “I gotta go, Roger,” he said. “A couple of ladies just walked in.” He turned away and lowered his voice, but Rit
a still heard him. He chuckled in a wicked way, glanced back at them, and said, “One is and one isn’t.” She could imagine what that was all about. “Well, that’s the way it goes,” he continued. “You win some, you lose some.” After he finished the call, he gave them his full attention. “You girls look lost,” he said, with a knowing grin. “And I’m betting you want directions back to the interstate. Am I right, or am I right?”

  Jazzy stepped forward and leaned against his desk. “We’re not lost. In fact, we’re as far from lost as we can be. We’re here to talk to a police officer.”

  He held out his hands. “You came to the right place, miss.”

  “Another police officer. A lady with brown hair. Older than you. Very nice. A kind face.” She glanced up at the back of the room toward the hallway. “Is she here?”

  He tapped a pencil against his desktop. “Officer Dietz is out right now, and I’m not sure when she’ll be back. I can help you though.”

  A voice popped into Jazzy’s head. No! “We’ll wait for her to return,” Jazzy said.

  “Look,” he said impatiently, “there’s nothing she can do that I can’t.”

  “I very much doubt that,” said Rita, put off by his condescending tone. “We’ll wait.”

  “It could be an hour or more,” he said, irritated. “I’m telling you, I’m more than qualified to handle any problem you might have.” He waved away a fly circling his head before staring at them intently, his close-set eyes narrowing in disapproval.

  “Where can we wait?” Rita asked, and when he gestured to some chairs off to the side, she went to take a seat.

  Jazzy, however, held her ground. “Would you mind calling Officer Dietz and telling her we’re waiting to speak to her?” She smiled sweetly, putting one hand on her hip. “I’d really appreciate it.”