Chapter Fourteen

Salty and Sweet

The smells. Spices and tomato sauce. Baking crust. My, oh, my, Will loved pizza. The colors! He’d never seen a restaurant like this before.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, making his way to the brightly colored gizmo in the corner of the shop.

“Oh, that’s a jukebox,” Reid said.

“A what box? It’s not a square or a cube. It’s round on the top. See.” In fact, the top part was like a rainbow, made of three colors—well, it wasn’t a rainbow then—bowing stripes, that’s what they were. It was fascinating.

Mom moved toward the counter. “Cheese, please!” he said, his interest fixed on the jukebox.

Reid knelt beside him. “It plays records.”

“You can’t play records.”

Reid laughed. “Not that kind of record. A record is also an early type of a CD, but bigger. It plays music.”

“Oh, like Mom’s CD player in the car? Not like a radio, which transmits via radio waves.”

“Exactly. This one doesn’t have records anymore. Just digital recordings…probably on a computer, much like an MP3 player. The old jukeboxes used to play records. The records would be lined up inside the box, and a special mechanical arm would grab the record and move it, then play the music.”

Will ran a finger along the polished wood. It was carved. This jukebox was colorful, too. Neon pink and blue and orange, with shiny silver along the edges. He skimmed the rectangular buttons. Each had words on them. “Are these songs?”

“Yeah. Want to pick? A quarter gets you three songs.”

“I don’t know any songs.”

“What type of music do you like?”

Will shrugged. He counted the rectangular buttons. There were thirty-six. The carvings weaved along the edges and ended with circles. That reminded him of Finn’s favorite things—black holes and whirlpools!

“Will, answer him, please,” Mom said from the counter.

“I make up my own songs, from movies and TV.”

“What about your mom?”

“I don’t know. Sleepy music? Lovey music? She also likes to listen to annoying people reading stories on CDs. Audio books, she calls them. Yuck!” He stuck his tongue out.

“Okay, well, let’s pick three that look interesting by their names. Here is a quarter. Put it in there.”

Will plopped the quarter in the thin slot. It was like the games at the bowling alley. He didn’t know what any of the songs meant. They all sounded like lovey songs. He of course could read them all—Mom said he was a reading champ and that he was all set for fourth grade—but they were all silly phrases. He picked one that had unusual words.

“ ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ Good choice,” Reid said, patting him on the back.

Will selected two more songs. One for Mom. One weather one. He hoped the one he chose for Mom would make her smile. She hardly smiled anymore. He missed her happy faces and goofy stories and tight squeezes. Reid made her smile though.

After memorizing all the control buttons on the jukebox, he wandered around the pizza shop. His stomach growled from the yumminess. There was a map of Italy on one wall, surrounded by lots of framed black and white photos of people. The photos seemed old, like from many years ago.

Checkered black and white tiles also covered the floor. He counted the black ones.

He paused at fifty-six and returned to the jukebox.

Tiny gears spun in a six-inch by three-inch window, his guess without a ruler. He presumed that’s where the records used to be. He watched each one twirl as the song—that had begun quietly and then got noisy—bad choice!—continued. It was a bad rhapsody.

He returned to counting the tiles. He finished at one hundred twelve because he couldn’t count all the tiles under the tables and booths, and behind the counter. He ran a finger along the textured wall and stopped at the counter. There was a four-inch figurine of a fat guy in an apron wearing a chef’s hat. A cactus shaped like a pickle sat in a flat round pot next to the fat guy. He dug a finger in the pebbles of the cactus pot.

“Will!” Mom said from a booth behind him. “Stop that, please.”

He continued touching the pebbles.

“Like rocks, do you?” the man behind the counter said.

“Some. Only the cool ones. My brother Finn loves all rocks. He likes to dig holes in our yard looking for gemstones like topaz or ruby. These aren’t rocks. They’re pebbles.”

The man smelled like garlic. It was stinky but not as gross as mom’s coffee breath. “Ruby?”

Will shrugged and took seven of the pebbles out, lining them up from largest to smallest. “Well, he thinks they’re rubies. I know they’re not. Mom tells me to agree because it makes him happy.”

He moved the pebbles around to equally space them. The largest one was the most interesting. It was marbled brown and white, while the others were all solid black or brown.

“Those look nice all lined up. That big one there came from a quarry nearby. Do you want to take it with you?”

Will shrugged and looked at the fat guy. “This guy is funny.” He tapped the figurine. “He has a fat belly!”

“Hey, that’s my Grandpa Vito!”

Will glanced fleetingly at the man, his gaze passing from the man’s wide nose to the large brown hairy mole on his upper cheek. He passed a quicker glance at the man’s dark brown eyes, which had green flecks in them, and then focused again on the pebbles.

The man said, “Just kidding.”

“I know. This guy is pretend. Aren’t you scared, mister?”

The man’s eyebrows knitted together, making them look like a long caterpillar. “Scared?”

“About the eruption. We already saw ash-rain! Have you had any yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You will. It’s coming. We saw the clouds.”

The man cleared his throat.

Will continued, “I saw lots of people packing their cars, like ours. All the shops here—their lights are off and Closed signs are on doors. We had to wait thirty-two minutes again today to get gas, and nobody lets you use their bathrooms…sewers and pipes are all messed up from the ash rainstorms. Why are you open? Aren’t you scared?”

“Nope. Plus people need to eat, so I’ll keep making pizza until I can’t. And I’ve got an outhouse out back if you need one. Our bathrooms and water aren’t working well either. I might have to close up tomorrow.”

“You should be worried. It was a supervolcano. They don’t think the entire magma chamber erupted—that would be catastrophic—but enough did. Haven’t you been watching the news, mister? A lot of the ash cloud went west, though. You should watch the news.”

“I try not to.”

“Will!” his mom called from the booth.

He kept going. “There’ve been eleven VEI 8 eruptions…those are the largest…so far. Three of them in the Yellowstone hotspot. This one would be the fourth, but it wasn’t a super-eruption, so I guess not. Scientists are still figuring it out. My guess is VEI 7, way bigger than Mount St. Helens. Crater Lake—we visited it on vacation—was a VEI 7.”

“Then that’s good news,” the man said, smiling, his teeth large, crooked, and pale yellow.

“Well, not really. Lots of dead people, mister. And dead animals and crops and ash everywhere. It’s going to take them a long time to clean it all. The climate is going to change, and El Niño is coming.”

“You know a lot about all this.”

He nodded. “My brother would like that rock.”

“You can have it.”

Will then returned to the map of Italy on the wall. Italy had a lot of volcanoes which this map didn’t show. It only showed Etna and Vesuvius. He recalled that Italy had like nine or ten. He needed to confirm that in his book in the car. He stood in the booth beside the wall to enable him to trace Italy’s border, which was shaped like a boot. He drew his finger halfway up the coastline of Italy, making volcano sounds.

When Vesuvius had erupted in 79 A.D., eleven thousand people in Pompeii were buried alive under ten feet of ash. That one wasn’t a supervolcano, only a VEI 6.

****

“He likes to do recon?” Reid said to me as Will fluttered around the room.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I call it,” I said, sipping a grape soda while “Bohemian Rhapsody” played on the juke. The soda was sweet and bubbly and divine. I hardly ever drank it now, but whenever I did, I thought of Harrison’s addiction to soda. I had always told him the aspartame or saccharin in the diet cola would kill him. I said a lot of stupid things back then.

“Assessing his situation. Smart kid.”

“Overloaded kid,” I responded, with a peek out the window to my parked and locked car. “He does it to feel safe and familiarize himself with an area. Kids on the spectrum are more sensory than us. They need to take it all in, memorize it, and feel safe for the next time.” I paused, sipped. “Here I go explaining him again. Sorry. It’s a habit I need to break. You know that stuff already, from working with your sister, right?”

“Yeah. Will’s an exceptional kid.”

“It’s just Will being himself.”

Even as the words came, I felt burning stares of reproach. Two older women sat a few booths away from us, and one was giving me the most disapproving look. I scowled at them and returned to sipping the sugary heaven of my soda.

Without turning around, Reid said, “Don’t let those fuddy-duddies bother you. They have their own issues. He’s not bothering anyone.”

“Yeah.”

As much as I wanted to prevent it, the twang of embarrassment and hurt slivered my heart while the women continued with their critical looks. Let it slide off like butter, Siobhan used to tell me. She did say that her shit-tolerance factor had changed greatly once she reached her fourth decade. Perhaps when I turned forty, I wouldn’t give a shit anymore. I found my thoughts falling on her. She lived in South Carolina now. I hardly ever saw or spoke with her these days. Or any friends for that matter. I really missed them. Mental note: call her when we get home. If we get home?

Reid sipped his root beer. “Ah, delish, right?”

“Yup. When the world goes to hell, we drink soda.”

I looked outside at the car.

It wasn’t my fear of the car being stolen that had me nervously looking outside. Locked, barred, and shuttered windows lined Main Street. Stacks of luggage covered car roofs and spilled from the trunks of the remaining cars. Most people were gone. Or were leaving. Had they been evacuated? I didn’t think to ask the pizza shop manager.

The man happily chatted away with Will at the counter.

“Will!” I called, seeing as another customer was waiting behind him. The owner gave me a friendly smile and wave of nonchalance.

Well, this fella wasn’t going anywhere yet. Either he was optimistic that the ash cloud wouldn’t fall upon Kansas, or he was like those people who waited out a hurricane with planks covering their windows, ignoring the winds that bellowed around them.

Distant thunder cracked. This pizza needed to hurry.

Reid whispered, “We’ll leave soon.”

I tapped nervously on the table.

“I’m sorry about Wichita.”

“Yeah. Will was right about the clouds moving.” I suppressed my dark thoughts. When I’d ordered the pizza, the owner had confirmed Will’s suspicions. Reid had also inquired when we stopped for gas. Both said the same thing: Wichita was a no-go zone and that cloud was moving east. Great call on Will’s part.

Reid shifted in his seat. “AJ, are you okay? I mean, after…what happened?”

Staring at the ominous overcast sky and the vacating town didn’t help me. “You mean with those—those…,” I began, unable to say their names. “Those two assholes who tried to take my car?” I finished. I let my gaze fall on the consolation of Reid’s brown irises.

“Yeah. My behavior…,” he said, but stopped. He rubbed his chin. “I know what you must be thinking.”

I sipped soda. “It was justified.”

Silence.

“And I needed your help,” I admitted.

“What I did, though,” he said, quietly, regret-filled. He released another sigh.

The crunches and thuds and the old man’s cries reverberated in my mind. I shivered. “You did what needed to be done.”

“I shouldn’t have hurt him like that. I could’ve restrained him. I sort of snapped when I saw him hurting you. He was about to reach for Will, too.” Reid’s stare shifted to Will, who was at the map of Italy on the wall, tracing the outline.

“Sort of?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, not sort of. I did. Sorry.”

I gave him the benefit of the doubt despite my wariness being raised. Perhaps with all his PTSD talk, he had some extent of it, too. “That’s twice now you’ve been taken to the police station. Hoping this isn’t a habit of yours?” I attempted mirth, but it didn’t come off well.

“It’s not. I’m not a bad guy. I’m sorry.”

“Isn’t that what bad guys always say?” I waved a hand. “Anyway, Will’s okay. He’s a resilient kid. He’ll be all right. You didn’t scare him if that’s what you’re asking me.”

Reid stumbled on his words. “I…but you…”

“Really, Reid, you don’t need to say any more. It’s okay.” I slid my hand across the table, squeezed his, and then withdrew it. “Thank you.”

Reid rubbed a thumb over his tattoo on his inner wrist. Even though I said the words, the recollection unsettled me. He’d moved in quickly, defensively…and violently. I could’ve been hurt more, especially given the rap sheet that couple had. Those two had been hell bent on stealing my car. If I’d lost that, then what? If Reid hadn’t leapt in, I wasn’t sure somebody else would have come to my defense, except maybe Geena, but I was less confident in her punch. And the creep Dennis had already given her husband a bloody nose when he tried to intervene.

Reid looked up from his musings. “Your son is resilient.”

“He is. I just hope I don’t mess up the boys too much.” I pulled out a napkin from the holder and began folding it, distracting myself from his penetrating look.

“Don’t all parents worry about that?” he asked.

I lined two edges, folded. “Yeah. It’s been harder since Harrison died.”

“How long ago did he pass away?”

I brushed my throat with two fingers, the bubbles and acid not mixing well. I spoke in a halted voice. “A year ago in July. This trip of ours, the one we finished before this all happened—the one to Yellowstone—had always been Harrison’s idea. He knew how much Will would love it, how it would foster his interests.” Those calls to the airline and hotels last summer to inform them of my husband’s death had been excruciating. There was no way I was going on that trip right after Harrison died. Will hadn’t spoken to me for a week afterward. Finn had been equally furious.

“Your brother stepped in this year in his place.”

“Yeah. A year belated but appreciated. The boys really wanted the trip, too. So we did it.”

“How—” Reid began, but he retracted his question.

I swallowed. I knew what he was asking. It had been ages since I’d spoken with anyone about the details of Harrison’s death. Instead of avoiding Reid’s look, which I did with everyone to ease the asker’s comfort, I blew a breath, lifted my focus, and stared at him directly. He didn’t seem to be the uncomfortable sort who avoided the topic of death. God, look at the books he lugged around with him! “It was a late, rainy night. Something happened at work, and he had to go in. A drunk driver hit him. Both my husband and the drunk man, a young guy in his twenties, died on the scene.”

A dryness tickled my throat and inside my mouth, like cobwebs had settled in there. I crinkled the napkin, tossed it aside, and sipped the soda. It no longer quenched my thirst. I had never said goodbye. No, instead, we’d had a heated debate about Harrison’s overworking. My last words to him were spoken in frustrated anger. I traced a thumb over my lips. I had at least given him a kiss goodbye.

“I’m sorry.” He shifted his gaze to his tattoo, rubbing it in a daze.

“Cynthia, the mother of the young man who had died, still reaches out to me every few weeks. After I told her to stop calling, she started sending letters. I’m not ready to talk with her about it.” I remembered the most recent letter, unopened, and tossed with the junk mail when Will and I had returned home from Salt Lake City.

Both of our attention fell upon Will, who was still doing recon.

“Reid. I…,” I began, moving from one uncomfortable topic to another. Just spit it out, AJ. “I need to find a pharmacy in town.”

“Do you need more cold medicine? You’re looking better. Less green.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. “No. The cold’s fading. It’s…” I heaved a sigh. “I have a prescription I need. I called my doctor earlier—a few days ago—and asked her to send in a refill to Wichita, and well, we’re here and not there. I asked the shop owner at the counter about local pharmacies when I ordered the food. He said there are a few, but most are already closed. I need to check around after we eat. If they can find my info in their system…”

“Geez, I didn’t know. Yeah, sure thing,” Reid said.

Will ambled around the restaurant. He shifted from the mural of Italy on the wall farthest from us to what looked like counting the squares on the floor.

For a chatty fella, Reid had grown gravely quiet with the mention of Harrison’s death. Had I been wrong about him? Was he like all the others? I cleared my throat. “I should have brought Will to his grandparents. He shouldn’t have to bear this burden with me. This trip. It’s been a nightmare.”

Reid turned his focus to me, usual countenance resumed, the glow filling his eyes again. “Your parents?”

I shook my head. “No, my father lives in Arizona with my stepmother. We talk when we can, but I don’t see them much these days. My mother’s deceased. Harrison’s parents are the ones my kids know well. They live in Virginia. God, what was I thinking? Why did I bring him?”

“Because you’re his mom. You knew he would be safest with you.”

If it hadn’t been for Reid…

“How many times do you plan on saving me?” I asked, lightheartedly, but inwardly, I cringed with the thought. How many times had he saved me? He helped me with the tire. That was one. He helped me after I’d passed out. That was two. He saved me from the attack. Three. He helped me find Will. Well, that was sort of four. Even though he hadn’t technically saved me physically there, he’d definitely saved my sanity and helped me find my son. Who, for all we knew, hadn’t really been lost. I had told him to run and hide, and that’s what he had done. Literal kid. Smart kid.

“You’ve reached your quota.” His face broke into a smile.

I shook my head. “You weren’t following me?”

“Nope.”

I sighed, allowing myself to defuse. “Right time, right place?”

“You can say that,” he agreed. Handsome dark brown eyes held mine. They made me thirsty—for coffee. Or more. I shifted in my seat, feeling my desire grow. God, and it scared me shitless. My stock in fate was outweighing coincidence at this moment. Perhaps everything in life was meant to happen, when it was supposed to happen, and for a reason. That was a hefty truth to swallow.

If that was so, then why did Harrison have to die when he had?

I hated when my mind turned down this path. I grabbed a few napkins, placed one in front of me, and one for Will’s spot. “I certainly hope you won’t need to be my knight anymore on this trip.”

“If I did need to be, would that be awful?”

I stared outside to delay answering. Then sipped. The straw made a slurping sound as I drained the cup.

“Lighten up, Audrey Jane. Such a serious name for a serious gal. It’s going to be okay. I’m not on a mission to save. Okay? We’re both going to the same place. You’re my ride; I’m your map. The stars aligned. Luck. Right time, right place.” He smiled.

Was I fated to find him?

Just then the young waitress arrived.

“Saved by the pizza,” Reid said.

“Thank God,” I agreed. “Excuse me, could I get a cup of coffee with cream and sugar?” I asked the waitress.

“Can’t do coffee. Our water is really limited. In fact, we may be closing tomorrow. Another soda?”

I grimaced. “Sure.”

She nodded and returned to the counter.

“Will!” I called, but he had already swooped in, lured by the sweet aroma of oregano, sauce, and cheese. He slid beside me in the booth.

“That one,” he said, pointing to the largest piece. “And that one.”

I placed a slice onto his plate. “Start with one.”

He adjusted his collar yet again. Tucked it under his chin.

After waiting a moment for the slice to cool, Will proceeded with removing all the cheese first, setting it aside, and eating the bottom layer of crust. He would then eat the cheese last. Many kids did that sort of thing. Even Finn had adopted this habit. At least Will didn’t ask me to cut it into “two big pieces and ten little pieces” anymore…those were the fun preschool days of autism. I distinctly remembered Sarah criticizing me for giving in to his quirky demands. “I would never do that for the girls!” she had said. Everything—sandwiches, pizza, cheese slices—had to be cut a certain way for Will.

“Oklahoma may be a boring state, but they do make delicious pizza,” Reid said, devouring his piece.

I bit into mine and moaned. “Heck, yeah.”

“Good job, Mom,” Will said at my lack of swear word usage.

I patted his head. “You keep me accountable, honey.” At least aloud.

“Can I have a soda?”

“Yup. A special treat for today.” I handed him a cup and straw. It was lemon-lime.

Reid snatched the straw. “Want to see something cool, Will?”

“Okay,” he said, half-interested as he picked the rest of the cheese off his slice.

“Check this out.” Reid partly removed the straw wrapper, blew air in the straw, and shot the piece across the table like a rocket.

“Cool! Can I try?” Will took the other straw that lay on the table and did the same. He whooped with joy.

Just then, the second song came on the jukebox. I recognized it immediately.

Delight spread Will’s face. “Oh, good! The weather song is on!”

“No Rain” by Blind Melon, a nineties song, played its upbeat tune, with lyrics entrenched with meanings of loneliness, depression, and acceptance-seeking. I’d always thought of Will when I heard this tune, which made it to my playlist a few years ago. It was both bitter and sweet. He was my nontypical sweetheart, who loved puddles and rain—the simple things in life—and he only sought acceptance and love of his unique traits. A weather song. Of course. He was such a sweet child. Lord, he elevated my heart to a new level.

Reid shared a jovial smile with me. “Ah, a classic!”

“A what?” Will asked, his focus on the straws. “It’s about rain.”

“Shh…classic? Now that truly ages us!” I said.

Reid smirked.

We ate in silence as the tune played. Memories tumbled around in my mind.

The next song came on.

“Mom, I picked this one for you.” Will licked his fingers as he finished his second slice of pizza.

Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.” “Now this is an oldie but a goodie!” I said cheerfully. “Will, you’re a fabulous choice-maker with the songs. Something unique, something weather, and something for me.” I kissed his cheek, and he smiled. Its buoyant tune belted from the jukebox. I relished the respite even if just for three minutes.

****

Will held my hand on our way to the hotel room. To hell with camping. I didn’t care how much it cost me. I was staying in hotels from here on if I could. If they were still available.

“Love you, Mom,” he said.

I squeezed his hand. “Love you, too.”

He yawned. “Can I play before bed?”

“Sure, honey.”

Pain slid up my back from yet another day of long driving. I yearned for a nice stroll to stretch my muscles, followed by a warm bubbly bath. But given the water situation—we were sternly warned at the front desk to only use the toilet and the sink—the bath would have to wait.

“You two go ahead. Left something in the car. Mind if I use the keys?” Reid asked, pressing a casual hand on my midback. I didn’t mind. I liked his nearness. Strangely, wanted more of it.

“I thought you lugged your life around in that.” I hitched a thumb toward his heavy pack.

He grinned and brushed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, most of it. One thing I forgot.”

I nodded and swapped him a set of car keys for his backpack. After the incident in Missouri, he had insisted I keep both sets of keys to my car. I had one set in my pocket and one set in my handbag. He paused. “Want me to ask at the desk if they know of any other pharmacies?”

“Sure, thanks.” There was no need to verbalize my doubt. We’d stopped in all the larger towns on our deviated path south of Wichita, through northern Oklahoma, and now in Dodge City, Kansas, where we were calling it quits for the night. Reid was a determined fella though. It took Will’s whining and my aching feet for us to give up our canvasing here in town.

I had inquired with countless pharmacies and grocery stores. Most were closed, with no indication of when they’d reopen. Two refused to refill anything despite my suggestion to call my doctor. Their phone lines had been on the fritz all week. And one pharmacy had been able to reach my prescription via a website server (after several failed attempts, and one pissed off pharmacy tech) and obtained the prescription, but it was out of stock and they had no suitable substitute. They were also closing their doors as well. We’d tried dialing my doctor’s office from both our cell phones and the store phones, to no avail.

If I was taking stock in fate, I’d say that fate had other plans for my prescription. On the positive side, at least we’d avoided the traffic and ash, for now…though that cloud and distant thunder had loomed all day.

“Mom, you’ve been doing well driving. You’re not scared anymore?” Will said as I helped him button his pajama top. He clicked through the TV channels.

“…in an unexpected turn of events, the direction of the plume has shifted south. Wichita was hit with ash rain this afternoon. Many roads are in poor condition, powerlines and trees are down in this neighborhood with what we think could have been an F2 tornado, and sewers are flooded. Citizens have been ordered to stay in their homes until the National Guard reaches them, and it could be a day or more. Public Works has advised all people in this region on the map to not use running water. Gerard, tell us more about this change in the weather and that reported tornado…”

I ripped my ears from the TV and said belatedly, “No, sweetie, I’m not scared anymore. I’m feeling better now.”

“That’s good, Mom!”

A part of me wondered if I needed the med anymore. After fainting, which may have been exacerbated by the cold, I’d been feeling less woozy. Still woozy, definitely, but less. The tension from all the searching and worrying suddenly released as I sat beside Will. Perhaps I was going to be okay.

“…due to the tsunami and earthquakes, we think the El Niño year is upon us far sooner than we’d expected…”

“Wow, honey, you were right about the clouds,” I said, my fingers shaking as I did the last button on his top. Shivers swept through me. That had been too close. Dammit, we were still too close.

Click.

“Most roads in Colorado are now closed or impassable.”

“A tornado!” he said with glee.

I took the remote and turned off the TV. “Play time for a little?”

After a few minutes of playing with Lego bricks, I tucked him in like I always did, feeling less weighed down by at least one thing.

He began to cough. “My throat tickles, Mom.”

“I don’t have any honey. Here, drink some water.” I handed him his water bottle. I brought the blanket to his chin, followed by his weighted blanket. I casually felt his forehead; he was tepid, no sign of fever. Feeling the itch in my own throat, I sniffled without thinking.

Having finished the Alaska adventure book, I moved on to book two of the wizard-cat series, albeit reluctantly and with a bittersweet swell forming in my gut as I read. His eyelids fluttered as he fought sleep.

“Do you think Reid plays chess?” he asked, rolling to his side.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe I can teach him, like Dad taught me.”

“Maybe.” I kissed his cheek. “Good night, sweetie. You’re a blessing in my life, Will. Do you know that?”

“Yeah. Love you, Mom. You smiled tonight, Mom. That made me happy. We’ll find Finn, Mom. No need to cry anymore. And I like Reid.”

I swallowed. “I do, too.”

I’d not been pleasant company since…God, since when? Will’s diagnosis? Since Harrison’s death? Did I really cry that much?

I gave Will another kiss and stood upright. The child radiated a serene love. Autism challenges had not hardened him; instead, he had grown into a tough, ever-loving child. No tears tonight. No more perfectionism. My life would never be suburban-soccer-mom perfect or “normal” by societal standards or my own imposed expectations. It was our own perfect. It had to be okay. Or else I would kill myself trying to achieve a preset notion I had for perfection. Finn completed the picture. The three of us would make our home our own again. Screw it all. No more excuses.

I pulled the curtains closed, slipped my feet into the comfort of Harrison’s slippers, and turned off the light beside the bed to darken the room. Heavy legs brought me to the bathroom, and I flipped the light on. Shades of amber crossed the worn hotel carpet and illuminated the mediocre pressed-wood desk. All else in the room was enveloped in the blackness of evening.

“Enough night light, hon?” I asked Will.

“I guess so.”

“Need any glow sticks?”

“No, thanks.”

The scent of dampness and mildew infiltrated my returned sense of smell. We were lucky we had snagged a room. Rain pattered on the locked windows. Tent camping in rain was no fun at all. The car was no better. I was eating my cash, but I had packed plenty, despite the robbery, and we were almost there. Reid had given me some money for this room, too. It was a split room of sorts, with a wall and sliding door dividing the two sleep areas. It even had a mini-kitchen, though we wouldn’t need it.

Gosh, we were so close, I could taste it.

I buzzed from the sugary sodas. I stared at myself in the mirror, scrutinizing my wrinkles, the gray strays within the chestnut brown, and the deep circles beneath my eyes. “Ghastly,” I murmured, touching the soft flesh where the blood had pooled together on my cheek. Reflexively, I grabbed my meager cosmetic bag to reapply concealer, but I stopped. Who cared? I closed the toilet lid, sat, and beheld the haggard Audrey Jane Sinclair reflection. I thought of nothing. Not Harrison. Not Finn. Not my hurt. I zoned out for a few minutes.

I was tempted to disregard the warning and run a bath.

Reid knocked. I opened the room door. He held a foil-covered plate. “Is he asleep?” he whispered.

My love bug beneath the oversized hotel blanket snored lightly. “Yeah.”

“I’ve got something for you,” he said, holding a plate and fork. He motioned to the door. I slipped a key card into my pocket, grabbed my hoodie sweatshirt, and followed him into the hallway. I softly closed the door behind us. My child was nine, and I still tiptoed to avoid waking him. I supposed we could’ve sat in the other room on the other bed, but I liked the hallway better. It was nostalgic.

“I figured it was too late for another dose of caffeinated soda. But it’s never too late for cake.” He removed the foil to reveal a slice of carrot cake on a disposable plate.

“It’s never too late for caffeine,” I corrected. “Or dessert. Got another fork?” I didn’t add that I was wondering where he had wandered off to.

He sat on the carpeted hallway and leaned against the wall. “I’m all set. Here you go,” he said, handing me the plate and then pulling a candy bar from his top pocket.

“Not another lollipop?” I teased.

“Nah, tonight calls for a chocolate bar.”

“Pizza, soda, and cake. Salty and sweet. What else could a woman ask for?” Carrot cake. Harrison’s favorite. “Thanks.” I slid beside him and stretched my legs with a sigh. Reid munched on his nutty chocolate bar. I thought of Harrison and wiggled my oversized slippers.

“The front desk was no help on other pharmacies. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “It’ll be okay.” I hoped. We would see how I fared with the remaining driving. I had done well, to my surprise. Had it been the medicine? Or had I somehow gotten over my mental block, despite a year of working at it and failing? Reid didn’t ask more about it, but this time, I decided transparency would be best. “I have anxiety. I’ve always had it, but once Harrison died, it hit me full blast. I also struggle with driving because of what happened.”

He nodded. “I see. We can keep looking.”

I shook my forked hand. “Nah. Really. Maybe all the mumbo jumbo my therapist has tried on me the past year is working.”

“Maybe it just took the right motivation,” Reid said.

“Yup.” I licked the fork. “But who knows, I may still need the medication. And that’s okay, too. Head stuff is hard to get over.”

“It can be. Your symptoms…do you think—?”

“Yeah, I suspect withdrawal, compounded with a cold, too.”

He slid his body closer to mine and tapped my knee. “I’ll help any way I can.”

“Thanks, Reid.” I inhaled, enjoying his nearness. “I used to love to bake cakes. Gosh, this is tasty. The real deal.”

“You have a lot of used to’s.”

“Don’t we all?”

He released a throaty affirmation. “We do.”

“What are some of yours?” I took another forkful of deliciousness.

He chewed and swallowed. “I used to call my mom every day, and she insisted we speak in Spanish only, to improve my fluency. I miss her. My Uncle Jorge taught me the flavorful Spanish swear words whenever he’d visit though.”

“The same uncle that was a Mexican senator?” I raised an eyebrow.

Reid smiled and nodded. “You bet.”

“I used to go on more demanding hikes every year with Harrison.” I wiggled my toes in his fuzzy slippers. “We enjoyed the challenge.”

“You can still do that…well, with your boys, I mean,” Reid offered.

“The boys can’t tackle rugged hikes. We stick to kid-friendly, easy trails…ones with streams, ponds, rivers, or towers. Those are their lures. I haven’t been out much on our local trails with them this year. Yellowstone was the first time that we’d gone on longer hikes. It was amazing.” I thought about the lupine, an annual trip that was no more. Perhaps I’d take them next year. I also thought of Yellowstone, which was no more.

“Pikes Peak is remarkable. Perhaps I can give you a tour if you want to visit?”

“Perhaps. Got kid-friendly trails?”

“Definitely.”

We were silent for a moment as I scraped the last morsel of frosting off my plate.

“I used to play board games with my sister every weekend, at least when I was home. I brought a few with me on my tours.”

“Well, we know you’re not the best at campfire games.” I poked his arm.

He gave a “hrmmphm” and laughed.

“What’s your favorite board game?” I asked.

He scratched at the teeny hairs that had begun to sprout on his clean, round chin. “Lily always liked games with world domination or buying properties. I prefer trivia games.”

“She’d get on well with Will, then. He’s obsessed. I’ve had to ban some board games from our house a few times. The first time, it didn’t go well.”

He nodded and crinkled his wrapper, tucking it in his pocket.

I eyed him. He laughed. “For future notes.”

“You don’t plan on leaving again?”

“Nah. You just never know.”

“I used to enjoy tending my flower gardens. I have a thing for flowers. Day lilies and lupine are my favorites.”

“You don’t anymore?”

I shrugged. “I do. It’s…I don’t know. Truthfully, I don’t know why I don’t find joy in them as much as I used to. Harrison had helped me dig and get the garden beds started, but that’s not why.” I turned to him. “What made you choose the army? All those choices—your mom wanting you to be a doctor, your senator uncle, your sister in education…was it for your dad?”

A smiled parted his lips. “Actually it was for me. I was a rebellious teen. Thought I had to prove myself…well, and yeah, a smidge for my dad.” He flicked a thumb to my oversized slippers. “Nice kicks.”

“Thanks.”

He shared a tender look with me, and I had an acute sense of my own heartbeat in that moment.

“I remember when Will was a baby, and a few times when we traveled, Harrison and I would sit in the hallway like this while Will fell asleep in his travel play yard. Funny, huh?”

The dark sensitivity in his eyes deepened. Lord, it was like a sea that I wanted to explore more.

Harrison’s voice popped into my head. It’s okay to miss me, honey baby angel, but it’s okay to keep going, too.

I pointed to the artwork before us. It was a painting entitled Ghosts of Santa Fe, a sweeping and peculiar landscape with subtle emphasis on old wagon-wheel ruts and a lone, haggard oak tree. “Interesting stuff.”

Reid scratched his chin. “You got a favorite artist?”

“Well, after my mom, I love Monet and the Impressionists. I used to watch my mom work at her easel. She loved to draw Native American portraits and commissioned portraits.”

“Fascinating. Maybe that’s where you got your creative gene? Writing?”

I nodded. “She was an inspiration. She also favored and incorporated poetry in her art. She died from cancer before I became a mother myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Reid said.

“Will was born the day before her birthday. I like to think that he is her reincarnated in a way, for he has such an artistic, loving soul.”

Reid smiled. “I can see that.”

We were quiet for a minute, as I pondered.

“Being a mom without a mom can be tough, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s hard when you don’t have a mom to call about all the kid stuff…concerts, activities, milestone moments. It really sucks. I thought I was doing okay with it…but then Harrison died, and well, it’s been hard.”

Reid took my hand in his and squeezed. I loved the feel of it in mine and didn’t let go.

“You were young when you lost her?”

“Yeah, in my twenties. Patsy, my mother-in-law, she tries to fill that void, but…” I drifted off, not elaborating. Reid didn’t prod.

I sniffed and blew a breath. “She’d read my work though. My mom. She loved it. That early work was total crap, but my mom was my cheerleader while fighting her own battle.”

“Moms are amazing.”

We sat quietly, musing.

Reid must have sensed the prickly friction that hovered between the inches that separated us, too, for he released our interlocked hands and stood. “I’m going to walk around, stretch my legs. Check out some of this art. Is that okay? Wanna come?”

“No thanks, I need to stay here. I’ll enjoy the quiet.”

It was hardly quiet. The rain pattered against the exit door at the end of the hallway.

The sugar high from the cake was already fading, as was the soda buzz.

“Is it okay if I sleep in the car?”

Here it was. I’d avoided mentioning the room situation during our conversation. The hotel was booked solid. We’d gotten the last available room; Reid paid for half. I tapped a finger on my leg. “No. You should take the other bed. There’s sort of a wall and sliding door. It’s cool.”

“I can’t ask that of you. It’s not—”

I shoved a key card into his hand, my fingers pausing on his for the briefest moment. “You’re not asking.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Yes. You’ve definitely earned your keep, Corporal Gregory.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll be back in a few. Oh, I almost forgot. I found this in the gift shop. A scene from one of his movies was filmed here or something. The teen guy at the counter rambled. I thought you would like it.” He pulled a thin copy of On Writing by Stephen King from his back pocket.

He flashed his smile before he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway, leaving me gawking at the book in my hand.