Chapter Thirteen

The Road to Nowhere

I slept restfully. And awoke rejuvenated, albeit sore as hell. I rolled over, encouraging the dream to remain just a moment more. It had been heavenly. But it hadn’t been a real dream…for it was a memory from one of our weekends without the kids. I shifted, pulling the sleeping bag up higher. Well, rather, it was a dream-memory hybrid. My eyes closed, I clung to the vapors and sensation of it as my body roused, my mind sharpened…

Harrison and I were enjoying a blissful morning in bed with no kids. Will and Finn had gone to Patsy and George’s cabin in New Hampshire for the weekend.

Harrison’s touch on my bare arm sent shivers over my skin. I shifted to the side to face him, his body solid, secure against mine beneath our green and blue patchwork bedspread. The sheets had that freshly laundered smell, yet our bubble beneath the covers held the scent of exertion and sex. I nestled in closer to him and ran my fingers through his short hair and I drew it into sweaty spikey tips. My gaze drifted lazily beyond him to the nightstand beside our bed. The collection of dusty travel books and magazines that usually adorned his nightstand had been replaced with a bursting bouquet of petite flowers that protruded from a squat clear glass vase. The clusters of periwinkle flowers winked at me with their vibrant yellow eyes. Forget-me-nots he’d picked from my garden.

Harrison didn’t speak. He held my gaze for a long moment. He kissed my neck, his light beard like sandpaper. It tickled, triggering a gooseflesh response on one side of my body from my neck all the way to my toes. I moaned.

I leaned in to kiss him. He reciprocated it with fervor and whispered, “I love you, Audrey Jane.”

“I love you, too, hon.” I weaved my fingers with his.

“Pancakes?” he asked.

“French toast?”

“Oh, you rebel.”

I chuckled. The boys always wanted pancakes. When was the last time we’d had our own favorite breakfast dish, and not a meal catered to the kids? “Oh, and bacon!” I curled my cold toes around his warm calf, knowing how much he loved bacon.

“Sounds good! Rest, my HBA,” he said, pushing the sheets aside and pulling on his boxers. I admired his strong, lean, muscled legs as he left the room.

“Your coffee awaits!” he called over his shoulder.

I blinked as the last bits of the dream faded. I touched my lips, summoning his kiss.

Unhurriedly, I opened my eyes, saw my sleeping Will in my arms.

With an aching body and a longing of the heart, I rose to attack another day on the road.

****

I was thrilled to say farewell to the Mark Twain Wilderness area of Missouri. Bring on Kansas, I thought with a sliver of buoyancy. Will moved like a snail around the campsite. “Move it, mister!” I commanded, collecting the remains of our camp and tossing them in the car. In unspoken agreement, Reid had once again attached his bike to the rack last night.

“You’re less furry,” Will said, running to Reid as he returned from the bathrooms.

Reid’s wet dark hair was brushed back. He grinned at me, his notable black stubble cleanly shaven. Morning sun shone in his eyes. I mumbled a “good morning” and turned, trying to appear busy. He looked kind of hot, and that thought troubled me. What was I thinking?

Will patted Reid on the belly, talking quickly and incoherently. “My star base, here, it has the ballistic cannons and…” He took Reid by the hand and chattered, leading him to his Lego structure beside our extinguished fire.

“Will…,” I said. After yesterday’s hellish delay, I wanted to get going. Now.

He ignored me, continuing to do whatever he was doing with a pile of rocks and his Lego bricks. I began to dismantle it. “We need to go.”

“No!” he cried.

“I told you five times already. We need to clean and go.”

He kept playing. “You told me three times.”

I stood my ground. “You may take your cannon and ship in the car. We need to go, Will. Your brother—”

“My stupid brother. It’s always about Finn!” he snapped, his face puckering.

“I’ll finish the tent, AJ,” Reid said quietly, pausing and squeezing my shoulder.

“Will…” My patience vanished. I braced myself and approached him. I had to get the meltdown under control before—

“I feel like Mars!” Pink blotches formed on Will’s forehead and cheeks. He kicked at his structure, the rocks and Lego bricks scattering. He made to run, but I was quicker and caught him by the elbow. I knelt to his level.

“What do you mean?” I said, my tolerance thinning as my mind said, Not this again.

“Mars is dead, lifeless, and gets pelted with asteroids!” Tears streamed down his face as the splotches grew.

The vise squeezed tighter around my heart. Will used to say he felt like a rubbish pile. Where the hell had he learned that phrase? He’d said it a few times when he was misunderstood or wrongly called out or when he had a difficult time with another kid. My child was great with metaphors. It was a shame they held a negative connotation.

“Will, honey, you are loved. You exude life. You have a wonderful spirit. Why do you say such things?” Insufficient energy remained for this battle. Ugh the dreaded “why” question. Had I not learned anything from all my parental reading?

He rolled his eyes and turned, but his tension released as he allowed me to embrace him. “Never mind.” His face was still splotchy and red from his outburst. Finn got that way when he was upset, too. Both of them, ever since they were babies.

“Will…”

He kicked at the ground. “Never mind!” he repeated, his lip trembling.

At least today, he wasn’t giving me the excuse of “nobody understands me” or “you don’t understand my brain.” Sure, those had pulled on my heartstrings the first few times he’d said them. Experience told me that he made excuses to get out of things he didn’t want to do, like all kids did. It was a delicate balance of what was autism and what was developmentally expected.

I caressed a hand across his brow and cheek. “I remember when you were a baby you loved me to rub the side of your face, like this,” I began, as I contemplated what the trigger might have been. It wasn’t the Lego bricks. Was it jealousy about us looking for Finn? The encounter with that awful couple yesterday? His running into the woods? Or all of the above? I continued stroking his face as I knelt, the feel of his baby-soft skin gratifying under my fingertips. “I would do this, and rock you, and then you’d love it when I put a blanket here, over the side of your face, and you’d fall asleep in my arms.”

“I still like it,” he murmured, nuzzling into my embrace. “Your face is red and purple, Mom.” He stroked my cheek in the same manner I stroked his, but I winced with his touch.

“It will heal.” As will your hurt, I wanted to say. “We always heal. Sometimes it takes longer.”

A stubborn smile cracked through his grimace. “Mars is a dead planet,” he repeated.

“But you’re not.”

“Mars has volcanoes.”

“It does. So does Earth.”

He glowered at me, but with the meltdown momentarily diffused, he rose and went on his way toward the car.

“Will, your Lego bricks…”

“Okay, okay. I know, Mom.”

He picked up his toys and tucked them in a bag, and then drifted toward the car. Reid, thankfully, ignored the situation to let me handle it and had loaded the rest of our supplies in the car.

We drove away without another look. Goodbye, Missouri. I hoped to never see you again.

****

“Mind if I put on the radio?” Reid asked as he drove.

“Go ahead.” Not that I wanted to hear more news of the devastation, but the silence was maddening.

Reid flipped through a few channels that were broadcasting news. We shared a look of resignation. He scanned through a few more channels. Most were static. No music. Nothing but news.

“So much for that,” he said, clicking the radio off.

“I have my MP3 player, but the adapter here is broken,” I said, pointing to my center console. I passed a glance at a road sign. “Do you think the best way is Route 70 toward Kansas City?”

He scrunched his brow. “Seems like all the cities have had detours.”

“Yeah, we may need to improvise.” I closed the atlas and tucked it away. Best laid plans were that—and on this road trip, those plans got changed a lot.

I opened my journal to distract myself from doomsday talk. I scribbled along the edges, writing HBA. I crossed it out and drew a few flowers instead. I remembered reading that people doodled when their brains were thinking, that it was part of the creative process. So far, my journal included Will’s maps, numerous entries about my life and family, and pages of information about the eruption. Now I added flower and cube doodles to the mix.

Even though writing and reading in a car usually gave me a wicked case of vertigo and nausea, the pull to write made a stronger case. I skimmed my previous entries. Writing about Finn the evening before had been hard but cathartic. After a few doodles, I turned to a new page and began today’s entry. I wrote the date. My God, I should have been preparing the kids for their first day of school, not journeying across the country.

I processed that bleak thought for a moment, and then continued writing.

The car bumped a pothole, and my fancy pen skittered a swirly blob that almost looked deliberate.

“Sorry,” Reid said.

“Is the tire okay?”

“Yeah, was just a pothole. It’s a full-sized spare. It’s okay, but we can check it at the next stop if you want,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

I turned a look over my shoulder at Will. He was contently gazing outside.

“What are you writing?” Reid took his attention off the road briefly to glance at my journal.

I closed it, no longer really feeling the urge to write…not like my writing today was anything short of scattered. “I suppose it’s a journal.” I flipped down the visor. I poked the bruise. Purple and red had been an understatement. I didn’t care what Reid thought as I pulled out my compact and dabbed concealer on it. I swiped through my hair that needed a clarifying wash and a cut as it now grew past my shoulder.

“About your life?”

“Well, it began as a telling of the current events, but it’s evolved into a story about my family. So, yeah.”

“Am I in it?” Will asked, always attentive.

“You betcha,” I responded.

“Do you write other things, too?”

“I had a part-time job working at a local New England magazine, but I recently resigned. Life got lifey. I’ve wanted to focus on novels. Haven’t had much success in that arena yet. I’ve also dabbled with short stories.”

“Fiction is fun. I love a thought-provoking story, as you know. What kind of stories?”

I shrugged. “Historical fiction, with romantic or fantastical elements, and I have a few ideas for high-concept mainstream stuff. Not the same as the philosophical greats, but yeah. I love to immerse myself in fictional worlds, but lately I’ve been drawn to writing about families like us. Perhaps something non-fiction to help other parents.”

“Write what you know—isn’t that the motto?” Reid said astutely.

“It sure is.”

“I’d love to read your work.”

I surprised myself by saying, “Sure. Maybe. This one is for me though. What about you? Do you write?”

He cast me a lopsided grin. “Nah. I just read and philosophize. Leave the writing to those with a knack for it.”

Will asked, “What does philosophize mean?”

“You like big words?” Reid asked.

“I like to know what they mean.”

Reid scratched his bare chin. “Well, it means to talk about logic, ethics, and values as they relate to human beings. And also to understand the beliefs of groups.”

“Like understanding what people care about and why they do things?” Will asked.

“Pretty much, buddy.”

“Are you from Puerto Rico?” Will blurted.

“Will!” I apologized for Will’s bluntness with a pleading look.

Reid squeezed my arm. “It’s okay.” He looked in the rearview mirror at Will’s reflection.

Will looked back.

“Close, buddy. My mother was from Mexico, but my dad was born here. What gave it away?”

“You look like a kid in my class, Javier. His parents moved here from Puerto Rico. He speaks Spanish. Do you know Spanish?”

“Sí!”

“That means yes. I know a few words. Javier taught me at recess. Wanna know what volcano is in Spanish? Javier told me.”

“Sí.”

“El vulcán!” Will said. “There are a lot of volcanoes in Mexico—a whole range traverses through Mexico to Central and South America. The ring of fire!” He smiled to himself and returned to daydreaming.

“What do you do, Reid?” I realized I’d never asked. “Now that you’ve retired from the army, I mean. You’d mentioned traveling east for business.”

“I’ve done the odd job here and there. Five years in the army, following the footsteps of my father I suppose. Since then, I’ve been doing this and that. Worked at a mechanic’s shop for a short time, but I don’t find cars interesting. I can fix tires though, right?”

“That you can.”

“I took a few college classes after my tours, while helping my sister in her class like I mentioned. I like to see how things work and fix problems. I wasn’t sure what direction to take—education, law, philosophy, or engineering. Lily really got me interested in special kids. My mom encouraged me to be a surgeon. That’s a mom for you.” He shrugged. “My uncle, the senator, well, he opened my mind to government policy. Lots of choices. Ultimately, I never finished school.”

He didn’t mask the distance in his voice. “Anyway, I’ve also tinkered at a clock shop—yes, yes, they exist!” he said in response to my surprised look, his demeanor quickly changing.

“Clocks!” Will said, always listening. “We have one on our living room mantel with Roman numerals. I learned how to read it when I was four, right, Mom?”

“That’s right,” I said, fondly remembering how he’d kept his kindergarten teacher on track with the schedule.

“Clocks are neat, aren’t they? All those gears and such,” Reid said delightfully.

“Not another one,” I said in jest.

Reid laughed. “I’m a tinkerer! What can I say?”

“Finn loves gears and stuff, too. Daddy…well, he did, too,” Will said.

I heard Will dig through his backpack. He thrust his hand between us, Harrison’s old metal compass on his palm.

“It doesn’t work well anymore. Maybe you can help me fix it?”

I pressed my lips together. Reid raised an inquisitive eyebrow and I responded, “That’s a great idea, Will.”

“Finn loves this. He used to sneak it into his backpack and bring it to school and play with it on the bus.”

Now that I didn’t know. In fact, I’d not seen it since my last hike with Harrison. Like many of his belongings, it had been tucked away in bins in our basement. Or so I had thought.

“I take it there’s not much business in clock shops?” I asked.

“Nope. Now I work in a bike shop. Marshall, the owner, sells cycles for the diehards who love to mountain bike the trails of the Rockies, and he also runs a tour business, taking people in bike groups on the southeast slopes, or to Pikes Peak. I’ve done my share of work with the tour groups in the Southern Front Range area. Marshall isn’t able to travel as much as he needs to. He sent me to upstate New York to follow up on some online leads. He collects old cars and classic cycles and needed parts and what not. That’s why I was where you found me.”

“Sounds interesting,” I said. That certainly explained riding a bike cross-country and with a heavy pack.

“What about all these books you read?” I said, upbeat, and with a thumb pointing toward his backpack that was buried somewhere. “Did Lily get you into other authors besides Lewis and Shakespeare?”

“A few. It definitely keeps my brain busy.”

“It certainly must. Ever consider re-enrolling in college now?”

He scratched his head. “I’m too old.”

“Never too old.”

“Never too old to give up on your writing dream either,” he said.

I nodded. “Touché, Mr.—what’s your army rank?”

“Corporal.”

“Well, then, Corporal Gregory, well played, sir,” I quipped.

He laughed. I laughed. He stuck out his hand to shake mine. “I will go back to school for education and philosophy if you continue writing what you love. Deal?”

“Deal. Finn always does that,” I said.

“Does what?”

“Makes deals.”

“My kind of kid, like I said.” Reid flashed a smile.

“I’m hungry.” Will’s voice broke into our discussion. “It’s lunchtime.”

The clock on the console read 12:15 p.m. “We’ll stop soon.”

He moaned but was thankfully distracted. “Look, Mom! They’re like a thousand suns!”

I hadn’t paid much heed to our surroundings in Kansas. I’d been happily distracted by the conversation with Reid, while we drove long stretches of highway flanked by ripening cornfields. The vast open fields rustled in a strong breeze, and I rolled down my window for air.

Then I noticed the milky grayish smog obscuring the sun. I coughed in reflex and rolled it up. Will coughed once, too.

The wide cerulean sky that I’d remembered from a childhood road trip was lacking. My scalp prickled, and the hairs lifted on the back of my neck. The foreboding real-life villain hovered above. This was no fictional villain from my novels. Ash-filled clouds threatened to unleash upon us. I swallowed, parched, despite having had a gulp of water.

“What do you mean, Will?” I asked belatedly. “I see just one sun, honey.” And even that was hazy and dismal.

He pointed ahead of us. I squinted. Then I saw them…an expansive field of golden yellow sunflowers, tall, robust, and swaying.

“Wow, they’re stunning.” I’d never been one to dote upon sunflowers, even with my love for gardening, always considering them to be out of place…tall and awkward in clusters of three or four along someone’s garden fence. However, when I saw them in the hundreds—thousands—wow.

“I’ve never seen so many flowers, Mom. Except for when we went to see the lupine.”

“Lupine?” Reid perked up.

“Yeah, they’re one of my favorites. We used to go to this place nearby where there were fields of them, wild. Used to go every Father’s Day weekend, because they peak in June,” I said. I blinked back sudden tears. “In some places, they’re considered invasive weeds, but I just could not manage them to grow in my gardens. So to the wild I went each summer to enjoy them.”

Reid was soft-spoken. “Ah, I see.”

“Mom, I think we need to turn south.”

I bounced a curled knuckle against my mouth. “I want to go through Wichita, honey.” It’s where I’d asked Dr. Martin to send my prescription. God, that was days ago…

Reid crinkled his brows and looked up through the windshield. “It does look awfully gray over that way, west. And given the disorder in the other cities in the Midwest, I am wary traveling through Wichita.”

I pulled open the atlas. “We can’t be certain it’s lousy there, too. The news had shown the plume more north than this.”

“El Niño, Mom.”

“Huh?” I flipped the pages. There were only a few roads in southern Kansas that looped down and then through Dodge City. I followed with my finger. The best route dipped into Oklahoma.

“How far are we from Wichita?” I glanced for road signs.

“Not sure. Not close yet, though,” Reid said.

“I was watching the news and was reading in my books. Volcanic eruptions in the Pacific have triggered El Niño years,” Will said.

I tapped my temple, a dull headache returning. “But El Niño is in the winter, honey. It’s not even September yet.”

“Yes, they usually start in the winter, but an eruption of this size could greatly shift the weather patterns. The winds could be all mixed up. We already know the blast sent a plume east and northeast, but it’s going to be pushed south because the news said the trade winds in the Pacific died as a result of the eruption. And the earthquakes. Plus that tsunami.”

I scratched my head as he continued. Was my head actually spinning? Sarah had also mentioned road closures in northern California…but that was west of the eruption, not south. “Okay, slow down a bit, Will. The newscasters said the ash cloud is traveling north and east, not south,” I countered.

“I know, Mom. But look at those clouds! I think it’s shifting because of the jet stream, too. El Niño can affect a lot of things. The eruption and earthquakes triggered the tsunamis. The tsunamis disrupted the Pacific Ocean’s balance, and there is a lot of rain in southern California now already…El Niño is coming.”

“How do you know all this?” Seriously, were we driving into a goddamn disaster movie? “Shouldn’t the ash have settled by now?”

“There was a lot on the TV. Plus, my books, like I told you. And that ash rain we drove though? Probably moved faster and east because of the El Niño shift. Ash can remain in the atmosphere for a while, get picked up by the winds and stuff, Mom.”

Reid said, “We’d drive right into it if we stay on a northern route.”

“Yeah,” Will said.

A brick wall hit me.

I couldn’t get to my medication.

“Yeah, but I don’t understand…,” I said, grasping. “I’m not driving south into Oklahoma! We may never get to Colorado.”

“Maybe just go a little more south, Mom. Then we loop back up?”

“Okay,” I mumbled, staring at the atlas spread open on my lap.

We drove for a few hours, looping south of Wichita and dipping into Oklahoma. My blood pressure rose as I considered other places to try to get my prescription filled.

“Look, pizza! Can we stop, please?” Will asked as we passed a cluster of billboard signs.

“Sure,” I said.

“Sounds good to me.” Reid massaged his neck with a slight groan.

“Yum, pizza!” Will said.