Amy & Roger's Epic Detour

by Morgan Matson

  As cars sped by on the Interstate just out the window, Roger smoothed my hair away from my forehead and rocked me back and forth slowly.

  “Virginia!” Roger called, two mixes and four rounds of Twenty Questions (Eleanor of Aquitaine, Jonathan Larson, Sir Francis Drake, and Bernadette Peters) later. He pointed out the window at the sign passing us by and smiled at me.

  I looked over at him, still reeling a bit that I had told him, and that he had been okay with it. He wasn’t looking at me differently, as far as I could see. I couldn’t quite believe that it was true. But if it was … it was like another weight had been taken from my shoulders. And it was a relief, now that he knew. Now that there were no secrets between us. Just in time for the trip to end.

  “Do you know the Virginia motto?” he asked. “It’s Sic semper tyrannis, which means—”

  “‘Thus always to tyrants’,” I finished for him. Roger glanced over at me, eyebrows raised. “And,” I continued, “it’s what Booth yelled after he shot Lincoln.”

  “Impressive,” he said, smiling at me.

  I took a breath and told him what I hadn’t been able to tell him five days ago. “My father was a history professor,” I said, barely getting caught up on the past tense this time. “And that was his time period.”

  “That’s a good period,” Roger said. He glanced over at me, as though making sure I was okay with this. “Did he like Lincoln?”

  I smiled at that, thinking about the Lincoln facts on the note card in my father’s favorite book, the one that had come with me across the country. “Almost as much as Elvis.”

  “So,” Roger said two hours later, turning down Into the Woods on my mix and looking out the window, “we’re looking for a DQ.”

  “We are,” I said, as we pulled onto the main street. We drove up and down a few streets that seemed much too nice to have Dairy Queens on them. We only found it, twenty minutes later, because I ran into a gas station to ask for directions. We were directed to an area of town that was a little seedier, with check-cashing places and liquor stores replacing the boutiques and coffee shops we’d seen when we first got into town.

  “There,” said Roger, pointing. The Dairy Queen, its red and white sign not yet lit, was next to a Greyhound bus terminal. He pulled into the parking lot and looked at the sign that hung just a few feet before us, clearly above where the buses pulled in and left. It looked like there was only one place for both, since the sign read ARRIVALS DEPARTURES, without anything even separating the words.

  “All right,” I said. Roger killed the engine and we both got out, Roger stretching his legs. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Want anything?”

  “A Blizzard would be amazing,” he said.

  “What kind?”

  He smiled. “Surprise me.”

  “You got it,” I said. I looked at the Dairy Queen and realized that it was a takeout-only franchise, with just a counter for ordering, but no place to sit inside. This explained the inordinately high number of people eating ice cream in their cars or sitting on their back bumpers.

  I headed over to the DQ window, pulling Muz’s letter out of my pocket. I hoped he knew what he was talking about, because I didn’t want to have to be on the lookout for people who looked like they might be named Corey, or to have to try and explain this situation to the counter workers.

  I looked back at the car as I crossed the parking lot and saw Roger sitting in our usual spot in the way-back, legs hanging over the edge.

  “Hi,” I said as I approached the Dairy Queen ordering window to speak to the bored-looking attendant, who was wearing his DQ hat turned to the side.

  “Help you?” he asked with a deep sigh.

  “Yes,” I said. “Muz gave me this to give to Corey? He said you could get it to him?” I slid the envelope across the counter, looking at him closely to see if this code meant something to him.

  “Fine,” he said, taking the envelope, his expression not even changing, as though he constantly intercepted mail for people in between taking sundae orders. Who knows, maybe he did. “Anything else?”

  “Um, yeah,” I said, a little amazed that the transaction had gone so smoothly. “Um …” I looked up at the menu boards and knew exactly what Roger would want—a Reese’s Pieces Blizzard with half vanilla ice cream and half chocolate. After a moment of deliberation, I ordered, choosing an Oreo Blizzard for myself. I paid and walked the treats over to the car, still shocked that the hardest part of that process had been figuring out what to order.

  I walked around to the back and saw Roger, feet dangling, sunglasses on, even though it was cloudy. And I felt something within me shift. It was the same way I’d felt when I’d proposed we go to Yosemite. The way I’d felt when I’d run to the Jeep and gotten behind the wheel. The feeling right before I threw my leg over the window and tumbled into the room at Promises Kept. The feeling that I was about to do something without being sure of the outcome. The feeling of just jumping off something and hoping that the ground would be there when I landed.

  I sat next to Roger in the back, setting the big Styrofoam cups to the side, near the wheel well.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling at me, pulling off his sunglasses. “Did you get me something good?”

  “I think so,” I said, trying to ignore how hard my heart was beating. Then, before I could think about it, or analyze, or consider what I was doing, I leaned over and kissed him.

  Country roads, take me home to the place I belong.

  —John Denver

  He kissed me back. For just a moment, but he kissed me back, as though it was an automatic response, as though we had been kissing for a long time. But then he pulled away and looked at me. “Amy,” he said softly. He’d never said my name that way before, and even though he’d pulled back, it was the answer that I needed. He touched my face, tracing his hand down my cheek and cupping it under my chin. “I’m not sure …”

  But I was. And I leaned over and kissed him again. And this time he really kissed me back, moving his hand from under my chin to my hair, and then down my back, and then under my chin again. And we were kissing like drowning people breathe—like suddenly we’d discovered something that has never been so sweet before that moment.

  And as we slowed for just a breath, to a kiss that was sweeter and more lingering, I understood in a flash why, on the Greyhound sign, Arrivals and Departures were right next to each other. Because sometimes, like in that moment, they can mean exactly the same thing.

  “God,” he murmured into my hair when we broke away. It might have been ten minutes. It might have been an hour. I was past the point of being able to judge such things. He smoothed down my hair. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

  “Really?” I asked, almost afraid to believe this.

  “Oh yes,” he said. “Since Kansas. At least.”

  “Blizzard?” I asked, handing him his drink.

  He took it, kissed me again, then took a sip. “Perfect,” he said, smiling at me. “Reese’s with a swirl?” I nodded. He smiled and took another sip, his hand resting on my knee.

  I took a breath, leaned over, and kissed him again. This time he tasted like ice cream, and I could have stayed there forever, the taste of Roger’s kiss on my lips, whatever was going to happen stretching out before us like the paths of the highways—the road open, the routes endless.

  And that’s when it started to rain.

  Roger and I broke apart, and I looked at the sky, which had darkened rapidly, and showed signs of getting worse. We were starting to get rained on, sitting in the back, and we jumped up, and Roger slammed the door. We ran around to the front seats and closed the doors just as the sky opened up and started pouring down water on us. “Wow,” I said, looking out at it.

  “I know,” Roger said. He reached across his seat to rest his hand on my knee, and I felt my heart begin to pound, still not quite able to believe this was happening. “So I guess we should get going?” he asked.

  I sta
red out at the parking lot, which was now nearly deserted. The DQ employee had pulled his sweatshirt hood over his cap. “I guess so,” I said. I brushed my wet hair away from my face. It hit me that we were almost out of time together—that the trip was ending just when things were beginning. But I didn’t see anything we could do about it.

  Roger touched my cheek for a moment. Then he started the car and we pulled out of the parking lot.

  Maybe this time with all this much to lose and all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world.

  —William Faulkner

  The rain had gotten worse by the time we’d reached Maryland. I had never experienced a sudden thunderstorm like this—not in the summer—but maybe they were common on the East Coast. I’d have to learn a whole new set of weather norms. It also occurred to me that I’d have winter for the first time too. I might even see snow.

  But the rain was just hammering the car. Roger had the wipers turned up to full speed, and his headlights on, and still I could barely see the lines on the road in front of us.

  “This is bad,” I said, handing him his glasses.

  “Thank you,” he said, smiling without taking his eyes off the road and putting them on. He squinted out the windshield. “I keep hoping it’s going to let up, but that doesn’t seem to be happening.”

  I looked to the food/gas/lodging signs on the side of the highway. It looked like we were going to hit a biggish town soon. And there were at least three hotels listed on the lodging sign. “You know,” I said, careful not to look at him, feeling my cheeks heat up, “this really does seem like tough going.”

  “I know,” Roger said, shaking his head.

  “So maybe,” I said, speaking quickly, “we should get off the road before it gets too bad. Find a cheap place to stay for the night.”

  Roger looked over at me, then back at the road, a smile forming on his lips. “Really?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

  “I am very sure,” I said, feeling myself smile as well.

  “Can we afford it, though?”

  “I think it’s possible,” I said. It would be barely possible, but doable. And if we did run out of gas, that’s what AAA was for. Roger looked over at me, and I nodded. He put on his turn signal and took the first exit.

  After the Udells checked in, we headed to our room and opened the door with the key card. It was one of the least-nicest places we had stayed, but I didn’t care at all. The bed was king-size, and covered with what we had been assured by the front desk clerk was an authentic reproduction of a Pennsylvania Dutch quilt, from nearby Lancaster County. But I knew, and I was sure Roger knew, that the fact that there was just one bed meant something very different than it had before.

  “I’m going to take a quick bath,” I said, trying to defuse the tension I suddenly felt in the room. “I feel like I haven’t had one in about a year.”

  “Great,” Roger said, sticking his hands in his pockets, then taking them out and folding them awkwardly. It made me feel a lot better to see that he was nervous too.

  I pulled my suitcase into the bathroom with me, not wanting to have to get ready in front of him. It was ridiculous, since after spending almost every waking minute together for as long as we had, Roger had seen me in every possible state, including first thing in the morning. But even though it didn’t make any sense, I wanted to look nice tonight. We had a inclusive dinner, after all. And it felt, to me, like our first date.

  I took a long, hot bath, using the products I’d stolen from hotels across America. I blow-dried my hair afterward, being gentle with it. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but there didn’t seem to be quite as much falling out as there had been before. I dug through my suitcase, looking for something special to wear. Bronwyn had organized the suitcase by type of clothing—the T-shirts and tank tops were on top, and I’d mostly been sticking to them. But I was pretty sure I’d seen a dress folded along the bottom. I rummaged to the lowest layer, and there it was, all alone, taking up the length of the suitcase. I held it up, thankful one more time for Bronwyn and all she had given me. The dress was long and periwinkle blue with a sweetheart neckline. It was an incredibly soft material, and when I looked closer I saw that it had a slight sheen to it. Even though it was much, much too fancy for the hotel restaurant, it was exactly the right dress to wear tonight. As I pulled it out, I saw the green lingerie set that she’d insisted on giving me as well. I looked at the bra and underwear for a moment, then put them on.

  I finished getting ready, putting on a little more makeup than usual, and even adding some mascara. Then I looked at my reflection one last time, took a breath, and stepped out into the bedroom.

  Roger was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he stood up when he saw me. He had dressed up too, I saw. He was wearing khakis and a button-down shirt. “Hey,” I said. “You look nice.”

  “You too,” he said, smiling at me.

  I was about to brush this off, or tell him that it was Bronwyn’s dress, or make a joke. But I just smiled back and said, “Thank you.”

  “Shall we?” he asked, holding out his hand to me. I took it, interlacing my fingers with his.

  “Yep,” I said.

  Behind closed doors …

  —Charlie Rich

  There was a fire in the fireplace of the Towson Inn lobby, and Roger and I were sitting on the couch in front of it. Dinner had been great, even though the food had only been okay and we had been the most dressed-up people in the restaurant. But that hadn’t mattered. We’d held hands under the table.

  But as we sat there together, the pauses in our conversation stretched longer and longer, and I leaned my head into Roger’s chest for a moment. He rested his chin on top of my head, and I squeezed his hand once and stood up. I did so carefully, since there was much more fabric to this dress than I was used to, and I didn’t want to wreck the moment by falling down. He looked up at me, and I held out my hand to him. “Ready to go up?” I asked.

  Roger took my hand in both of his, but stayed sitting. “Look,” he said, tracing a slow circle on the back of my hand. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure, like that we have to … I mean, I just want to make sure you know that I—”

  “Roger,” I said. He stopped talking and looked up at me. “Ready to go up?” I asked again, smiling at him. My heart was pounding, and I was incredibly nervous. But in a good way. The kind of nervous you get before something really good happens.

  He smiled and stood up, still holding on to my hand. “You sure?”

  I nodded, and kissed him. He kissed me back, and we stayed like that for a moment. But then getting to the room, and quickly, seemed like a good idea to both of us. We stumbled into the elevator together, kissing until it reached our floor, then hurried out, laughing and trying to walk all at the same time. We got the room open after only three tries, and made it inside. He was trying to figure out my straps, and I had untucked his shirt from his pants and was already starting to undo his shirt buttons while we kissed—and I nearly tripped over my dress. And before going over to join him on the bed, I locked the door and drew the shades.

  “Hey,” I murmured, several hours later. I stretched over and kissed him on his bare shoulder. “You up?”

  “Nope,” he said, smiling without opening his eyes. He rolled onto his back and I rolled into him, resting my head on his chest. After I moment, I realized that I could feel his heartbeat. I closed my eyes, and he smoothed his hand over my hair. “Five Questions?” he asked. I shook my head against his chest. “One?” he amended.

  “That counts, you know,” I said, propping myself up a little bit and turning to face him.

  “You’re not playing fair,” he said.

  “I learned from the best. Okay, fine,” I relented. “One.”

  He traced the line of my chin, his expression growing serious. “Right now,” he said. “This minute. Are you happy?”

  I stretched up to kiss him before nodding. “Yes,” I said. “Very much so.” I looked at him, a
t the serious expression still on his face. “Are you?”

  He nodded and stretched out the arm I had been lying on. He rolled onto his side, and I did the same, facing him. We twined our feet together, as though we’d always been doing it. It happened just that easily. “I am,” he said. “A little too much, I think.”

  I moved closer to him. I knew that at some point, we were going to have to talk about things. We were going to have to say good-bye. And even if Roger refused to call it that, that’s what it would be. But I didn’t want to think about that just yet. I closed my eyes and wrapped my hand around his.

  You’ve Got a Friend in Pennsylvania.

  —PA license plate slogan

  “Are you sure?” Roger asked me, from the passenger seat.

  I adjusted the rearview mirror and made sure I was close enough to the pedals. I let out a breath and caught my smile reflected in my side mirror. “Yes,” I said. When we’d headed out of the Towson Inn that morning, I’d walked around to the driver’s side. I wanted to give it a try, at least. I wanted to see if I could do it.

  “Feeling okay?” he asked.

  “I think so,” I said, and placed my hands on the wheel, at ten and two. Roger reached over and squeezed the hand at two.

  “You’ll be great,” he said. “Just take it slow. And I’m right here.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay.” I pressed my lips together, then started the car. That felt all right, so I put it in gear and slowly exited the hotel parking lot.

  “You okay?” he asked as I carefully merged onto the main road.

  “I think so,” I said. I braked at the stoplight, aware of how hard I was concentrating, but feeling like I had it under control. I thought that it might actually be easier once we got on the highway, when there would be less stopping and starting.