Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. ~Walt Whitman
Someone had stolen Samantha’s lunch again. She had clearly marked it with a sticky note and shoved it to the back of the refrigerator in a vain hope the office lunch thief wouldn’t notice it. No such luck. Samantha growled and slammed the refrigerator door shut.
“Lunch bandit strike again?” asked Brenda, the claims representative supervisor. The older woman was making herself a cup of cream and sugar. She went ahead and splashed a few drops of coffee into her mug to keep up appearances.
“Yes, and it was turkey and avocado. One of the few healthy things I actually like to eat. I was already looking forward to lunch break.” Samantha had put on a few pounds since coming to work for the insurance conglomerate Caldwell Capital Insurance, Inc. The office was filled with older women who all seemed to love to bake. Samantha thought there was some unwritten contest going on to determine who was the top chef on the fourth floor of their high-rise office building, and she had unwittingly become a judge in this cutthroat tournament. The free pastries were great. Heaven knows, on Samantha’s budget, she needed all the free food she could get. But she didn’t need the extra pounds that came with all that confectionary goodness. The young woman was determined to stop—no, reverse—the damage that had been done to her waistline.
“Who would steal a turkey sandwich?” asked Brenda. “And eat it for breakfast?”
“A psychopath, that’s who,” replied Samantha. “Someone who has no decency. Someone who doesn’t respect the rules of civilized society.”
“I bet it was Frank,” said the supervisor, implicating one of the few men who worked in the department. “He’s the type.”
“I don’t know him. Is he the bald one?” asked Samantha.
“Which bald one? There are two.”
“Hmm, the fat bald one?”
“They’re both fat. And, believe it or not, they’re both named Robert, but one goes by Bob. But no, Frank’s not fat or bald. Just the opposite. Frank’s skinny—too skinny, emaciated. It’s disgusting. Probably why he steals lunches. His metabolism is too high. He’s always hungry.”
Samantha’s eyes widened. “Okay, not a fan of Frank, I guess.”
“We may have had a thing once,” Brenda said cryptically.
“Wait, is he the one with the creeper ’stache?”
“Bingo.”
“You’re right. He does look like a person who would stoop to lunch thievery,” remarked Samantha.
“Keep your eye on him,” said Brenda. “And I’ll keep watch too. I’d love to report him to HR. Not that they would do anything, but still. It would be a pain in his ass, and that would make me laugh.”
“Thanks, Brenda,” Samantha said as she grabbed a paper cup and filled it with water. “I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. You have any problems, you come see me.”
Samantha took her water and walked out of the breakroom. She meandered through the maze of cubicles to her own desk until she heard her name being called by Charity, her life-long best friend and the only reason she had this job in the first place.
“Come here, girl. You’ve got to see this.” Charity was standing at the desk of another claim’s representative named Jessica. Samantha didn’t know Jessica well, but she liked her. They were about the same age—early twenties—and Jessica had been one of the few people who had helped show her the ropes when Samantha started work six months ago. It wasn’t that the other ladies in the office weren’t friendly in their own way. It was just that there were a few decades of age difference between them and Samantha. Jessica was a warm and genuine person, and she and Sam seemed to have much in common. But, most of all, Charity vouched for her, which was all Sam needed to know.
“Go back, Jessica, so Sam can see the whole thing. Samantha, you are not going to believe this guy.” Charity’s cascade of blonde hair shook as she waved her friend over. Samantha tried, unsuccessfully, not to be jealous of her friend’s supermodel looks.
Samantha walked over to Jessica’s cubicle. As she approached, she saw that Charity’s eyes were red and puffy, as if her friend had been crying, which made Sam stop in her tracks. Charity was the toughest person Samantha knew. Growing up, Samantha had witnessed the girl break her ankle in lacrosse practice, actually physically fight two boys when she had come to Samantha’s defense after they’d written something ugly about her in the bathroom, and suffer two broken hearts. Not once during any of those events did she ever see Charity shed a single tear.
“What the—” said Samantha pointing to Charity’s face.
“Shut up,” said the blonde. “Just watch.”
“Oooookay,” she said, raising her eyebrows. Sam walked around the cubicle wall to stand on the other side of Jessica, who was sitting at her desk. As she came around the other two women, Sam found herself staring into the saddest crystal blue eyes she’d ever seen. A man’s face was plastered on Jessica’s computer screen. He was rugged, about her age, or maybe a couple years older, with high-set cheeks and a strong jawline. Charity and Jessica were watching an online video, which Jessica refreshed so it would start again. The guy in front of the camera looked on the verge of tears. He was standing outside, holding the camera, probably his phone, at arm’s length. Samantha could see a well-manicured yard and a small but picturesque house behind him.
The man was unshaven, his dark hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in a few days, and the deep circles surrounding his eyes made him look like a haunted raccoon. Despite all this, his chiseled face belied a traditionally rugged handsomeness that couldn’t be disguised by a lack of attention. Jessica clicked her mouse, and the man began to speak.
“Hello, America. My name is Jason O’Neal. I’m … uh … doing this video … I don’t know why really,” he began haltingly. “I …uh … lost my wife and two girls recently and I guess this is just a tribute to them.” Now tears did form in the man’s eyes, and the reason for his disheveled appearance was immediately apparent. He held up a small wallet-size photograph in front of the camera. It showed a gorgeous young woman with auburn hair and two beautiful ginger toddlers. “This is them,” Jason said. “That’s my wife, Bethany, and our two girls, Hannah and Chloe. They were the light of my life, all three of them.” Now the man broke down into silent shuddering sobs. He put his face down into the crook of his arm. “I can’t do this,” Samantha heard him say in a muffled voice.
The video flickered, and Jason was facing the camera again. His eyes, though still glistening, had been wiped free of tears. His cheeks were red and puffy. “Sorry about that,” he said into the camera. “I told myself I wasn’t going to do break down, but I knew I would. Anyway, let me get to the real reason I’m making this video.” He turned the camera until a small motorhome came into view. It was sitting in the driveway in front of the house and appeared to be brand new. “I just bought this thing yesterday,” the man said. “Bethany and I always said we were going to travel the country someday in one of these, so that’s what we’re going to do. We couldn’t do it when she was alive, we didn’t have the money saved up yet, so I’m going to do it for her now. For those of you who don’t know—which I guess is all of you except our family and friends who might be watching—Bethany was killed in a tractor trailer accident. There was a ton of things that went wrong that I don’t really want to go into right now, but the insurance company gave me a settlement to keep me from suing them. I’m not going to say how much it was right now either, but maybe I will in the future, because I think you should know how much they claim the lives of my wife and two girls are worth. I took the money and bought this thing. Everyone told me I should invest the money or something, but I don’t care. This is what I wanted to do with it, so this is what I did.”
He turned the camera so that it showed the house behind him. “I sold our house. That was hard. Bethany loved this house. But I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone, and I didn’t really want to be in there anymore anyway, not without her. I also quit my job. I’m a financial advisor. Boring, I know, but it’s a decent job. I just couldn’t sit trapped in the office anymore, knowing I was just waiting around all day to go home to an empty house, knowing my family wouldn’t be meeting me at the door.”
The man paused for a second, then swallowed thickly, sniffed, and continued.
“So, here’s the deal. I’m going on a road trip. I don’t know where to go first at this point. I just know I’m going. Bethany and I said we wanted to visit all fifty states one day as a family, so that what is going to happen. And I’m taking these with me.” He held up a small clear card that contained a pressed purple flower. “This is a lilac. I’m going to leave one in all fifty states. It was Bethany’s favorite flower. These actually came from a bouquet someone sent to the funeral. Since she loved lilacs so much, I decided to grab the bouquet and press the flowers to preserve them. They’re mostly purple, but I’ve got some whites and blues in here and a couple of yellows. I guess maybe I’m hoping…” Jason eye’s filled with fresh tears. He wiped them away and continued. “Maybe I’m hoping if leave a piece of her in all fifty states—when I’m done and the flowers are all gone—then I’ll be able to let her go.”
“I’m in Little Rock, Arkansas, where we live, which is basically right in the middle of the country. I can go in any direction I want from here to start my tour of all fifty states. I put a poll down in the comments section. It has four choices: North, South, East, or West. I want you guys to vote and tell me where to go. In the morning, whatever you guys choose is the direction I’ll go. And then we’ll go from there. Thanks everyone for helping me out with this. I’ll see you on the open road.”
The video stopped. Charity sniffed and Jessica grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.
“Someone, kill me now,” said Charity. “Just stab me in the heart and put me out of my misery.”
“Oh my god,” said Jessica. “I think he just put my heart in a blender and smashed the puree button. He’s not real, is he? No, he’s not. Nothing is that tragic.”
Samantha made a noise that sounded like air coming out of a balloon. “Psh, no, he’s not real. That guy is probably just some internet-video-star wannabe. I’ll bet you a million bucks he’s just trying to sell something. You wait. The next video will ask you to sign up for some pyramid scheme hocking skin care products because his wife loved them.” Samantha made quotation marks in the air with her fingers as she said the word ‘wife.’ Samantha knew she sounded cynical, judgmental even. But if anyone had a right to doubt the intention of a man it was her.
“I’ll take that bet,” said Charity. “Did you not see the guy’s face? You can’t fake that kind of pain. He’s legit, I promise you.”
“You can fake anything on the internet nowadays,” Sam responded. “Oh, wait, it’s the RV. I bet that’s it. Some RV dealership has hired him to tour the country. They’ll be behind this whole thing, just watch.”
“Oh, I’ll be watching,” said Charity. “I can’t wait to see where he goes. And I’ll be voting. Where should we send him?”
“How about we, you know, go back to our own cubicles and, maybe, do our jobs?” Samantha offered.
“Ha, yeah right. What’s the rush? Those phones aren’t going to stop ringing, don’t you worry,” replied Charity.
“I vote west,” said Jessica.
“West? Why west?” Charity questioned.
“Duh, Vegas, obviously. This guy needs to seriously unwind. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. He can go there and let loose. Forget about his troubles for a while.”
“Good point, but I’m not sure. He doesn’t really seem the party type. What about the beach? Nothing helps me forget my troubles like sunshine, sand, and margaritas.”
“You don’t know what type he is,” snapped Samantha. “You’ve watched a three-minute video of the guy. You have no idea who this person is.”
“Excuse me?” said Charity, raising her eyebrows. “I thought you had some work to do at your own cubicle. This cubicle is for those of us who believe in love and romance. No wet blankets allowed.”
“Romance is dead,” muttered Samantha, turning on her heel and stalking back to her own workstation.
“Ooh, that girl is snakebit,” she heard Jessica say as walked away.
“Well, you would be, too, if you’d gone through some of the things she’s been through.”
“What happened?”
“It’s not my place to say,” said Charity. “That’s her heartbreak and her story. But I’m sure she’ll tell you one of these days.”