crossroads
Tracie J. Peterson
Jennifer Peterson
One
“Hi, Daddy! How’s Dallas?” Leslie Heyward cradled the cordless phone between her head and her shoulder as she stirred a pot of boiling spaghetti. “Oh, yeah, Travis is doing fine. Do you want to talk to him? Hang on.”
Putting her spoon down, she covered the mouthpiece and called to her five-year-old brother in the next room. She was answered by an immediate crash of what Leslie’s trained ear knew to be Legos, and a pounding of pajama-clad feet.
“What?” panted a tiny blond-haired boy. His voice betrayed his annoyance with the interruption.
“Here, Travis. Talk to Daddy.” Leslie handed the boy the phone. He awkwardly positioned it against his small head. Leslie bent down to hold it for him, and as he heard his father’s voice, his blue eyes sparkled with delight and his attitude instantly changed.
“Daddy!” he cried. “Daddy, did you get me something?” Leslie couldn’t help but smile. “Daddy, I builded a big airplane, like the one you and Mommy flyed on! It’s a 7-2-4-7-9-50. It’s real big. But I broke part of it when I got up.”
Travis intently studied the floor as he listened and began to nod slowly. “Yeah, I think I can have it fixed before you get home. I’ll have to work hard. It’ll probably take twenty-five hours. But I’ll try. I love you, Daddy. Can I talk to Mama?”
Travis squinted his eyes as if trying to summon his mother to the phone. When he heard her voice, his face instantly relaxed. “Mama!” he squealed. “Mama, I’ve been good. Haven’t I, Leslie?” Leslie smiled and nodded her approval. “See? Leslie said I been good. Did you get me something?”
He became quiet, and then broke out into a huge grin. “But, Mama, tell me now. I promise I’ll pretend to be surprised. Please tell me! Okay. I love you, Mama. Here’s Leslie.”
Leslie took the phone, and Travis scampered back to his room. Leslie repositioned the receiver and stirred the noodles once more.
“He really has been an angel, Mom. I haven’t had any problems. But tell me about your trip! How’s the second honeymoon going? Is Dad still romantic enough after twenty-five years?”
Turning off the heat, Leslie picked up the pot and walked over to the sink. “That’s just great! I hope you two enjoy your dinner. And don’t forget to behave! I love you both. Travis and I are about to sit down to a late supper. . .Yeah, we got back late from the movie. We went to see that one with the animals. . .Uh-huh, the one he’s been bugging us about since he saw the commercial. Well, he liked it, I guess. We may go out for ice cream later, if he wants to.
“Anyway, I guess I will let you two get on with your evening. Tell Daddy to make sure and open the doors for you. . .I love you, too, Mom. Give Dad my love. Talk to you later.”
Leslie replaced the phone back on the charger. After rinsing the spaghetti, she set the kitchen table for two. Placing the pasta and the sauce in the middle of the table, Leslie sneaked over to the open door of her little brother’s room. Crouching near the ground, she stealthily poked her head around the corner and watched Travis rebuild his masterpiece. Suppressing a giggle, she began to crawl on hands and knees. As Travis delicately placed the huge, multicolored configuration on the hardwood floor and began to search for an eluding component, Leslie reached out and tickled him.
Laughing and squealing, Travis tried in vain to fight off the attack. Leslie rolled over onto her back and propped him up in the air with her legs. “I’m gonna let go! Uh-oh, Travis, don’t fall!” She held on to his stubby arms as he kicked his legs.
“Leslie, I saw you. You didn’t sneak up on me. I saw you!”
“You did not! I’m a spy. You couldn’t have seen me.”
“I did! Really! Let me down, please!”
Leslie eyed the smiling child suspiciously. Narrowing her blue-green eyes, she demanded, “Why should I? You’re not hungry, are you?”
“Yes! Yes, I am, Leslie.” He tried his best to sound convincing.
“I don’t think you are. No, Travis, I am, in fact, certain that you’re not. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I specifically recall feeding you yesterday.” Lowering her legs, Leslie brought the boy to the floor but quickly captured him in a tight hug.
“But, Leslie, you have to feed me! Mama said!” Travis continued to squirm, but she held him fast.
“She did?”
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “Mama and Daddy said you had to feed me. Every day.”
“Every day? They did?” Leslie feigned confusion. “Hmmm . . . well, I guess I’ve got to, if Mom and Dad said to. It’s a good thing I made a bunch of spaghetti then, isn’t it?”
She picked him up and carried him on her hip as she turned off his bedroom light. Travis happily chanted a song about spaghetti, and Leslie placed him on the floor. “What do you want to drink, honey?”
“Orange juice,” he proclaimed, climbing into his chair. Leslie brought down a plastic glass with a lid, filled it with orange juice, and placed it in front of him.
“I’m afraid we don’t have any orange juice, sir. But, we do have some orange slime that I’m sure you’ll find to your liking.”
“Ewww. . .slime! Cool.” Leslie laughed as he took a giant gulp. “Hey, it tastes like orange juice.” He looked down at the top of his lid, perplexed. “Leslie, is it really slime?”
“Yes, Travis, it is. I bought it especially for you this very morning.” She blessed the food and then asked, “Do you like it?” She fixed his plate of pasta and sauce, carefully cutting the noodles and mixing it all together. Setting it before him, she awaited his answer with a look of intent interest.
Travis took another sip of his drink. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s pretty good. Do you want some?” He extended his tiny hand. Leslie puckered her lips and shook her head violently.
“No, no, no. It says right on the bottle, ‘Only for Five Year Olds Named Travis!’ I can’t drink it. I’m too old.” Leslie spooned the meaty sauce onto her own plate of spaghetti.
“Your name isn’t Travis, either,” he pointed out thoughtfully.
Leslie’s face assumed a puzzled look. “No, I suppose you’re right. You know, you may get to be a spy yet. Hey,” she whispered conspiratorially, “you wanna go out for ice cream?” Despite the fact that it was below freezing outside, ice cream was a treat always welcomed at the Heyward house. “It would be the perfect thing for spies. Who else would go eat ice cream in January?”
Travis leaned in close to her. “Okay. We’ll be spies.”
Leslie looked him over critically. “No, wait. You can’t be a spy.”
Travis looked wounded. “Why not, Leslie? I want to. Please?”
“No, no. It can’t happen. You see, Travis, spies don’t eat ice cream in pajamas. Spaghetti, maybe. Ice cream, never.” Leslie put her fork on the table. “I guess we’ll just have to stay home.”
“I can change, Leslie. Then we can go! Please? Let me change,” Travis pleaded.
“I suppose that would work. Yes, that should work nicely. Okay. We can still go get ice cream. Just make sure you finish your spaghetti and your slime. Then we’ll go pick out a spy outfit for you.”
Travis looked pleased with himself. “Good. Thank you, Leslie. I’ll be a good spy. I promise.”
Leslie felt her heart swell with love for the little boy. “I know you will, honey. I trust you. Now hurry and finish up.”
Leslie managed to twirl the last of her pasta onto her fork and eat it without getting it all over her white T-shirt. Travis’s pajama top was another story.
Leslie scrutinized hi for a moment. “Any of that food make it into your mouth, Travis?”
The litt
le boy grinned a messy spaghetti smile and nodded. Strings of pasta fell from his pajama top as he replied, “Uh-huh, see?” He opened up his mouth, displaying for her the contents.
“Sorry I asked.”
She cleared the table and sent Travis off to wash, which of course she had to complete when he returned still wearing a spaghetti sauce mustache. Within minutes, however, Travis was clad in black sweats. He insisted on wearing sunglasses. Leslie agreed that they did, indeed, complete his spy motif and loaded him into her teal Toyota. It was a good night, she thought. Turning on the car radio, Travis insisted on the 1812 Overture, and they drove off to the ice cream shop, singing along with the orchestra.
❧
Leslie turned off the engine and looked over at the sleeping boy in the passenger’s seat. Gently, she unbuckled his seat belt and then undid her own. Pulling him onto her lap, she cradled his limp body in her arms and managed to get out of the small car. Fumbling for her house key, she awkwardly unlocked the front door and switched on the lights.
Familiarity greeted her like an old friend. She had shared this house with her parents for all of her twenty-four years, and in that time she had known nothing but happiness. Travis stirred in her arms, and she smiled, remembering the surprise he had caused with his birth. Her mother had given up on having any more children, although she and Aaron Heyward had wanted a half dozen or more. Travis had been born on her mother’s fortieth birthday, and Peggy Heyward had proclaimed him the perfect gift.
Carrying her brother upstairs, Leslie readied him for bed, and after removing his sunglasses, she stood back for a moment and studied the angelic face. A small sigh escaped. He was so peaceful when he was asleep, yet twenty places at once when he was awake. She kissed him on the forehead and switched off the light.
“I wonder if I’ll ever have a son,” she murmured, glancing back at the door. The warm glow of the hall light fell across the boy’s face like a muted spotlight. “If I do, I hope he’s half as nice as you, Travis.”
Downstairs, the silence of the evening seemed out of place for the house of Travis Heyward. She turned on the television and plopped down in an overstuffed chair.
Using the remote to run through several channels, she gave up. “Nothing’s on,” she said to no one in particular. Leaning over the phone, she noticed she had a message. “Probably Aunt Margie,” she said, playing the tape.
“Ms. Heyward, this is Detective Casey Holder with the Dallas Police Department. There’s been an emergency here, and we need you to contact the office immediately. You can reach me at. . .”
Leslie’s mind shut the tape out. Numb, she rewound it and played it again, just to make sure he had heard the man’s voice correctly. In disbelief, she dialed the number left on the tape. It rang several times before a woman answered.
“Dallas Police Department. How may I direct your call?”
“I. . . I need to speak to Detective Holder,” Leslie stammered.
“One moment. May I ask who’s calling?” The woman’s gravelly voice seemed unfeeling and empty. Just the way Leslie, herself, felt.
“This is Ms. Leslie Hayward. He called me while I was out and left a message that I should contact him immediately.”
“Okay, I’ll put you through.” Leslie heard the phone ringing again and stared blindly at the television.
“Detective Holder here.” A man’s deep voice sharply filled her mind.
Leslie was forced back into reality. “Detective Holder, this is Leslie Heyward. You called about some emergency. Please tell me what this is about.” She sounded more panicked than she wanted to, but she couldn’t help herself.”
“Ms. Heyward, how difficult would it be for you to come to Dallas right away?”
“What’s going on? What’s happened?”
“Well. . .that is to say. . .” The man paused, obviously uncomfortable with the task at hand. “Ms. Heyward, your parents were hit by a drunk driver this evening. It was head-on at about ninety miles per hour.”
“Are they. . .are they okay?” she paused, trying to think. Of course, they wouldn’t be okay. “Were they hurt badly?”
The man’s voice seemed to lose its edge. “I’m sorry, Ms. Heyward. They were both killed.”
Both? They’re both dead?
“Ms. Heyward, are you there?”
She thought she’d spoken the words aloud. “Yes,” she managed to whisper. “Are you sure that it was Peggy and Aaron Heyward who were killed?”
“Well, that’s why I’ve called. I mean. . .I . . .well these things are never easy. We need you to come identify their belongings, and, well, we need you to bring their dental records.”
“Dental records?”
“Yes, I’m afraid there was a fire and well. . .the bodies. . .” He left the rest unsaid.
“I understand,” she said mechanically. “I’ll leave in the morning if I can get ahold of the dentist. I’ll just need to get someone to watch my brother. . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Just tell me where to come. I’ll be there sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“Certainly, Ms. Heyward.”
❧
“Hello?”
“Aunt Margie, it’s Leslie. I need you to come over here right now.”
“Les, what is it? Is it Travis? Is he okay?”
“Margie, Mom and Dad were in an accident tonight.”
“What? How?” The obvious disbelief in her aunt’s fearful tone left Leslie realizing she should have waited to explain until they were in person.”
“I don’t have many of the details,” Leslie stalled.
“But surely they told you how it happened – where they’ve taken them.”
“Look, this isn’t the kind of thing we should discuss over the telephone. It’s such a shock and I know –”
“Leslie, you aren’t leveling with me,” her aunt suddenly interrupted. “Just how bad was this accident, and don’t you dare try to sugarcoat it for me.”
Leslie felt tears come to her eyes as she broke the news. “They were killed, Aunt Margie. I have to go to Dallas tomorrow and identify their things. It was a drunk driver, head-on. The detective said it was a collision at about ninety miles per hour. I need you to watch Travis for me. Please.”
“Oh, no!” Leslie heard Margie begin to sob. “Les, no! Not Peggy.”
“Aunt Margie, please. Travis is asleep, and you can use the guest room or sleep on the couch. I need you to do this. Please.”
She knew the older woman was trying to compose herself. “Yes, Les, I’m on my way. You do whatever you need to do. I’ll watch Travis for you. But what are we going to do about Crossroads?”
For the first time, Leslie thought about the coffee shop she co-owned with her parents. Now, it was hers. Hers. Dear God, she prayed, help me make sense of it all.
“Tomorrow is Sunday, Margie. The store will be closed anyway. I should be back Monday. Well, at least I hope I’ll be back then. We’ll just have to take turns running it while the other one watches Travis. I just can’t do this right now. We’ll figure it out later. Right now I’m too frazzled. I’ve got to make arrangements for the plane ticket, and then I have to call the dentist. Or should I call the dentist first? Oh, I don’t know!”
“The dentist? Why the dentist?”
Leslie frowned and tried to think of a delicate way to explain. “They need the dental records for identification.”
“Oh, my” was all Margie could say.
“Can you please come?” Leslie questioned one final time.
Margie sniffled. “I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere until I get there. We’ll do this together. I can make calls while you’re gone and tell everybody else.”
“Thanks, Margie. I’ll be here.”
Leslie hung up the phone and began to cry softly into a pillow, trying to muffle her sobs. I can’t wake Travis, she thought. Sheer dread flooded her mind. How am I ever going to tell my poor baby brother?
> TWO
Kansas City International Airport was alive with action. The incessant hum of conversations reminded Darrin Malone of a cloud of angry bees. It was just as intimidating. Leaning closer into the partitioned phone booth, Darrin struggled to hear the busy signal on the other end of the line. He was used to it by now. After attempting to place a call for the last forty-five minutes, he had pretty much given up on Laurelin ever answering.
“Come on, Lin, hang up the phone,” he pleaded to the pulsing tone. “I don’t have time for this!” He placed the receiver back on the hook and sighed. Running his fingers through his dark brown hair, he contemplated just getting on the plane without calling her. Surely she’d understand. He shook his head. No, she wouldn’t. Laurelin wouldn’t understand because it didn’t concern her. It wouldn’t matter to her. “What a way to think about the woman who will be my wife!” he muttered. He dialed her number again, this time more out of guilt than consideration. Finally, the line was not occupied.
“Hello?” A perky voice filled his mind.
“Lin, it’s Darrin.”
“Darrin, where are you, sweetie? You are still going to dinner with me tonight, aren’t you?”
“That’s why I called. I, uh, have to fly to Dallas this morning. It’s an emergency. I’m sorry, but I can’t take you to dinner tonight.” Darrin waited for the inevitable vituperation of his slighted fiancée.
“What? Oh, no, mister. You are not going anywhere tonight unless it’s with me. Do you have any idea how many appointments I made for this? Nails, hair, everything! You simply cannot do this to me.”
“Honey, I know. I understand, and I will make it up to you, I promise. Please understand me. You know I wouldn’t cancel if I didn’t absolutely have to. Don’t take this personally. It has nothing to do with you. I will explain everything later. It shouldn’t take any longer than a day, maybe two. We’ll go out when I get back.”
“Oh, fabulous, Darrin. Positively fabulous. You are so inconsiderate sometimes. I honestly don’t know if I will ever be able to marry you. You just don’t think about me.” Laurelin stopped to take a breath. “So just what do you propose I do all evening? Hmmm? Did that fit into your plans? Did it ever occur to you that I’ll be sitting around all night, watching stupid sitcoms? No, of course it didn’t. I can’t believe you can treat me like this and just expect me to take it.”
Crossroads Page 1