The Future She Left Behind

by Marin Thomas

  Katelyn hadn’t expected to make the fourteen-hour trip in one day, but she’d hoped to reach Norman, Oklahoma, where she’d made a motel reservation at a Days Inn, by six p.m. Too many restroom stops had put them behind schedule and Tulsa was only five miles in the rearview mirror.

  “I don’t know why anyone would want to live in Oklahoma.” Shirley stared out her window. “It’s ugly and there are too many tornadoes.”

  If she thought Oklahoma was ugly, wait until she got her first glimpse of West Texas, where trees were scarce, the wind never stopped blowing and dust was a spice in food. “There’s beauty in everything, Shirley.”

  “There’s nothing pretty about scraggly trees and dry prairie grass.” She shifted away from the window. “I’m looking forward to chatting with your mother.”

  Katelyn didn’t envision the two women talking as much as she did them circling each other like fighting cocks. “How long has it been since you two last saw each other?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Wasn’t it the Christmas before Robert died?” Birdie had flown into St. Louis Christmas Eve Day, and then that evening Don had opened the front door and there stood Robert and Shirley on the porch, arms loaded with expensive gifts for the kids. “Surprise!” they’d shouted, then barged their way inside, interrupting the board game the twins had been playing with Birdie. Shirley had insisted the twins open their gifts from her and Robert right then—the newest version of smartphones. So instead of finishing their game with Birdie, the kids retreated to their rooms and played with their presents. The day after Christmas, Birdie changed her plane ticket and flew back to Little Springs, cutting her visit short.

  “When are we eating dinner?” Shirley asked.

  “In a couple of hours when we stop for the night.”

  “I’m getting a headache.”

  Katelyn squeezed the wheel until her knuckles glowed white. If she didn’t stop, Shirley’s whining would grow louder. “Keep your eyes peeled for a restaurant.” Five miles down the road she passed a billboard advertising a roadside café and took the exit.

  “We’re not eating here, are we?”

  The faded black-and-red sign on the roof advertised EARL’S: HOME OF THE HOME-COOKED MEAL. “What’s wrong with this place?”

  “The kitchen’s probably overrun with roaches.”

  Dingy white paint covered the cinder block building, but Katelyn could still make out the orange shadow of a Phillips 66 emblem next to the front windows. Someone had converted the gas station into a restaurant. It wouldn’t have been Katelyn’s first choice to eat here, either, but if food put a cork in Shirley’s mouth, then she didn’t mind dining with cockroaches. She parked next to the only vehicle in the lot—a rusty pickup with a missing tailgate and four bald tires.

  “I refuse to go in there.”

  “Suit yourself, but we’re not stopping again until we reach the motel.” No sooner had Katelyn left the car than the passenger door opened and Shirley followed her inside.

  The strong scent of lemon cleaner greeted them when they entered the café. “Welcome to Earl’s.” A redheaded waitress waved. “Have a seat anywhere.” She topped off the coffee mug of a young man texting on his iPhone between bites of food, then disappeared into the kitchen.

  Katelyn steered Shirley to a booth by the door. Once they sat on the black vinyl cushions, she trailed her fingertips across the scratched Formica tabletop, pleased to find it clean, even though scuff marks and coffee stains covered the vinyl flooring along with a few petrified French fries.

  Shirley removed the laminated menu from behind the plastic salt and pepper shakers and held it between her fingertips.

  If the situation weren’t so ass-backward nuts, Katelyn might have enjoyed baiting her mother-in-law, but there hadn’t been anything humorous about the tears that had welled in Shirley’s eyes yesterday when she’d walked into Michael’s bedroom and found Katelyn packing his swimming trophies.

  “Haven’t seen you ladies in here before.” The orange-haired waitress with dark eyebrows and poppy-colored lipstick set glasses of water on the table.

  “We’re on our way to visit family in Texas,” Katelyn said.

  “Name’s Beth.” The waitress propped her hands on her ample hips. “Can I get you something besides water to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Coke,” Katelyn said.

  Beth swung her gaze to Shirley.

  “Decaf coffee.”

  “Be back in a jiffy with your drink order.”

  Shirley sniffed. “We’ll probably be infected with intestinal worms after eating here.”

  “Pick a fried food and you’ll be fine.”

  Shirley scowled. “You can’t afford to put on any extra weight.”

  Katelyn’s snarky response was hijacked by Beth’s timely return with their drinks. “Ready to order?” the waitress asked.

  “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak.” She ignored Shirley’s pointed stare and asked, “How’s the fried okra?”

  “Decent.”

  “I’ll have a side order of that, please.”

  “Extra gravy?” Beth asked.

  “Why not?” Then Shirley could watch Katelyn’s thighs balloon up right before her eyes.

  “And for you, ma’am?”

  “Turkey on wheat, hold the mayonnaise.”

  “Fries?”

  “Heavens no.”

  “Comin’ right up, ladies.”

  Shirley tore open a packet of artificial sweetener and dumped the white powder into her coffee, then stirred. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

  “Thought what through?”

  “Not contesting the divorce.”

  “Don’s already moved on with another woman.” Jackson’s face flashed before Katelyn’s eyes. Where would she be in life right now if she hadn’t broken up with him after she went off to college?

  “I still think my son is having a midlife crisis.”

  Midlife crisis or not, he’d cheated on Katelyn, and once a cheater, always a cheater.

  “You need to revive your marriage.”

  “I’m not asking for your advice. I’ll figure things out on my own.”

  “Start by cutting your hair.” Not even a bulldozer across the mouth would shut this woman up when she wanted her opinion heard. “And if you insist on walking around in khaki pants all the time, at least wear bright-colored tops and shoes with a heel. You and Don have two wonderful kids, a beautiful home and eighteen years together. That’s worth fighting for.”

  Part of Katelyn wanted to concede those were valid reasons to try to save her marriage, but the words backed up in her throat.

  “Every woman needs a makeover when they turn forty,” Shirley said. “Forty is the new thirty. It wouldn’t hurt for you to have a little work done.”

  Other than having a tummy tuck five years after the twins had been born, Katelyn had avoided Botox and face-plumping gels, comfortable with the way she was aging. Had Don thought she’d become complacent?

  “A mini face-lift will help you compete with younger women.”

  She shouldn’t have had to compete with anyone. Katelyn imagined a tall blonde with firm boobs and a smooth, flat belly crawling beneath the covers with her husband.

  “If you take ten years off your face, Don will think twice about looking at other women.” Shirley sipped her coffee. “Mark my words, dear—being alone is no fun. At least consider giving my son a second chance. He’s been a good provider all these years, and you and the kids have wanted for nothing.”

  Maybe so, but Don wasn’t a man who worked to live; he lived to work. His identity and self-esteem were tied to his career, which had always come first—even before family. And because Katelyn had taken care of the kids, their home and his mother, she’d made it easy for Don to focus on himself. How had
she come to believe his happiness was paramount over hers? The Katelyn who’d left Little Springs to find her place in the world wouldn’t have let anyone hold her back.

  Beth arrived with their food. “Holler if you need anything else.”

  Katelyn sampled a piece of chicken-fried steak smothered in white gravy. Nothing special. “How’s your sandwich?”

  Shirley stabbed her fork into the bread—she was the only person Katelyn knew who used a fork and a knife to eat a sandwich. “Not as awful as I’d expect in a place like this.”

  They ate in silence, Shirley finishing her meal and Katelyn leaving half of hers untouched.

  “You didn’t like it?” Beth said, picking up Katelyn’s plate.

  “She’s watching her weight,” Shirley answered.

  “I guess that means you’re passing on dessert.” Beth winked.

  After gorging herself on Shirley’s birthday cake, Katelyn was swearing off sweets for a year. “We’ll take the check, please.”

  Beth set the tab on the table. “Drive safe, now.”

  After glancing at the amount, Katelyn left thirty dollars on the table.

  Shirley stared across the room where Beth chatted with the young man, then fished a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and added it to the bill.

  Surprised, Katelyn said, “That’s a huge tip.”

  “Beth is long overdue for a cut and color.”

  Everything came back to the hair.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Katelyn drove away from Earl’s and got on the interstate. She’d gone only a few miles when she glanced at the passenger-seat floor. “Where’s your purse?”

  Shirley stared at her feet. “It was right here a minute ago.”

  “I bet you left it in the booth at the restaurant.” Katelyn swallowed a groan and moved into the right lane, then took the next exit. Why hadn’t she noticed that Shirley had walked off without her purse?

  Ten minutes later Katelyn pulled up to the diner. “Wait here.” She went inside and thanked Beth for stowing the purse behind the counter and then returned to the car and handed it to Shirley.

  “Is all my money still there?”

  “I’m sure Beth didn’t help herself to your cash. Not after you left a nice tip.”

  Shirley opened her purse and rifled through her wallet.

  “Do you have all your credit cards?”

  “How many did I have?”

  “Two.” Don had taken over Shirley’s finances and canceled all her department store cards after she came to live with them.

  “I have them.” Shirley set her purse on the floor.

  Crisis handled, Katelyn merged onto the highway, then set the cruise control at seventy and took her foot off the gas.

  “Oh . . .” Shirley placed her hand against her stomach.

  Katelyn glanced across the seat. “What’s the matter?”

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Why didn’t you say something when we went back for your purse?”

  “My stomach didn’t bother me then.”

  A mile up the road a sign advertising GAS appeared, and for the third time in an hour, Katelyn left the highway.

  “This place is out of business,” Shirley said.

  Katelyn rolled through the four-way stop at the end of the exit ramp and turned into the gravel lot. “There’s an Open sign on the door.” Years of dirt and grime coated the exterior of the convenience store. Splotches of beige paint had been slapped over the graffiti on the brick. Posters advertising cigarettes, beer and fireworks wallpapered the front window, and a rusted ice machine, leaking water, sat on the cement slab next to the door. As soon as Katelyn parked, Shirley bolted from the car, leaving her purse behind.

  Katelyn waited ten minutes; then when Shirley hadn’t returned, she locked the Mercedes and went inside to check on her. A bell tied to the door announced her presence.

  OMG, as her daughter would have said. Two rows of metal shelving held an array of mystery foods, the endcaps filled with an assortment of toiletries: Aquafresh toothpaste, Lady Speed Stick deodorant, a package of white tube socks, a box of loose plastic combs for fifty-nine cents apiece, Gillette disposable razor blades, VO5 hair spray, Bic lighters and a twenty-four pack of Contempo Rough Rider Studded Condoms.

  “I got more choices behind the counter.”

  Startled, she glanced behind her. A middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a pockmarked face leaned against the register. Ketchup splatters marred the image of Jimi Hendrix on the front of his gray tank.

  “More choices?”

  “Love gloves . . . raincoats.” When he grinned, the lump of tobacco inside his mouth crawled up his cheek and rested beneath his right eye.

  “I’m looking for my mother-in-law.” Katelyn’s gaze skipped over the aisles, but Shirley’s straw-colored head was nowhere in sight.

  He jutted his chin toward the Employees Only sign hanging on the far wall. “She ain’t too friendly.”

  Since Katelyn had insisted on eating at Earl’s, she felt compelled to defend Shirley. “My mother-in-law has her good points.” She looked out the window and stared longingly at the car, hoping they’d make it to Norman before dark; then she walked to the back of the store and knocked on the door. “Shirley?”

  No answer.

  “Are you okay?”

  The roar of a flushing toilet met her ears. The door opened, and a pasty-faced Shirley—shirttail hanging out of her slacks and beads of perspiration dotting her forehead—glared at her. “This is all your fault.”

  Katelyn kept her mouth closed because Shirley looked miserable, and escorted the wobbly woman to the front of the store.

  “If you hadn’t insisted we eat at that filthy—”

  “Fresh air will help.” She ignored the clerk’s grin and hustled her mother-in-law outside. After helping her into the car, Katelyn started the engine and turned on the air. “Hold tight.” She went back into the market and picked out a liter of Sprite, a box of crackers with a week-old expiration date and a travel-sized bottle of Pepto-Bismol. “Where’s the nearest motel?”

  “Stroud is ten miles down the road. The town’s got a couple of places.” He pushed the items toward her. “You want a bag?”

  She shook her head. “How much?”

  “Sixteen dollars and twelve cents.”

  She set a twenty on the counter.

  “You want the change?”

  “Yes.” She dropped the coins into the plastic charity tub next to the register, figuring the money would find its way into the man’s pocket the second she drove off.

  After Katelyn got behind the wheel, she held out the bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

  Shirley took a swig of the medicine, then closed her eyes. “I don’t understand why your mother couldn’t visit you in St. Louis.”

  “Because unlike us, she works.” Katelyn drove away from the store.

  “You should have ordered the turkey sandwich. I think I lost ten pounds in that bathroom.”

  Not even Montezuma’s revenge could curb Shirley’s sharp tongue. “We’re stopping for the night in Stroud. It’s right up the road.” Fifteen minutes later she spotted a sign in the shape of a giant pink poodle.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Shirley said when Katelyn parked in front of the motel office.

  “It’ll be fine for one night. Besides, you’re in no shape to travel.”

  “It probably has—”

  “I’ll check for bedbugs when we get in the room.” Katelyn unbuckled her belt.

  Shirley pressed her hand to her stomach and leaned forward in the seat. “Hurry.”

  Inside the office a kaleidoscope of pink hues greeted Katelyn. A woman wearing bright pink lipstick, which matched her pink blouse, glanced up from a magazine and smiled. “Welcome to the—”

&n
bsp; “I need a room fast. My mother-in-law is ill.”

  The woman punched a code into a small machine on the counter, slid the key card through and then handed it to Katelyn. “Room three.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Katelyn hurried outside, where Shirley leaned against the hood of the car. “Our room is right here.” She swiped the card and then opened the door and flipped on the lights. Shirley raced into the bathroom and Katelyn closed the door, giving her some privacy.

  “Is your mother-in-law going to be all right?” the pink lady asked when Katelyn returned to the office.

  “We ate at Earl’s and something didn’t agree with her.”

  The woman grimaced. “A junkyard dog wouldn’t eat at that place.”

  “Don’t tell my mother-in-law that.”

  “Name’s Raquel.” She came out from behind the counter, exposing her pink-and-gray poodle skirt—circa 1956.

  “Nice to meet you, Raquel. I’m Katelyn. My mother-in-law’s name is Shirley.”

  “Where are you ladies headed?”

  “Little Springs, Texas.”

  “Never heard of the place. You grow up there?”

  “I sure did. I live in St. Louis now.”

  “I’m not a fan of big cities. I spent some time in Fayetteville, Arkansas, years ago, and the traffic drove me nuts.”

  “I doubt you have much traffic in Stroud.”

  “Fourth of July is pretty hectic here, but that’s about it.” Raquel wagged her finger at a table next to the door. “Be sure to sign the guest book before you leave. I take all credit cards except American Express.” Raquel returned behind the counter and tapped the computer keyboard.

  Katelyn scrawled her signature in the guest book using the pink poodle pen, then handed Raquel her Visa card. “Your motel would look right at home on the Las Vegas Strip.” The outside of the single-story brick structure had been painted pearlescent pink and the doors magenta. The place screamed Girls only—boys keep out.