by Sarah Dooley
There’s barely any grass outside the gas station, and I have to walk Haberdashery all the way around the building to find a spot he’ll use for the bathroom. It’s creepy back here, gray and lonely. The only people I see are truckers walking to and from the big-rig parking lot on the other side of a fence.
“Come on,” I mutter. “Do your business.” But the poodle thinks he’s got to sniff every single blade of grass before he decides on one to use as his bathroom. He also wants to sample the water out of every puddle.
It seems darker back here. I don’t like being close to so many parked cars, grim and shadowed. I can’t tell whether or not there are people inside them. I’m relieved when Haberdashery finishes what he’s doing. As I tug him back around the corner of the gas station, I can see Zany sitting in the truck, phone to her ear. My stomach flip-flops and I tug Haberdashery to the truck. My heart starts to pound. I don’t want Adam to be calling with bad news. I know it has to be Adam. If it were Mama Shannon, I’m not sure she’d answer for fear of being talked into coming home.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, breathless, as I yank the door open. “Is Adam’s dad okay?”
Zany shushes me with a wave of her hand. “I know,” she says into the phone. Another pause. “I know, I really do.”
My heart thumps. “Did he go in? Did he get to talk to him?”
She covers the receiver. “Fella, hush!”
“Did he die?”
“Fella!” she shouts, but she puts the phone to her ear for a minute and then hands it to me. “He wants to talk to you.”
I tug Haberdashery into the truck and close the door behind us. “Adam?”
“Hey. It’s okay, my dad—he’s still here. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I slump against the seat and take several deep breaths. “Oh!” My eyes still prickle. “Okay. Did you talk to him?” My voice comes out sounding like a little kid’s, and I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying.
“I will,” he says. “I will, but—not yet. Let me talk to your sister again, okay?”
I hand her the phone and climb back out of the truck to let her talk. I wander into the gas station. The only sound is the TV behind the counter, with the end of some early-morning infomercial just going off the air.
A teaser comes on for the Sunday-morning news and I see my face as the bell jingles on the door.
“Oh—” Zany stops just behind me. Then tugs my arm. “Fella. Come on.”
But she’s staring at what I’m staring at, and neither one of us moves toward the door. It’s Mama Shannon. And it’s Mrs. Madison. Both of them together on the news.
The sleepy woman on her stool isn’t paying attention. She hasn’t looked at the TV the whole time I’ve been in here. Still, I feel like she’s going to look up at any moment and then it will all be over. The police will be called and we’ll be sent straight to jail for truck theft and poodlenapping and whatever else we’ve done tonight that is an actual crime.
“Come on,” Zany says again, starting to move. “We have to go.”
But I can’t take my eyes off my two family members on TV. The last time I saw them together for any length of time, they were in a courtroom, fighting over me. I think about how mad I’ve been at both of them ever since, how I’ve been furious at Mrs. Madison for taking me away and at Mama Shannon for not making it better somehow.
Standing here looking at their worried faces on the screen, I feel this sinking in my heart. They both wanted me. They both want me still and are worried enough about me and Zany to ignore how much they dislike each other as they work together to find us.
“Fella.” Zany takes my hand in hers, laces her fingers through mine. Pulls. “We have to go. We have to go now.” She’s looking toward the counter, where the clerk has just turned to focus on the TV. “Come on. Come on!”
I do. As we leave, I hear Haberdashery’s name.
“They’re traveling with a poodle,” Mrs. Madison’s saying. “He’s eight years old, about twelve pounds. He is very special to me—”
The door closes behind us, cutting off the rest of her words. Zany hurries me toward the truck and we pile in so quickly that Haberdashery squeaks. I end up sitting on Adam’s phone and I squirm to grab it and stick it in my pocket.
“You’re famous,” I tell Haberdashery. Zany hits the gas a little too hard and the truck squeaks forward, spitting gravel into the parking lot behind us. She gets us smoothed out and steady on the road, heading for the interstate. I’m relieved we’ve escaped, but fear starts to creep in as Zany aims for the on-ramp, pushing the pedal down, faster, then faster still. We pop up onto the interstate so suddenly that a delivery van has to veer out of our path. The sound of his horn sideswipes us, but luckily that’s the only thing that does.
I glance over at Zany to see what on earth is going through her mind. She’s driving like a madwoman. But she doesn’t look concerned, just distracted and upset.
“I hate her,” she mutters.
“What are you talking about?”
“Moaning about her poodle all over TV. Doesn’t she remember she’s got granddaughters?” Something in me feels off center. Then a little more when Zany says, louder, stomping on the gas, “I really hate that lady!”
My eyes sting like maybe I’m going to start crying, except I don’t know why. I already know Zany hates Mrs. Madison. Mama Shannon probably does, too. I think I’m also supposed to hate her, after everything she’s done. Cutting our family out of her life. Stealing me from Mama Shannon.
But . . .
Miles go by to the sound of Zany’s breathing, the air in the truck growing still as my sister slowly unwinds. It’s several minutes before I speak.
“There’s a picture on Mrs. Madison’s dresser,” I tell Zany, not completely sure why I’m telling her, except that I want her to crawl into my thoughts with me and figure out which direction they’re supposed to go next.
“Of her best friend, the devil?” Zany asks. Her voice isn’t as mad as it was before.
“No!”
“Of her ugly, stupid poodle?”
I give Haberdashery a squeeze. “No! Stop it, Zany!”
She glances at me and the whole truck shimmies. “Why should I?”
I’m too frustrated now to answer, and I turn and look out the windshield instead, watching drops of melted snow blow down the window. They pick up speed halfway down and roll, roll, and then, no matter how carefully I watch them, they disappear and I can’t find them again.
“What’s the picture of?” Zany asks after a minute.
“Nothing.” I’m sulking now. Can’t help it. It’s easier than tearing apart these feelings.
She lets out a short sigh. “Fella—” Her voice is high with anxiety and frustration. It isn’t until we’ve passed a few more mile markers that she manages to bring it back down to calm.
“Fella,” she says again, this time sounding more like Mama Lacy than herself, practical and soothing, and older than sixteen. “What’s the picture of, hmm?”
I chew my lip a minute. I only mean to point out that Mrs. Madison isn’t hateful, that she does have a loving side to her.
“It’s me,” I mumble. Now that I’m saying it, it feels weird. Not as good as I thought it would sound.
Zany changes lanes to get around a slow trucker. Back in our own lane a minute later, she asks, “Just you?”
Which is, of course, what feels weird about it. “Yes,” I say in a tiny voice. I’m ashamed about feeling good that I’ve got Mrs. Madison when Zany doesn’t. After all, we both have Granny Culvert, even though she’s far away.
“Just you,” Zany says again, soft. “You know, Fella, now that I think about it? I really hate that woman.”
I don’t know whether I agree or disagree. Sort of both.
chapter
20
I o
ught not to be able to recognize the road at the end of Tennessee, but my breath quickens anyway and I know we’re about to cross into North Carolina. I almost sense a change in the air, like it’s vibrating. Like it’s thick with the memories I lost along the road five years ago, memories I’ll pick up as we cross back into the state. It might be the air freshener Zany bought at the last gas station, but I imagine I can smell piney woods and sweet red earth and clean raindrops.
For the first time, I feel something other than dread at the thought of reaching Asheville.
Zany must not feel the same way, because she pulls over at yet another gas station. We keep stopping at gas stations, even though we’re down to the last few pennies in our pockets. It’s a terrible risk, to keep stopping. Zany mentions it every time she pulls off the road. We’re going to get caught. But we’re so tired and the road is the same all the time. We need the stops to stay awake.
She rolls us past the pumps and parks outside the glass doors. Inside I see a cashier watching a tiny TV in the corner. It’s mid-morning after a very long night, and his head looks like it’s starting to bob. I know how he feels.
I don’t make any move to get out of the truck. Zany doesn’t, either. The brass urn and the bandaged poodle sit between us on the seat.
“Not too much longer,” Zany says. I don’t answer. Above the mountains, the sun is just visible. According to the clock hanging on the wall beside the TV, it’s after eight. We’re drawing closer and closer to the time when I’ll have to let go of Mama Lacy. I want to reach over and pick up the urn, but when I try, I find the seat empty. Zany’s beat me to it. She’s holding the urn and she’s got her face turned away, out the window. I feel left out and awkward. I think I should reach toward her, but I don’t.
After a minute, Zany turns back toward me. She smiles kind of soft and it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks like Adam did in Wytheville when he said he wasn’t ready. But there’s no twenty-four-hour department store here and anyways that isn’t what we need. I don’t know what we need. Don’t know if anything will ever fill the gap left by what we don’t have.
“You going in?” I ask Zany, nodding toward the gas station.
She shakes her head. “You?”
“Nah.”
Zany starts the truck and we back out. I watch sleepy houses slip by as we drift onto the interstate, the only car out at this hour that’s heading up the mountain.
chapter
21
The speed limit drops to sixty-five. Then sixty. Then fifty-five. By the time we reach the top of the first mountain, we’re going forty-five and the morning fog is so thick, I can’t even tell we’re on a mountain. Which means I can’t tell where the edge is, either.
“Zany . . . ,” I breathe. I’m terrified we’re going to drive right over the edge of the mountain in this fog, and not even know until we’re on the way down.
“Relax,” Zany demands, her teeth clenched. I know my sister well enough to know what she means is, Shut up and don’t bother me. I’m nervous enough I want to keep talking, but I also don’t want to do anything that might startle Zany and distract her from the road. I rock my armload of poodle and urn, humming under my breath. After a while, I realize it’s the song from the jukebox, the one our whole family used to sing together. The sound of children playing / And the sound of people saying, I love you . . .
“Relax,” she says again. I think this time she might be talking to herself.
It isn’t until a graveyard looms at the side of the road that I realize it.
“Zany, have you noticed we’re the only ones on the road?” I worry the other drivers know something we don’t, that maybe there’s a storm coming, or a wreck up ahead, or some other disaster lying in wait.
Zany glances in her mirrors and at the white dashed line stretching away in front of us.
“I did notice that,” she says faintly. “It’s a good thing, too. Hard to see each other in this fog.” As if this reminds her, she flips on the emergency flashers to warn motorists traveling faster that we’re here in the slow lane. The orange lights splash on the fog, then disappear. Splash, disappear. Splash, disappear.
“Yeah,” I echo. “Good.” I think about how if we break down, it will be an hour before somebody finds us. I wonder if the headlights will stay on if that happens. I’m glad to see the graveyard fade away behind us in the fog. But just because it’s out of sight doesn’t mean I don’t know it’s still there. I squeeze Haberdashery a little tighter.
I’m relieved when we start back down the mountain. Now the drop-off is far away, across the empty lanes that head back in the other direction. On my side there are rocky cliffs leading up to the trees. They’re cut square and I can see them even through the fog.
I’ve started to relax, settling down into the warmth of the truck, when there’s this whirring, thumping noise and I feel like I’m falling. My arms fly out, looking for Mama Lacy, and instead they find Haberdashery, who is so frightened by the commotion that he tries to climb me like I’m a tree. I steady him.
“What—?” I shout.
“It’s okay,” Zany says in a scared voice that lets me know it is not at all okay. “We’re okay!” She eases the failing truck onto the shoulder and shuts off the engine. We both sit breathing heavy for a minute.
“What happened?” I ask when I’ve got my breath caught enough to speak.
“I . . . I think we got a flat.” Zany waits for a coal truck to pass, then gets out of the truck and circles around. The fog is starting to give way to a cold drizzle. I open my door in time to hear her swear, and then I see why. The right front tire is completely flat and sitting on the rim.
Zany deflates like the tire, leaning against the truck and laying her head on the filthy hood. She closes her eyes for a minute. “I’m so tired,” she says. Then, “I’ll bet there’s no spare.” She goes to the back and peers under the topper. “Well, he’s got one,” she hollers, “but it’s flat!”
My heart’s still racing and I sink onto the shoulder of the road, where it meets the grass. Right away, I feel icy water soaking my clothes. Zany blows air out through her lips in frustration. “We’re going to have to start walking. I don’t know what else to do.”
I look down the long highway, deserted now in both directions. Behind us the road disappears upward in the drizzle. Below us, I can only see a few feet of mountain before the thick fog swallows the road. Once in a while, a giant coal truck blasts past, but I haven’t seen a regular car since the last gas station.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say.
“And what’s your idea? Sit here till somebody happens across us, and hope they won’t call the cops?”
“Call! We can call someone.”
“Who?”
I run through the list—Mama Shannon? Mrs. Madison? The police? I can’t say any of them to Zany.
“We have to walk,” she says again.
“But we can’t leave the truck. Adam needs it back in the morning.”
I see the battle crossing her face. See her weighing our options. Finally, she steels her gaze and steadies her chin. “Sure we can,” she says, and starts walking.
“Wait up,” I holler after her. “I’ve got to get Haberdashery! And Mama Lacy!”
She stops dead. “Jesus, I almost left without them. I’m so tired.” She runs a hand down her face.
“Maybe we should sit down a little while.”
“No, if I sit down, I’m not going to get back up. We need to keep moving.” She doesn’t sound sure, and I don’t like it. Zany is supposed to know what to do.
I stumble back to the truck, slipping on gravel, and I scoop up Haberdashery and hand Mama Lacy’s ashes to Zany. The poodle tucks his face under my elbow. With my free hand I check to make sure we’ve got the phone. At least we’ll be able to call Adam and tell him about his truck. If we can get up th
e nerve.
“I bet you wish you didn’t sneak out with us now, don’t you?” I murmur at the poodle when he whimpers. But I can’t hate him when he’s injured, so I pet his curly ears and he wags his nubby tail.
“Zany, are you sure about this?” I ask.
She starts walking without saying anything.
“Zany—hey. Wait up.”
But she doesn’t, and she won’t look at me, even when I trot to catch up with her, Haberdashery heavy in my arms. She turns her face away, and I hear a sound like a sniffle. My stomach starts to hurt.
“Are you crying?”
“Be quiet.”
Zany never cries, and when she does, she just wants to be left alone, but there’s no way for me to leave her alone out here.
“But—but are you?”
“Shush.” She most definitely is crying.
I don’t know what to say. I’ve been away from Zany too long. During most of the time I was crying for Mama Lacy, I wasn’t anywhere near Zany. Now it occurs to me that the same is true in reverse, that Zany has been off somewhere alone, or with Mama Shannon, crying for Mama Lacy without me knowing anything about it.
“You know we can’t walk there, right?” I ask in the most gentle voice I can figure out how to use.
“If you want to do something, just decide to,” she says, and I realize she’s quoting Mama Shannon.
“Zany, why is it so important that we do this? That we make it there today? We can go another day. It doesn’t have to be her birthday.”
“She had a deadline,” Zany says. “Don’t you remember? She wanted to have it all over and done. The cancer and all. She wanted to make it back to Asheville, back to our life, before she turned forty.” Zany sniffles. “Well, she’s turning forty. Or anyway, she would be. And she’s going to get there. She decided to. If you decide to, you can do anything.”
“Except stay together.”
I hear Zany breathe in like something hurts. She doesn’t speak, so I keep going.