The Road at My Door

by Lori Windsor Mohr

  Our headlights woke the attendant, who didn’t look much older than me. I smiled and faked a confident air. While he pumped gas and cleaned the windshield, I went to the restroom and slapped cold water on my face. The crisp night air also perked me up. I took my time walking back to the car.

  I paid the attendant, who threw me a questioning look. He eyed Dad, then me, then Dad again. I thanked him and pulled away from the pump and tried to calm my nerves. The engine revved in excitement when I pushed too hard on the gas. I let up and pressed again. The car lurched its way onto the on ramp. I could hear Dad’s head bounce against the window as the right wheels kicked up dust on the shoulder. I steadied the car and lined it up with the road until all four touched pavement. He didn’t wake up.

  I watched for San Francisco on the highway signs overhead. Traffic picked up with morning commuters the closer we got to San Jose. I stayed in the slow lane and an hour later poured into downtown San Francisco with the flow.

  It was almost nine o’clock. The streets were choked with traffic—cars, buses, taxis—nothing like Pacific Palisades, even at its busiest. A big truck honked and I was forced to change lanes. I veered left without looking and got another honk. The sudden swerve and second honk managed to wake Dad.

  He said he was too groggy and would direct me through the congestion. It was a miracle we made it without crashing or killing a pedestrian. We snaked along streets left dark in the shadow of glass and concrete monoliths in search of a phone booth. Dad groaned as I passed the first one. The parking space seemed too small and I didn’t know how to parallel park. The second phone booth had a space nearby wide enough that I could slide most of the Ford off the street. As it was I hit the curb, scraping the front whitewall tire.

  I watched Dad from the rear view mirror. He closed the booth and flipped through the phone book. A few minutes later he came back. There was no number listed under Jane Sommers. We would go straight to the address on the Christmas card. He popped open the glove box and rifled through the Auto Club maps.

  Drawing a line with his finger, he directed me across the city. We parked in front of Jane’s apartment on Presidio Avenue. Dad tucked in his sleep-wrinkled shirt. He surveyed the old Victorian house, then walked up the stairs and knocked.

  A man answered. Dad shook his head, gesturing with his hands. The door closed. She didn’t live here anymore. There was no forwarding address.

  Dad stretched his neck side to side. Disappointment dwarfed him as he slumped in the seat. I suggested we go home. He wanted to find another phone booth and call FD.

  On the phone with FD, Dad ran his fingers through his hair and shuffled his feet in the cramped booth. A few minutes later, he hung up. He stayed inside with his back to me. I was about to get out when I saw his shoulders shaking. He covered his face.

  I felt totally helpless. There was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do. Except Mom.

  Dad tightened his trench coat against the wind and walked toward the car. I opened the map and stuck it in front of my face so he wouldn’t know I’d seen him cry.

  “Jack doesn’t know anything. He suggested we find a motel and come home tomorrow.”

  “I want to go home now, Daddy.” My heart was breaking at the sight of him.

  He leaned against the window. “You’ve been up all night, Reese. You shouldn’t drive. And I shouldn’t either.”

  “I’m okay. If I get tired, we can stop and sleep for a couple of hours.”

  He nodded wearily, grateful not to have made the decision. I pulled away from the curb and did whatever I could to keep from making a three-point turn. I fumbled my way through the city. Dad wouldn’t be any help at this point. Besides, he had fallen asleep. It was just as well. Between being scared to change lanes and getting caught in the quagmire of one-way streets, it didn’t take long before I was totally lost.

  An hour later, I spotted a green sign in the distance. Like a beacon in the night, I followed it to the highway heading south.

  I stayed in the slow lane and watched for cities I’d noted going north. Four hours later, I could hardly keep my eyes open. A sign for Pismo Beach appeared.

  I figured this was as good a place as any and it looked like an easy off and on the highway. The fewer people who saw me the better. Sooner or later someone was going to notice my driving. I turned toward the ocean and found my way to an empty beach. In no time I was asleep.

  In my dream I heard kids yelling and the sound of skateboards clacking over a wooden boardwalk. I struggled to wake up. The dream pulled me down. A while later I was jarred awake by two surfers running past the car.

  I shivered and turned the heater on high. I did a double take. Dad was awake. The ocean was dazzling in the afternoon sun. I lowered his visor to block the glare, breaking him out of a stupor.

  “It’s hard to imagine anything can be this beautiful when—” He choked up. “I’m sorry, Peanut, sorry I dragged you all the way up here for nothing. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ve done a pretty good job behind the wheel though. Reminds me of myself at your age, driving a tractor back home in Texas. Where are we anyway?”

  “We’re in Pismo, halfway home I think. Let’s drink that thermos of coffee.”

  We ate our sandwiches in silence. It was the first thing I’d eaten since last night’s grilled cheese dinner. I didn’t want to disillusion Dad with how scared I’d been driving in the city, lost with no clue how to maneuver the car to get from Point A to Point B without lane changes and left hand turns. If I hadn’t noticed the southbound sign, we would still be trapped on one-way streets going nowhere.

  Dad insisted I drink the whole thermos of coffee, fully aware how long I’d been driving.

  Revived with caffeine and a two-hour nap, I backtracked to the highway and headed home.

  8 A New Order

  The next morning Dad called his office again, this time claiming a stubborn case of flu. It felt like winter inside and outside the house, cold as a tomb. If I forgot to turn on the thermostat before leaving for school, it wouldn’t be on when I got home. Most days I walked in to a cold house and Dad lost somewhere between wake and sleep, oblivious to the temperature.

  I stumbled through school, using every ounce of strength to act normal. Nights were the worst. After tossing and turning half the night, I would drift off to sleep in the wee hours. At seven the alarm would blast and I would wake up exhausted. Dad slept on the couch most nights, if you could call it sleep. He ventured into his and Mom’s bedroom for a shower and fresh clothes every few days after I’d reminded him.

  It was hard to squeeze more than a small bag into the basket of my bike, so trips to Pronto Market for groceries were frequent. Dinners consisted of Kraft macaroni and cheese, raw carrots and celery, sandwiches, soup, hard boiled eggs, and the occasional hamburger patty. Dad ate only half of what I put on his plate.

  My schedule remained the same to fend off suspicion. I came right home after school. Dad would usually be in the same spot in the kitchen staring into space or on the couch doing the same. I’d force myself to chatter about my day and he would respond with vague eyes and a monotone voice. “That’s good, Peanut.”

  FD showed up every few days those first few weeks. As the weeks melted into one indistinguishable block of time, his visits withered to phone calls. The conversation was always the same.

  Witnessing Dad deteriorate before my eyes was slow torture. There was nothing I could do for him, nothing I could say. He was beyond consolation. I wasn’t much better off. It was like trying to slow a fast moving freight train, plummeting out of control down the mountain.

  I wasn’t afraid the crash would kill me. I was afraid it wouldn’t.

  February 4, 1964

  Dear Kit,

  I’m writing with bad news. A month ago, Mom left me and Dad. Just upped and went. We have no idea where she is. FD doesn’t even know. Daddy hasn’t been going to work. All he does is sit and stare at the walls. I have to bug him to eat and shower.


  When FD calls, Dad begs for information, but he’s in the same boat as us. Anyway, it’s horrible and I don’t know what to do about Daddy. If you have any advice, I sure could use it. If I mail this today, you should get it in ten days. Please answer fast because I’m pretty desperate here.

  We sure are living in two different universes, you and I. You’re having a baby and I’ve lost a mom.

  Love, Reese

  It was almost the end of the second month. Dad had started going into the office for a day here and there. I had no idea how he functioned or what his colleagues thought. He looked sick, that’s a fact. His clothes were baggy, his face haggard. It was obvious he couldn’t concentrate and he couldn’t have been much use at work. His boss encouraged him to take extra sick time if needed. I knew my dad. This effort was for me. He was trying to pull his weight at home, not at work. Even the few days a week he went into the office I took as a good sign.

  As time went on we began to assume some semblance of normal life. Dad dropped me off at school on the mornings he went into work. On weekends, I did laundry and he mowed the lawn, keeping the house up to avoid drawing attention. He explained to his golfing buddies that a new project demanded he bow out for the time being.

  One night I made spaghetti and meatballs, a favorite of Dad’s. We ate in silence, as we usually did, avoiding conversation about the only thing on our minds. I stayed in the kitchen after doing dishes and finished my homework, then joined Dad in the living room. It was dark. I didn’t bother turning on a lamp. Dad stared blankly into the fire, its light accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. I threw on another log and plopped next to him on the couch.

  “I finally finished memorizing The Raven.”

  He sounded wistful, as if recalling a life long since gone. “I read Poe in college. Why don’t you recite it for me? We’ll see if you’ve got it.”

  “It’s not exactly the most uplift—”

  “No, I want to hear it.”

  Why did he want to hear this depressing poem? Darn Poe. Why couldn’t he write about something happy? I slumped in the couch, wishing I were anywhere other than in the dark with my father, about to tell him a bedtime story of utter despair.

  Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

  Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

  Halfway through I paused. Dad was resting his head on the back on the couch.

  “Go on.”

  Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

  And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor…

  I finished reciting. At first I thought Dad had fallen asleep. I looked closer and saw his wet eyelashes. My bear of a father lay broken before me. No wonder he’d wanted to hear The Raven. Poe was despondent in the poem, a friend in the same boat with Dad.

  I accepted that Dad needed Mom. He needed me, too, needed me to give him a reason to get through each day. And I needed him. As long as we were together, I could keep going. I made a promise that no matter what, I would never desert my father. I would never break his heart the way Kit and Mom had.

  In the silence I longed to curl up in my Daddy’s arms, both of us reassuring each other that everything would be okay. Instead, I stifled the sob in my chest and sat with him in the semidarkness. His hand flopped around in search of mine. He squeezed it. I was glad his eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the tears in mine.

  This was the closest we had come to talking about Mom, the agony of not knowing where she was, or if we would ever see her again. After a while he released my hand with a pat. I kissed him on the cheek and went to bed.

  *

  Almost three months after Mom had disappeared we still had no clue as to her whereabouts. Dad looked like a different man, all life drained from his face and twenty pounds from his frame. Other than showing up at work two days a week, he didn’t leave the house. We settled into an existence of parallel solitude.

  It was a Tuesday, a workday for Dad. I was going to surprise him with baked chicken and steamed asparagus for dinner, a level up from macaroni and cold vegetables. A quick trip to Pronto and I had the goods.

  Blocked from view by the grocery bag, I didn’t see Dad at first. I put the bag on the counter and jumped. He was at the kitchen table with a face full of misery.

  “Dad! You scared me. Why are you home so early?”

  He didn’t look at me. “Reese, come sit down. I have something to tell you.”

  “Is it Mom? Has something happened?”

  Dad swallowed like his throat was sore. “Jack called me at the office and asked me to meet him here.”

  My whole body tightened.

  “Mom is in Laguna Beach.”

  “Laguna Beach? What’s she doing there?”

  “She’s living in a cottage Jack rented for her.”

  “You mean…you mean he knew where she was this whole time?”

  “Mom swore him to secrecy.”

  But he knew all this time? “Well, what is she doing? When is she coming home?”

  “Not for a while yet. Last fall… when Mom was seeing a client, one of the parishioners Jack referred…he raped her.”

  “Raped her?” My mind reeled. “Why would Mom leave us if she’d been hurt? Is she hiding from him…is that why she left? I mean…isn’t he in jail?”

  “No. Jack has taken action within the church. He won’t hurt her again…but for the sake of everyone’s reputation…ours as well as the parish…because Mom was counseling him as a church volunteer…she and Jack both thought it best if we keep the whole thing quiet.”

  “She let us go through hell all this time for the sake of a stupid reputation? We would’ve kept it quiet! We could’ve avoided everything we’ve gone through these last three months! Why would she not tell us?”

  “Because that’s not why she left. There’s more to it.” He ran both hands over his face, as if he might see a different reality after clearing the haze. He finally looked at me. “Your mother’s pregnant.”

  “Pregnant? But—” I shook my head in confusion, turning the word over in my mind. I couldn’t fathom it. “Well…what happens now? Is Mom going to stay there with the baby?”

  “No. She’s not keeping the baby. Jack has arranged with the local parish to find an adoptive family.”

  “She’s going to have it and give it to some family? Like make them conservators?”

  “No, she’s giving the baby up. It’s a private adoption. They’ll be the legal parents.”

  “I don’t understand. Why is she even having it? Every birthday she brings up the story of how she almost died having me, how the doctor said she should never have another baby because it could kill her. Why would she have this baby if it might kill her?”

  “I don’t have all the answers yet. I’m still trying to absorb this myself. All Jack said was that she’s having this baby. Then afterward…when she’s up to it…she’ll come home.”

  “Come home? You mean…just reappear after all this time? I thought she wanted to be separated. Why can’t she stay there? We won’t worry now that we know where she is, know she’s okay.”

  “Reese, your mother has been through a terrible ordeal. And it’s not over. The baby is due in August. Her health is in danger. In the meantime, Jack will relay my message that you and I will visit.”

  “Visit? Are you kidding? I’m not going to visit her!” I stared at him, my mouth agape.

  “Reese, listen, this was not her fault. She was raped. Can you imagine what she’s been through?”

  Every muscle in my body tightened. “Daddy, for almost three months you and I have been struggling to make it from one day to the next. She didn’t care one bit about what we were going through. Maybe you can ask her to imagine what it’s been like for me having my mother…or for you, having your wife…disappear into thin air, not knowing whether she’s dead or alive!”

  “Look, it’s not that simple.” I turned my face away. “Reese
… Peanut…this is what we’ve been waiting for, to find out where she’d gone and why.”

  “So now that we know, that means everything is hunky dory? You’re just going to let her come home?”

  “Everything is hardly hunky dory. But she is your mother. She is my wife. We will go visit her. And after the baby’s born she will come home.”

  For once in his life, my impassive father had taken a stand. Or had he? Like the random spanking of me and Kit, was he Mom’s proxy? It wasn’t a stand at all was my guess. This was the plan she had laid out for Dad to follow. Master puppeteer that she was, Mom had reached all the way up the coast from Laguna Beach to pull his strings.

  “This is going to work out, honey. Once Mom comes home everything will go back to normal, you’ll see.”

  The voice that came out wasn’t my own, its tone dark with malice. “Nothing will ever be normal again. Mom’s ruined everything.”

  “Reese, please—”

  “I have no choice but to go to Laguna Beach with you, but I’m not setting foot in her house or speaking to her. Can I go now?”

  Dad reached out to touch my arm. I pushed my chair back with a loud scrape and stomped out, tempted as I’d ever been to slam the bedroom, Kit-style. Instead, I blew off steam with a letter to her.

  March 28, 1964

  Dear Kit,

  Well, everything here is a big, fat mess. We found out Mom is in Laguna Beach living in some cottage that FD rented for her. He knew the entire time! And you’re not going to believe this part…she’s pregnant! She was raped (!) by one of her clients. She’s going to have the baby and give it away to a family in the parish down there. FD arranged the whole thing.

  Dad says Mom is coming home after the baby. He actually wants us to go visit her until then. I can’t believe he’s willing to let her come home after what she’s put him through, us through.

  Sometimes I think I’ll explode if I have to keep one more stinking secret! And now I guess I do. The biggest one of all.

  Please write back soon.

  Love, Reese