After our irrational bout of laughter had turned to tears, Jodi and I comforted each other with the reality that Mom was safe and warm in the arms of Jesus, and we fell asleep . . . and were on the road again by seven o’clock with a long twelve-hour day ahead of us. I skipped my shower—a decision I later regretted. Still in his bathrobe, Jodi’s dad had insisted we eat the hot breakfast he’d prepared—bacon, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, and coffee—and her mom had packed sandwiches to take along. “I’m sorry to take Jodi away so soon, Mrs. Jennings,” I said, taking the small cooler with the sandwiches she handed to me and giving her a hug, catching a whiff of lilac in her hair.
Like my mom . . .
“Never you mind,” she whispered. “Her dad and I are planning a trip to Chicago for Jodi’s birthday in September—but don’t tell her. It’s a surprise.”
I almost blurted, “No, no surprises!” Parents showing up on the doorstep unannounced had had disastrous consequences in my case. But I held my tongue, realizing I had to stop seeing the world through the Fairbanks grid.
Lucy had taken Dandy for a short walk after breakfast and managed not to get lost in the unfamiliar suburb, and Jodi drove first, heading north on Route 35 toward Minnesota. From time to time, I tried to engage Lucy in conversation, but she usually answered my attempts with a grunt or one-word answer, seemingly content to hunker by the window behind the driver’s seat, eyes locked on cornfields and small towns as they zipped past. And when she did talk, she talked to Dandy. “Hey, lookee there, Dandy. Ever see so many cows? Wonder who doin’ all that milkin’ . . .”
We’d been traveling an hour or so when I heard a familiar rumble and realized both Lucy and Dandy had zonked out, the dog’s head in her lap. I shook my head, kicked off my sandals, and put my bare feet on the dash with a big sigh. “Don’t know what to do about Dandy. Lucy’s gotten so attached to him. Paul would really like to have a dog, which would be fine with me, once I have a place for me and the boys. But now . . .” The mental wall I’d been holding up between me and reality suddenly started to crumble.
“But now . . . what?” Jodi prodded.
It all came tumbling out, the whole fragile house of cards I’d been counting on—finding an apartment so I could get custody of my sons, getting excited about the apartment Lee Boyer had shown me, thinking I could afford it if Mom and I shared the expense. “. . . That’s what!” I said between my teeth, trying not to wake up Lucy. “I can’t afford that apartment by myself—and I can’t shoehorn myself and two big boys into those shoeboxes that the Chicago Housing Authority subsidizes for the homeless, even if I was number one on their waiting list, which I’m not.” I banged a fist on the passenger door. “Now I know how Tanya and Precious feel, stuck in a homeless shelter, dangling between nothing and nothing. And all they want is to make a home for their kid, get a job, be a family!”
Jodi nodded but said nothing, concentrating on passing a big hog transport tying up traffic in the right lane.
“Huh,” I muttered. “Maybe I should play the lottery like your friend what’s-her-name—”
“Chanda.” Jodi pumped the speed up to seventy, glancing anxiously back at the big semi before finally pulling the van back into the right lane. “Sheesh, I keep forgetting how long this van is.”
“Yeah, Chanda. If I had her luck, I could buy that whole building and we could all move in.”
Jodi settled back against her seat, finally glancing over at me. “You don’t need luck, Gabby. Remember when you came to Yada Yada a couple of Sundays ago? That was some powerful prayer we had for you—you said so yourself.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I thought so too. I’ve really been trying to trust God, trying to pray—and for a while, I thought God was answering my prayers. Especially when Lee Boyer said he’d found an apartment for me. But now . . . I don’t know. Seems like everything’s back at square one.”
“Must be that God’s got a better plan.”
I stared at her. “What better plan?!”
Jodi shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. “Don’t ask me. But that’s what Avis Douglass always says when one of us Yada Yadas is fussing and fuming about something not working out like we wanted it to. And believe me, Gabby, it’s happened often enough—when I get enough courage to pry my fingers off my plans and ideas long enough to ask God to take over, that is—that I’m beginning to think she’s right.”
Lucy woke up when we pulled into a gas station outside Minneapolis about eleven. “I know, I know,” she muttered, climbing stiffly out of the van. “Rule Number One. But ya fergot the rule ’afore that ’un—take care of your animals first. That’s what my daddy useta say, back when we had us a farm.” And she marched off to a tiny strip of grass beside the gas station with Dandy in tow, her gray hair standing up like she’d stuck her finger in a socket.
I blew a limp curl out of my eyes in the climbing heat, trying not to watch as the little numbers whirled upward on the gas pump. Like Jodi said, at least it was cheaper than shipping my mom’s casket, and a lot cheaper than buying a cemetery plot in Chicago. Guess I should be thanking You about that, I prayed silently as I hung up the gas hose and screwed the gas cap back on. But, Jesus, if You’ve got a better plan for what happens next, I’d sure like to know what it is.
Lucy and Jodi were coming out of the restroom as I came in. I took one look in the mirror over the sink and grimaced. My curly hair hung limp, the color dull, my face bare of makeup. Ouch. Should’ve gotten up fifteen minutes earlier for a shower.
I splashed my face and freshened up as best I could, and when I got back to the van, Jodi and Lucy had the back doors of the van open. “Them flowers is wiltin’,” Lucy announced as she hauled herself awkwardly into the van and inspected the casket in the back. “Here.” She handed two flower arrangements out to Jodi and me. “Go find some water.”
Jodi stifled a grin. “Bossy, isn’t she?” she murmured as we found a water hose and wet the green floral foam and containers holding the flower sprays.
Behind us, Dandy suddenly starting barking furiously. I whirled and saw a couple of lanky teenage boys pointing and laughing at the open doors of the van. Before Jodi and I could get the flower arrangements back to the van, a larger crowd had gathered—a mother and half a dozen kids from a minivan gassing up at the next pump, a couple of hefty, bearded guys who’d driven up in a dirty pickup, and one of the gas station attendants who came out to see what the ruckus was about.
I sucked in my breath. “Uh-oh . . . look at Dandy.”
My mother’s yellow dog was standing on top of the metal-blue casket, facing the open doors, barking and showing his teeth. Lucy stood at the back of the van, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as if daring anybody to get within punching range.
“You got a real dead body in there?” one of the teenagers snickered.
“Whatcha do, steal it from a graveyard?” The two boys thought that was real funny, slapping each other on the back. Even the pickup truck guys chuckled.
Sudden rage burned behind my eyes. How dare they! “Okay, show’s over, you meatheads!” I yelled as Jodi and I pushed past Lucy and set our armload of flowers into the van. “Lucy!” I hissed in her ear. “Close the doors and get in the van. Now!”
I’d never seen Lucy move so fast. Slamming the back doors, the old lady hustled to the side of the van, climbed in, and slammed that door shut too. I got in the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and started the van while Jodi was still pulling her door shut. “Gabby!” she screeched. I slowed for a nanosecond, but
Dandy was still on top of the casket, barking and snapping at the windows as we lurched past the finger-pointing gawkers.
A glance in the rearview mirror as I took the on ramp for Route 94 heading west caught Lucy climbing over suitcases, boxes, and bags to get to the back doors. She punched the lock; then I heard her coaxing Dandy down from the casket. “Come ’ere, Dandy, it’s okay . . . They was just jerks . . . Good dog . . .Miz Martha would be proud of you.” Another glance in the rearview, and I realized Lucy and Dandy must be sitting on the floor with the casket and the luggage, because I could no longer see them.
It took me a good half hour to calm down, and Jodi had to point out that I was riding the accelerator ten miles over the speed limit. She finally coaxed Lucy back into the second-row seat and made her put on her seat belt, passed out the sandwiches her mother had packed, all the while cheerfully pointing out the picturesque farms, lush fields, and little lakes tucked into the rolling hills as we sailed down the highway.
I finally grinned at her. “You’d make a good Jewish mother, Jodi.”
She laughed. “Well, I’ve got a good role model. Remember Ruth in my prayer group—the one who had twins at fifty? . . .” Pretty soon she had me laughing about the escapades of the two-year- old Garfield twins, running circles around their midlife-plus parents. Then she dug out some music CDs and filled the van with some good gospel, singing along and clapping and waving at other drivers who looked at us funny.
“If there’s one thing I’ve been learning, Gabby,” Jodi said, grinning at me, “it’s that praise is not Satan’s working conditions. When the enemy throws something at you like what happened back there?—it’s praise that changes the battle lines.”
I wanted to hug her, but I kept my hands on the wheel. How long had it been since I’d had a friend who’d talk to me like that?
We traded drivers at Sauk Center, Minnesota, and again at Fargo as we crossed into North Dakota about midafternoon. We tanked up on Cokes to keep us awake, but my butt was beginning to hurt from the long hours driving. And we still had 250 miles to go!
“Hey!” Lucy called out. “What happened to all the trees and green stuff ?”
It was true. The topography had drastically changed to grazing land and sagebrush country, with the occasional wheat field stretching clear to the horizon. I grinned in the rearview. “This is where I grew up, Lucy.”
I saw her roll her eyes. “Humph. Look like this place never pulled through the Dust Bowl.”
Jodi had just taken over the driving again when my cell phone rang. I scrambled to find my purse and snatched out the phone. “Probably one of the boys . . . Hello? Hello? . . . Oh! Hi, Lee . . .” I felt my face flush, and I turned toward the window.
Several minutes later I flipped the phone closed and dropped it back into my purse. “Uh, just my lawyer.”
“Uh-huh. Does your face always get red when you talk to your lawyer?”
“He’s sweet on her!” Lucy hollered from the backseat.
“Oh, stop it, Lucy. We’re just friends. He’s concerned, that’s all.” I assumed a nonchalant slouch as Jodi drove straight toward the sun slipping down the western sky, grateful for the wraparound sunglasses hiding the telltale confusion in my eyes.
Familiar fast-food icons were harder to find once we left the main highway and headed north on a two-lane toward Minot, but we finally spied a Hiway Drive-In just as we turned onto Route 52. We ordered hamburgers, fries, and milk shakes to go—and to my surprise, Lucy shoved some crumpled dollar bills into my hand to pay for hers.
Once we’d finished eating, we all fell silent, opening the windows and enjoying the cooling air as the sun slipped toward the horizon. I couldn’t help thinking about the last time I’d driven this road with Paul and P. J., going to visit my mom a mere month and a half ago. So much had happened since then . . .
I called Aunt Mercy when we were about an hour out and asked if she’d heard from Celeste and Honor. “They should be at the house by the time you get here,” she said. “I’ll meet you there too.”
The setting sun had streaked the western sky with golden, orange, and brilliant red clouds when I finally pulled Moby Van into the parking lot of Minot’s family-owned funeral home. Jodi and Lucy waited in the van while I went inside, signed the necessary papers to transfer my mother’s casket, and walked out with the director and a couple of his staff pushing a rolling cart. Dandy whined as my mother’s casket was loaded onto the cart and wheeled inside, but Lucy kept a tight hold on his collar.
The funeral director handed me a folder with my copies of all the papers. “I believe your aunt, Mercy Shepherd, suggested a family viewing tomorrow afternoon at four, and then a service in our chapel on Sunday at two, with the burial immediately following. Does that sound right to you, Mrs. Fairbanks?”
I nodded, shook his hand, and climbed back into the van, not really thinking about what he’d said. I was thinking about meeting my sisters after two years, showing up in my mother’s driveway with a monster van that said “Manna House Shelter for Women” along the side, our mother’s dog with still-visible scars on his shoulder, and two strangers, one of whom was a crusty old bag lady in a rumpled flower skirt and ankle socks.