Megan was approaching Baker City, OR., rolling west on the freeway in the small U-Haul truck. The cargo area was just long enough for her bed to be tied along one side leaving more than enough room for her bicycle and boxes. She was being careful because she hadn’t driven much in the last five years and very little of it on any freeway. She was more comfortable with buses, her bicycle, and an occasional taxi ride instead of a cargo vehicle.
She had a few tense moments coming over the first pass when crosswinds pushed the broadsided vehicle around. She had decided in the first eighty miles that she would take her time on the road and not push the speed limit. She had all day to get to Seattle and get her stuff moved into the apartment.
A smile crossed her face knowing she would have help unloading since her friend Dayna and her husband Steve had offered. Then she would have Saturday and Sunday to get settled and be ready to start classes on Monday.
Staring out of the windshield, down the long ribbon of road, reminded her of the last time she had moved, from Illinois to Boise. The first time all her stuff easily fit in her old maroon Honda Accord. She owned more clothes then, dresses and blouses, pants, coats, and sweaters. And shoes; several big boxes of shoes. Now she had five pair, and the dresses were mostly gone. She had lost twenty pounds, so they did not fit and had been discarded along with her long tresses. Now her life was about efficiency and getting ready for work or classes in a matter of minutes. The car was gone too, sold when the front end started having trouble and the mechanic quoted her fifteen hundred dollars for repairs.
She was excited about the future but sad to be leaving Boise. She loved the kids and most of her older patients, and the city had treated her well.
Thank you, Boise.
The Oregon Trail Museum was in Baker, and she thought about stopping, not sure when she would be back in the area. But her Thermos still had coffee and she did not need to use a bathroom, so she kept driving.
With a sigh Megan realized she was still avoiding Bill.
She had called her mom in tears and they talked for a long time that night.
Her Mom pointed out that Matt had been out of line for verbally attacking them and Bill had stood up for her, an admirable trait. Megan already knew drunks could be dangerous and vicious, which Matt had certainly turned out to be. Then he had attacked Bill, calling him names, a “has been” of all things, in a public place.
Her mom remarked that of all the things Bill could have done, how he could have belittled Matt, he had made his point by breaking a silly machine and then offered to pay for it.
It had shut Matt up. She knew from bitter personal experience that belligerent drunks often became violent and rarely stopped until they hurt someone, got in an accident, or passed out. The realization hit her that it was a drunk driver that had caused Bill’s accident and almost ended his career. He had a reason to despise drunks as well.
“Men, and women, should have pride, Megan. Do you love this man?”
“I thought I did, Mom. Now I’m not sure. He scared me.”
Her mom had given a last piece of advice. “Think it through, then. Bill sounds like a good man.”
A big truck and trailer were almost upon her spewing black smoke out of its vertical exhaust stacks. She had to concentrate as the wind from its passing pushed her sideways on the road.
When driving settled back down she decided to relax and enjoy the ride. An exciting phase of her life would start at the end of this section of Interstate.
Medical school.
A new apartment and city.
A new life and a new job.
Bill hadn’t been anything but nice, so she decided to give herself more time to sort it out.
With a smile she turned on the stereo and reached for her coffee.
She didn’t want to think about Bill anymore today.