by Meghan Quinn
The sun sets and people mill about us, laughing and taking pictures, while time stands still. Marley lifts her head and pulls her Polaroid out of her purse. “One last picture before it’s too dark?”
Paul asks a stranger to help us out, and for the last part of our trip, we put our arms around each other, hold up the picture of Mama McMann, and smile while Bernie tells us to, “Say cheese.”
The Polaroid flashes and one last memory is captured, ending our trip across Route 66.
****
By the time we pull up to the South Bend KOA, we are emotionally exhausted and physically hurting for sleep. It was a long day of driving and reminiscing. We were able to purchase some sandwiches on the way and eat them while we traveled the last miles of our day.
We didn’t play games after we left Chicago, we didn’t play music, and we didn’t even talk. We sat in silence, driving through the dark night, lost in our own thoughts. Both Bernie and Paul were quiet as they got ready in the bathroom, and when we got back to the RV, Marley didn’t talk much either.
Now, I lay on my back, looking up at the tent ceiling, wondering what tomorrow will bring. It will be our last day on the road. We will be powering through the rest of Indiana, then Ohio, a small part of Pennsylvania, and straight on into Jamestown. It will take us a little over six hours, and with the early start we will have tomorrow morning, we will make it with plenty of time to spare for the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.
I know the minute we make it back to the farm, the simple life I’ve known for the last few days will be flipped upside down with wedding tasks. I will be ripped apart from Marley, since she will be busy helping Savannah, and then what? She flies home on Sunday?
Fury and nerves overtake my body as I think about having to say goodbye to Marley. I’ve only held her in my arms a few short times; I still don’t know what happened in those four years we didn’t speak or see each other. I don’t know her entire story for developing a brand for herself or what her life is like out in California.
California.
It’s where she belongs, it’s where she lives, three thousand miles away from my tiny little shack of a home that sits on her father’s property.
I groan to myself, disappointed with the way I’ve planned out my life, never giving myself a chance to truly turn the tide and become someone better. Man Soap is my last hope for a change, especially since I have no education past high school, and the only experience I possess is shucking shit onto a truck bed and hauling it away for manure.
I’m not much for hosting my own pity party, but a depressed party of one is looking pretty good right about now.
My tent rustles and the zipper starts to open. I sit up, ready to throat punch whoever walks in, when I see Marley poke her head in and hold out her hand. “Walk with me?”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I slip on my shoes and take her hand, walking to the wooden playground in the middle of the KOA. There is a stagecoach made of wood with wooden horses in front of it that Marley leads me to. She forces me to sit in the carriage and then sits on my lap, resting her head on my shoulder.
I run my fingers through her hair and press my cheek against her head, wondering if this is the last peaceful moment I will share with her.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, knowing it was a substantially emotional day for everyone.
“Okay. I feel like at the end of the trip I expected this big party or something, there was so much build up leading to Chicago, but instead, I just felt sad, and I think Paul and dad felt the same way. This is going to sound stupid, but I kind of felt like when we arrived, Mom was going to be there, wearing her raggedy apron, holding a plate of hot dogs for us all to share.”
“That’s not stupid at all. I can see how you might have felt that way.”
“It’s weird that it’s over. I feel like there should have been more, but I don’t think any of us were emotionally ready for the toll the ending of the trip took on us. It’s like we’re finally saying goodbye. It makes me sick to my stomach.”
I know the feeling. In a few short days, I will be living a lonely life of solitude once again.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper and kiss her head, not really knowing what else to say.
Rubbing her head against my chest, she asks, “Do you ever think about what might have happened to us if you didn’t leave that night? Do you think we would have been something or do you think it would have ruined us even more?”
That question is on a constant replay in my head, especially since I’ve seen Marley again. What would it be like if I never left? I would have one hundred percent fallen deeply in love with her, not that I’m not already there, but I would have fallen harder and faster. I also would have held her back, not allowing her to reach her full potential.
“I think about it sometimes,” I lie. “I would have consumed you, Marley. You would have stayed in Jamestown, never fulfilling your goals. I would like to think you would be happy, at least I think you would have been for a while, until you realized you weren’t fulfilled, and then I think you would have resented me for that. You were always going places, Marley. Even though I love Jamestown, it’s not a place where you could have fully flourished, and I would have hated myself for that; that’s why I left. What we had back then was destructive, and instead of having it explode later on down the road, I diffused the build-up and left, leaving you no other choice than to do the same.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” she says sadly. “You should have talked to me. We had so much going for us, Porter. We could have figured something out.”
“No, we couldn’t have,” I shake my head. “We’re living in two different worlds, Marley, and they don’t meet up. Your life is fast-paced, always looking for the latest and greatest thing. My life is simple, on a farm. We clash in every way.”
“I don’t believe that,” she says softly. “I don’t think you gave us a chance.”
It’s true, I didn’t, but there was a reason I didn’t.
“If I gave us a chance, you would have broken me into pieces when you realized I wasn’t good enough to stay with while you chased your dreams.”
“How can you say that?”
Anger is evident in her voice but I clam her, stroking her hair and placing a kiss against her temple.
“Marley, I would have jumped at the chance of being with you back then but I knew I had to let you go so you could grow into the intelligently beautiful woman you are today.”
She stills in my arms and I can see her processing my words. When I think she’s going to fight with me some more, Marley palms her hand against my cheek and forces me to look at her. Her light blue eyes shine under the rays of the moon as they search mine. Gently, she kisses my lips, leaving me wide open, bruised, and battered. I fall into her touch, soak her in, and breathe in her tantalizing scent, committing everything to memory.
She straddles my lap so her chest is touching mine and grips my face with both hands, deepening her kiss. My hands fall under her shirt where I caress her smooth skin, basking in the feel of her in my arms.
“I don’t want this trip to end,” she whispers across my mouth, turning my stomach upside down.
I pull her into a hug and rest my chin on her shoulder as I try to figure out what to say next. My heart is screaming for me to tell her how I feel, to pour it all out on the table and expose myself completely, but my mind has a different idea full of fear.
Instead of telling Marley how I feel, knowing it won’t work out, I keep my mouth shut and hold her until the wee hours of the morning, when she climbs back in the RV and parts with a light kiss to my lips.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
**MARLEY**
We woke up early in the morning and took off for Jamestown, my heart heavy and my eyes burning from crying after saying goodnight to Porter.
I don’t know what I was thinking he was going to say when I asked him what would have happened if he never left. In my heart, I was hoping
for him to say something like he would move out to California to be with me, but that’s hopeful wishing. He clearly has it in his mind that he’s not good enough to do anything other than work on the farm with my dad, which is an admirable job, but looking in his eyes, I know he wants more.
Paul, my dad, and Porter have been having a good time all day, planning out yet another mini bachelor party for tonight after the rehearsal. Just the three of them. While they’ve been talking beer, I’ve been texting Marisa about nothing serious, just random things to keep my mind off of the weekend.
Yesterday wasn’t how I envisioned it going in my head. We had all this build up and such a small quick moment in the Windy City. I always saw myself taking the time to explore all the ins and outs of the city, the places my mom dreamt of visiting, but instead, we sat by the fountain and stared at the falling water against the strategically placed lights.
The last time I saw my dad that sad was when we buried my mom. I wish it would have been more of a celebration instead of mourning.
This morning, I talked to Paul to see how he was doing, since he was really close with Mom, and he told me he was just excited to get back home and start a new chapter in his life. I wish I could say the same.
Familiar roads, trees, and gas stations pass us by as we close in on Jamestown, the town I grew up in and the town in which I fell in love.
I glance over at Porter, he’s wearing a pair of dark jeans, a button up white shirt, sleeves rolled and a light brown belt. His hair is styled, not a strand out of place; he’s ready for the rehearsal. We got ready at the campground because it was convenient to roll in already dressed. At the time, I didn’t think it was going to be utter misery to sit next to Porter in a button up shirt, but it is.
There’s just something about a man’s forearm shown off by a rolled up sleeve, can I get an amen, ladies?
I’m in the midst of texting Marisa when my phone rings. A California area code pops up on my screen.
“Hello?” The boys quiet down so I can hear the other person on the phone.
“Hello, is this Marley McMann?”
“This is she.”
“Hi, this is Alex over at the Pederson Group. You tested a few products for us back in June.”
“Oh, yes, Alex, how are you?”
“Great, thank you. We actually have another product we would love for you to check out. It’s in testing right now to see how consumers would respond, and we would love to get your opinion.”
“Really? Wow, that’s great. What’s the product?” Porter glances back at me for a second, but then turns his attention back to Paul.
“It’s a new kind of soap made from goat’s milk. It’s made just for men.”
“Just for men? I beg your pardon, but you know I’m a woman, right?”
Alex laughs in the phone. “Yes, Marley we are quite aware of your gender. You have an impeccable following and a knack for picking out products that seem to populate overnight. Since this is a soap for men, we want an honest woman’s reaction. We want to see if it’s something a woman would buy for her boyfriend or husband. We want to make sure that not only men like it, but women would be in the market for buying it for their significant others as well. Women do monopolize the market.”
“Very true.” I don’t even have to think about my answer. Being a tester for the Pederson Group again would be huge for my career. “I would love to test it. I’m in New York for my brother’s wedding this weekend, but I fly back to California on Sunday. If you send it to my apartment, I can test it as soon as I get back.”
“That works for us. Thank you for the quick turnaround. We’re trying to make a decision quickly on this. It’s a great idea and we’re ready to pull the trigger, we just want to make sure it can sell.”
“Totally understand that. Well, thank you for thinking about me.”
“Of course, hopefully we will have more products to send your way. It’s been great talking to you, Marley.”
“You too, have a good day.”
I hang up and can’t help the giant smile that consumes me.
“Who was that?” my dad asks from up front.
I set my phone on the table and open my laptop, connecting to my Wi-Fi, so I can send Alex a quick thank you note. It’s just proper business protocol. “That was Alex from the Pederson Group.”
“From the Pederson Group?” Porter asks, almost a little shocked.
“Hey, isn’t that…” Porter kicks his leg against Paul’s chair before he can finish what he’s saying.
Paul turns in his seat, offended. “Dude, you made me bite my lip.”
“Good,” Porter says between his teeth. They share a silent exchange before turning back to me.
“Uh, what’s the Pederson Group?” Paul asks.
“Just one of the biggest beauty product companies in the nation. I did a couple of spotlights for them back in June, but they just called asking me to test a new product they are thinking about producing.”
“What’s the product?” my dad asks.
“Some kind of soap for men? Seems kind of weird since it’s made from goat’s milk. I mean, I don’t know many men who would use a bar of soap made from goat’s milk, since the market is already flooded with other more popular brands like Dial and Irish Spring. I think it would be hard to market, given the competition, but who knows? It might be worth something. But in all honesty, more often than not, companies will invest a great deal of money into a new product like this, and realize it can’t hold a candle to what is already out there.”
The RV falls silent as we pull onto the farm. I look around to see what’s the issue. My dad is focused on parking, Paul is looking out the window, and Porter is staring at his hands that are resting on his lap.
“Uh, hello were you three listening to me?”
“Yes, sorry, honey,” my dad says, cutting off the engine and turning around in his chair. “Seems like a nice product. You might want to keep an open mind when you test it; you never know.”
“Come on, would any of you really use a goat’s milk body bar? The Pederson Group is well-respected but I think they might have missed the mark on this one. Men like products like Old Spice, not some frilly bar of soap from a goat. I will be interested to see what the rage is all about.”
Once again, the RV is silent. Paul is cringing to the side, my dad is shaking his head, and Porter is fidgeting in his seat, his knee bouncing rapidly up and down.
Porter is the one to break the silence.
“I really have to go to the bathroom, catch you guys inside,” Porter says, taking off with his bag in his hand. I watch as he quickly walks to the little guest shack that is off to the left of the farm house.
Before I can acknowledge Porter’s strange reaction, Savannah comes running into the RV and scoops me up into a hug.
“Marley, you’re here!” She squeezes me tight for her small frame and plants a giant kiss on my cheek. “I’m so glad you made it in one piece. Paul told me about the mascara and eye shadow.”
“Eye shadow?” I whip my death glare over to Paul, who has climbed over his seat and is now pulling on Savannah.
“Sweetie, why don’t you say hi to me instead of getting me into trouble?”
As they embrace, I practically bounce around them, asking Paul what he did to my precious Urban Decay eye shadow.
“Paul, what the hell did you do?”
“You didn’t tell her about the eye shadow?” Savannah steps back and places her hands on her hips.
“It slipped my mind.”
“Paul McMann, how does telling your sister that you spit in her eye shadow slip your mind?”
“You what?” I roar, lunging at him. “How does Savannah even know that if you weren’t supposed to be talking to each other?”
He twists just in time so I fall flat on my face, eating the dirty carpet of Tacy.
“Oh, Marley, are you okay? He sent me an email almost every day.”
I grunt in response while Paul scu
rries away.
“Got to get ready for rehearsal. Catch you later, sis.”
Before I can respond, he pulls Savannah into him and escorts her out of the RV.
“I’m going to get him back,” I swear to the ground, hearing my dad laugh as he exits. Pulling myself up, I brush my body off and grab my things to bring into the house. I can already tell the next two days are going to be stressful.
My room is just as I left it, full of country fair ribbons, old brass furniture and the many water color paintings my mom created. My mom had great artistic talent but never did anything with it because to her, she wanted to care for her family more. Painting was a hobby which she could have easily turned into a profession, but I’m grateful for her being around when I grew up instead. Having a mom to cart you around town was a luxury I took for granted when she was around, if only I could tell her how much I appreciated all the sacrifices she made to be the stay at home mom who would do anything for her family of four…well, five, including Porter.
Shaking the regretful thoughts from my mind, I smile as I look at old pictures of me in my short denim shorts and mud boots, holding up my prizes for best pig in town, and the pictures of me, Paul and Porter my mom took over the years. Oh, the good old days. We were all so lanky and grubby. Growing up on a farm would do that to you.
Not wanting to unpack, I set my things on my dresser and grab my phone. Porter left in a bit of a hurry, so I just want to make sure he’s okay. Taking the easy way out, I send him a text.
Marley: Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.
There’s some time to spare before the rehearsal, so as I wait for Porter to text back, I check out the eye shadow I used this morning, the same eye shadow Paul spit in. Delirious and tired this morning, I failed to see the distortion in the pigments that I used.
Son of a Rutherford B. Hayes!
Yes, I pulled a Bernie and I don’t care.
My phone gets a text.
Porter: I’m fine. Thanks for checking. See you at rehearsal.