Susan looked over her shoulder at the sweaty senior in back.
"We'll keep the windows down, Mom. It's going to get a lot hotter when we drive through the Mojave, so be sure to let us know when you need a break."
"Count on it," Elizabeth said.
Susan laughed to herself. She wondered how her mother would handle riding in a hot car for more than three thousand miles, but she didn't wonder long. She knew Elizabeth Campbell was a tough woman who had faced much worse in nearly eighty years.
Susan straightened the mirror that Amanda had left askew, checked her own appearance, and then waved to Mr. Oil Check as he lowered the hood. She gazed out the front window. In the distance, about thirty yards out, two men tore up a sidewalk with jackhammers and created more noise than dueling grunge bands. One bore a strong resemblance to Stanley Laurel, the other to Oliver Hardy. Both reminded the novelist that she was in a very different place.
When the chief attendant approached the window and asked for a dollar, Susan smiled, reached into her purse, and pulled out five. She didn't mind giving a large tip for a service that didn't require a gratuity. Her money would go a long way in an age where gasoline was ten cents a gallon.
"Keep the change, share it with the others, and buy something nice for your ladies," Susan said as she handed the bills to the man in the cap. "You boys did a fine job."
"Thank you, ma'am," Mr. Full Service said. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Yes. You can make me a latte.
"No. I think we're good to go."
The attendant furrowed his brows.
"I think we have everything we need," Susan said.
"Where are you ladies headed?"
"We're driving to Needles today and to the Grand Canyon tomorrow."
"So you're on vacation?" the attendant asked.
"You could say that."
"Then have an enjoyable trip."
"That's our plan," Susan said. She glanced at Amanda. "That's the plan."
CHAPTER 12: AMANDA
Coconino County, Arizona – Saturday, September 17, 1938
Amanda knew she had a problem as soon as she turned off Route 66 and onto a road that looked more like a bike path than the principal highway to Grand Canyon National Park. The needle on the gas gauge had pushed its way left and reminded the driver that even luxury cars with eighteen-gallon tanks sometimes ran out of gas.
She glanced at her mother, who slept at her side, and then at her grandmother, who snoozed away in a back seat that had become her home away from home. She thought about waking them to alert them to the situation but decided to let them sleep.
There was nothing either Susan or Elizabeth could do in a situation like this. The women would either run out of gas before they reached the South Rim or they would not.
So Amanda eased up on the accelerator and tried to squeeze the most out of every drop in the tank. Settling into the seat of a car that drove like a dream, she gazed lazily at the road ahead and thought about the weeks and months to come.
She conceded there was much to think about. In the span of two weeks, she had gone from a college graduate bound for a California vacation and a District of Columbia job to an almost twenty-two-year-old in a frumpy dress bound for New Jersey in the Age of Steinbeck.
Amanda had seen more than a few reminders of that age on the long, hot drive from Los Angeles to Needles. In town after town, she saw the sights that defined a place and a time: antique trucks carrying onions, peaches, and melons to market; migrant workers picking lettuce, strawberries, and potatoes in open fields; and men, women, and children walking into and out of dusty, dilapidated shacks that they called home.
She recalled seeing The Grapes of Wrath in high school and writing an essay touting the film's effective use of stark black-and-white imagery. She hadn't seen much in black and white on the journey to Needles, but she had seen a lot that was stark. Even in a state where jobs were plentiful, signs of the Great Depression were everywhere.
Amanda looked out her window and saw that the sun had begun to dip below the western horizon. She had seen a lot of Old Sol on the drive through the desert but not at the end of a day. With a fiery red hue that matched the Cadillac's metallic Oxblood Maroon finish, the big ball was as impressive as any the driver had ever seen.
Then Amanda checked the rear-view mirror and saw something else she hadn't seen, at least not since she had stopped at a vegetable stand near Kingman. She saw a black Ford pickup with a dented left front fender. She didn't need a closer look to know that its operator had scars on his face and suggestive tattoos on his muscular arms.
When the truck picked up speed and approached the Cadillac, Amanda tapped on the brakes and slowed to forty miles per hour and then to thirty. She wanted to make it easy for the driver to pass and was both surprised and unnerved when he didn't.
What are you up to, mister?
Deciding that Scar Face was probably up to no good, Amanda stepped on the pedal and slowly increased her speed to fifty. She started to push it toward sixty when she remembered that she was riding on fumes and that faster speeds would only hasten the moment she ran out of gas.
Amanda glanced again in the mirror and noticed that the truck had pulled to within a few feet of the Cadillac. She also saw that Scar Face had a buddy, a burly, impatient gent who pounded the outside of his door with his open hand.
She grabbed a small carrot out of a paper bag that sat in the middle of the front seat and tried to calm her nerves by chewing it. When that didn't work, she grabbed another and pondered a future where she could summon help and frighten off tormentors with a single cell-phone call.
Amanda peered out her window at the western sky and saw the sun had finally dropped out of sight. Darkness was falling over the vast empty desert and falling at a time that was particularly inconvenient. She tapped the brakes again and slowed to thirty-five as the Cadillac entered a flat, straight stretch.
Amanda breathed a sigh of relief when Scar Face moved into the left lane and proceeded to pass but froze when he pulled even with the Sixty Special to get a better look at the disconcerted blonde. She resisted glancing at either the driver or his passenger but succumbed to curiosity after fifteen seconds.
She turned her head slowly to the left and saw that the passenger was a younger, less appealing version of the driver. Like Scar Face, he wore a white T-shirt, a crew cut, and an ugly smirk. Unlike his friend, he expressed himself with body parts. Junior stuck his closed hand out his window and moved it up and down in a jerking motion.
Amanda reached for another carrot, put it in her mouth, and whittled it down like a beaver gnawing on a birch tree. When she saw a blind curve in the distance, she stepped on the accelerator and forced Scar Face to drop behind her in the right lane.
The reprieve lasted only a minute. When the vehicles entered another flat, straight stretch, Scar Face moved into the left lane and again pulled even with the Sixty Special.
Amanda turned to face the passenger and tried to determine whether he was merely annoying or something worse. She got an answer quickly.
"How about coming with us, doll face?" Junior asked. "We'll show you a good time."
Amanda snapped her eyes forward and stepped on the pedal, but her actions only encouraged the scary young men. She watched with growing concern as Scar Face again pulled even and his sidekick resumed his pursuit of a nervous college graduate.
Junior stared at Amanda for a moment and gave her a sinister grin. Then he flashed her the victory sign and slithered a disgustingly long black tongue between his fingers.
Amanda thought about Jeanette Bell's decision to provide the travelers with modest attire and wondered if there was a dress on the planet frumpy enough to repel these cretins. She glanced again at Junior and decided there wasn't.
She reached to her right and prepared to wake Susan from her slumber, but she withdrew her hand when the pickup suddenly surged forward. When the truck sped away and disappeared into the nea
r darkness, she let out a breath, grabbed another carrot, and returned her eyes to the road.
Amanda checked the gas gauge and saw that the needle had firmly attached itself to the line on the left. She wondered if gauges in 1938 were as precise as those in 2016 and prayed they were not. She didn't want any more excitement on this trip.
As soon as she rounded another bend, however, she got it. Seconds after she passed a pickup parked on the side of the road, the driver of the vehicle flipped on his headlights. Within a minute, Scar Face and Junior were back in the hunt.
Amanda reached again for her mother but pulled back her hand when she saw a green sign in the distance. She sighed and smiled when she drew close enough to read the sign's clear, welcoming message: GRAND CANYON 3 MILES. She was going to make it.
Scar Face wiped the smile from her face. He passed the Cadillac and slowed to thirty miles per hour, forcing Amanda to quickly hit the brakes. When he slowed to twenty, she veered into the left lane and started to pass. She didn't like the idea of driving in the wrong lane in limited visibility, but she liked the idea of stopping even less.
Amanda passed the pickup just as Scar Face attempted to block her way by driving in front of her. She reclaimed the right lane and pressed the pedal to the floor. She felt her heart race when the pickup closed the gap and then skip a beat when she heard a piston pop. She wasn't just driving on fumes anymore. She was driving on air.
Amanda eased up on the accelerator when she saw the lights of the village. She could now measure safety in terms of yards and not miles. When she passed the first of several buildings a minute later, she slowed to thirty and looked for the lodge. She found it immediately.
The time traveler turned into the parking lot of the lodge and watched with relief as Scar Face drove past and headed out of sight. She heard a second piston pop and then another as she navigated her way toward a lighted entry. She felt the car shudder as it rolled to a stop less than forty feet from the office door.
Frightened, relieved, and on the verge of tears, Amanda Peterson lowered her head and rested it on the steering wheel. She did not lift it again until she heard her mother stir and then greet her with a soothing voice.
"Are we at the lodge?" Susan asked.
"We're at the lodge," Amanda said.
"You don't look so good, honey. Are you OK?"
Amanda looked at her mother like she had just asked the dumbest question in history. Then she sighed, smiled, and nodded.
"I've never felt better."
CHAPTER 13: SUSAN
Grand Canyon, Arizona – Friday, September 23, 1938
As she trudged up the narrow path three thousand feet above the Colorado River, Susan Peterson reminded herself of two facts. The first was that she was moderately acrophobic. The second was that she was no longer as fit and trim as when she was eighteen years old, when she had first been talked into hiking the Bright Angel Trail in Grand Canyon National Park.
She laughed at the thought of her 1986 visit to the park, which had technically not yet occurred, and picked up the pace. A moment later she caught up to the daughter who had talked her into this latest adventure and tapped her on the shoulder.
"Slow down, cowgirl, or you're going to leave your mama in the dust," Susan said.
Amanda turned around.
"Are you ready for a rest?"
Susan sighed.
"I was ready when we left Phantom Ranch."
Amanda laughed.
"There's a wide spot about a hundred yards up where we can stop and take a breather. Can you make it that far?"
"I've made it this far, haven't I?" Susan asked.
Amanda smiled.
"Let's go."
Ten minutes and two hundred yards later, the women climbed on a flat rock, opened their canteens, and replenished their fluids for the first time in nearly an hour. Susan could not remember a time when warm, coppery water tasted so sweet.
"Thanks for stopping," Susan said. "I don't have the energy I used to have."
"You're doing fine, Mom. I'm proud of you," Amanda said. "Next time we'll get Grandma to come. I'll put her on a mule myself if I have to."
Susan laughed when she thought about dinner Tuesday night, when Amanda had first proposed traveling to the bottom of the canyon. Elizabeth had given the idea ten seconds of thought before telling her daughter and granddaughter to "have a nice time." She had remained behind at the lodge to play cards with other seniors and view the world's largest chasm from the relative safety of its rim.
"I would pay to see that," Susan said.
Amanda smiled sadly.
"I'll bet you would."
Susan sipped from her canteen, gazed at the stunning rocks on the northern side of the canyon, and then turned to face her daughter. She was happy to see Amanda in relatively good spirits just days after a frightening encounter with two thugs in a truck.
Amanda had reported the incident to park police but had failed to find justice. Scar Face, Junior, and the dented Ford had vanished from the vicinity as quickly as they had appeared.
Susan studied Amanda more closely and saw her stare blankly into space. She could see that her daughter had moved on to a more serious matter. She was no doubt thinking of something she had not shared on the trip through the canyon.
"Are you thinking about the men who harassed you?" Susan asked.
"No," Amanda said. "I'm thinking about Dad. I'm thinking about how much he would have loved a hike like this."
Susan couldn't take issue with that. Bruce Peterson would have enjoyed the hike immensely and probably found a way to get Elizabeth on a mule. He had been an outdoorsman who rarely passed up an opportunity to see nature up close.
"Do you think about him a lot?" Susan asked. "You haven't talked about him much."
Amanda shifted her eyes from the canyon to Susan.
"I think about him every day, Mom. I think about all the good times we had when I was growing up and the support he provided after Brandon dumped me. I'm sad."
"Your tone suggests you're more than sad. Are you angry?"
"I'm very angry," Amanda said. "I'm angry that I won't have a father to walk me down the aisle or mentor my children. I'm angry I've been denied something so many other women my age take for granted."
"Is that all?" Susan asked.
"No. I'm also mad that Dad threw it all away. I will never understand why he did what he did. He had a family that loved him and supported him. He had everything."
"He did."
Susan paused for a moment to think about the husband she had loved, nurtured, and buried. She thought about the things he had done, both good and bad, and about how her life had changed since that awful morning in Wisconsin. Like many widows who had more living to do than dying, she also struggled with how best to proceed. When you had to reinvent yourself at age forty-eight, there was a lot to think about.
"Why do you think he did it?" Amanda asked. "Why do you think he cheated?"
Susan put her arm around her daughter.
"I don't know, honey. I really don't. I know only that men respond to middle age in different ways. Some count their blessings and embrace what they have. Others ask questions and look for answers in the wrong places. If something was missing from your father's life, it was something he didn't share with me."
Amanda stared at her mother.
"Did you love him?"
"You know I did," Susan said without hesitating. "I often wanted to wring his neck, but I never stopped loving him. I didn't stop loving him even after I learned of his affair. Despite what he did to me, I would have worked to save our marriage because life with him, in my humble opinion, would have still been better than life without him."
Amanda put her arm around her hiking buddy.
"I thought that was the case, but I needed to hear you say it. I needed to know there wasn't more to Dad's affair than a simple error in judgment," Amanda said. She pulled Susan close. "I love you, Mom."
Susan kissed Amand
a on the head.
"I love you too, sweetheart."
Susan watched two strapping men in khaki shirts and shorts approach from the trail below. She smiled and waved at the hikers as they passed the rock.
"You're shameless, Mother," Amanda said a moment later. "Those guys are my age."
Susan laughed.
"I'm just being friendly. There's no harm in that, is there?"
"I suppose not."
Susan brushed off her pants, stood up, and gazed at the stunning landscape ahead. She saw sagebrush, switchbacks, and steep terrain but not a whole lot of people. Nearly all the hikers they had followed up the trail had disappeared from sight.
"Do you think we're getting close?" Susan asked.
"We're getting close. We should reach the top in an hour or two," Amanda said. "Why do you ask? Are you in a hurry?"
"I am."
"You're eager to get to the rim?"
"I'm eager to resume our journey," Susan said. "I think we both need to think a little less about the past and a little more about the weeks ahead. There is an adventure waiting for us out there – a big one. I think it's time we gave it a loving embrace."
CHAPTER 14: ELIZABETH
Miami, Oklahoma – Saturday, October 1, 1938
Sitting on a bench in Riverview Park, Elizabeth Campbell tried to reconcile what she saw with what she remembered. She succeeded with minimal effort.
She knew, of course, that the scene was not the same. She needed only to glance at the cars in a nearby parking lot to know that she was in 1938 and not 1958.
Yet every time she saw a couple sit at a table or spread a blanket on the grass, she saw a man in khaki slacks and a blonde in a pleated pink dress. She saw birds and bees and a picnic that went awry. She saw one of the most memorable days of her life.
"Does this place look familiar?" Susan asked.
Elizabeth nodded.
"It does. There are fewer trees and picnic tables and not as many paths, but otherwise it's the same park. I'll never forget this place."
Mercer Street (American Journey Book 2) Page 8