It was ridiculous how happy I felt. Twenty-four hours ago I’d been in a panic because I thought my dad might have stashed a gun in our motel room, but right now, I was riding along like everything could be okay. It was possible—maybe even probable—that we would make it to Omaha, and things would be good. At the least, we could have a few happy days together. I was too cynical to believe in some kind of Parent Trap reunion, as if Mom and Dad had secretly been in love with each other this whole time, and in a week Mom’s belongings would be packed in a U-Haul trailer being pulled behind our Explorer westbound on I-80 on our way to happily ever after. But at least, maybe, things would be okay.
I smiled at the Olivia whose face was reflected in the window. It was a different face than this morning, before I’d kissed Sam, and he’d kissed me right back. Could everyone in the world tell that I was a girl who’d been kissed? Would Mom be able to tell instantly, as quickly as she could spot Dad’s new haircut?
My stomach rumbled, and Dad said we could stop in Green River, just down the road.
“Green River,” I said. “That sounds pretty.”
“It is,” Dad told me. “I mean—it was, at least. Your mom and I stopped there overnight.”
“On the mythical expedition across America?”
He laughed. “Right—it was really mythical. The Datsun overheated about five times, if I remember.”
“What did you do in Green River?”
“We spent the night, wandered around. There was this trainyard...” He cleared his throat, his words coming out thick. “I remember we stood on this bridge for a long time, watching the trains come and go beneath us. It was—” He stopped.
“Beautiful? Amazing? Lovely? The ultimate Wyoming experience?” I prodded.
“All of the above,” he said, and went quiet. This time I thought his faraway look wasn’t directed to the future, with all the possibly frightening things I couldn’t imagine, but into the past. Both were places where I hadn’t been granted access.
We stopped at a McDonald’s off the freeway. A long drive-thru line snaked through the parking lot, but only one other car was actually parked.
“Whoa,” I said as we entered. “It’s the McDonald’s that time forgot.”
“I was thinking Reagan-era,” Dad agreed.
The seats were yellow plastic, attached via metal arms to the central tables, which were topped with a dull wood veneer. Standing in line, I was dwarfed by a towering cardboard Ronald McDonald in massive red shoes. Strange, I thought, that plenty of people, including me, were scared of clowns but not necessarily scared of Ronald McDonald.
The only other customers in the restaurant were a frazzled-looking blonde woman and two young boys with matching wispy ponytails. Dad and I watched the boys chase each other through the play area, wiggling their way through a plastic tunnel, climbing the rope ladder and skidding down a red slide with a dingy gray streak in the middle where the paint had worn off.
“Every McDonald’s should have a play area,” I mused, slurping my too-sweet orange soda.
Dad nodded absently, taking a bite of his sandwich.
I watched as the taller boy reached the top of the play structure and pounded on his small chest, Tarzan-style. “And not just every McDonald’s,” I continued, dunking a French fry in a tiny paper bucket of ketchup. “Every restaurant. Every building, period. Can you imagine what it would be like if you went to, like, the DMV and while you were waiting for your turn at the counter, you could flop around in a giant bin of balls?”
Dad considered this. “Would you have to take your shoes off?”
I pretended to be offended. “Of course you would have to take your shoes off. Those are the rules. We’re living in a society, after all. There are some rules that just have to be obeyed in order for society to function.”
“Would the equipment be sanitized on a regular basis?” Dad teased.
I frowned. “That’s a given.”
The woman called to her children, and we watched as they struggled back into their tennies and sweatshirts, then raced each other to a minivan in the parking lot.
I glanced around and saw that we were alone. A few employees were rushing around, filling red-and-white bags for the drive-thru. My heart felt full. “Do you think anyone would mind if I’m slightly over the height regulation?”
“Seriously? You do realize that daily sanitization is pure fiction?”
I began unlacing my boots. “This is a new Olivia,” I told him. “And the new Olivia can handle a few million germs.” Still, I hesitated outside the ball bin, pushing away my fears about how often—probably never—each individual ball had been sanitized and how often—probably frequently—the balls ended up in someone’s mouth. “Wish me luck,” I told Dad bravely, and then I climbed the steps, crouched and executed a perfect swan dive off my knees.
“Hey,” Dad said when I rose triumphantly, arms outstretched. “You’re spilling everywhere.”
“Come on in,” I called to him. “The water’s warm.”
Dad grinned. “I forgot my bathing cap.”
I tossed a ball at his head. “Then, how ever will we practice our synchronized swimming?”
Dad fiddled around with his phone and held it up to eye level.
“What’s this? Photographic evidence of my immaturity?”
“Something like that,” Dad said, tapping the screen to take one photo, then another. A thousand miles of scenery, including the salt flats and the Rocky Mountains, and all we would have to show for our trip were a few shots of me in a McDonald’s play area.
I could feel someone watching us from inside the main restaurant area—a McDonald’s manager, red-and-white striped shirt, black bolero tie, black polyester pants. No doubt I was violating some kind of cardinal law for play areas. Feeling bold, I tossed a handful of plastic balls into the air and let them hit my stomach with soft thumping sounds.
“Um, okay, Liv, get up now.” Dad was backing away, tucking his phone into his back pocket.
I tossed another ball at him. He caught it and returned it, firmly, to the bin.
“That’s enough. Come on, please.” He was almost begging.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just got an idea of what this must look like.”
“What do you mean?”
Dad nodded over his shoulder in the direction of the store employees. A small clump of them had gathered behind the counter and were staring in our direction. “Old man, young girl, camera...”
I laughed. “Okay, that’s kind of funny.”
“No,” Dad said, “not at all funny. Come on, get out of there now. We’ve got to get back on the road....”
I laughed again. Dad looked so nervous, and he had switched into this overprotective father mode, which I barely recognized. He had hardly ever needed to protect me, since I was so intent on protecting myself. I stood up in the middle of the bin, displacing more balls. They tipped over the plastic pen, hitting the tile in rapid succession with the sharp explosion of kernels popping in a microwave. “Hey!” I called, waving my hands over my head, until I had the attention of every single employee in the store.
“Liv, no—” Dad said, reaching for me.
It was a strange feeling, exhilarating, a full-on adrenaline rush. Everyone was staring—but they were strangers, people I would probably never see again. I would be a little footnote to their dinner conversations tonight: “And then this weird girl wouldn’t get out of the ball bin....” Maybe the girl-in-the-ball-bin incident would prompt a series of training exercises for McDonald’s employees: How to Handle Unruly Customers.
I pulled away from Dad’s reach, shrieking with laughter. I wish Sam could be here, I thought, and Mom and Daniel, too. “Hey! Hello!” I called again. “Do you see this man? He’s my father, you creeps. So, get your minds out of the gutter for a change. And you know what? He’s a damn good father, too!”
I was still laughing when we were back in the car. Dad had hustled me out in my socks, and it took me a while to wriggle my feet back into my combat boots while I was doubled over, wheezing. “Did you see—the looks—on their faces?” I gasped.
Dad was chuckling, too, but it was the silent, hard kind of laughter where tears come out, instead of sound. Even a few minutes later, when my boots were on and my breathing had settled and I was sitting quietly myself, in full awe of what I’d just done, I saw that Dad was still wiping tears out of his eyes.
But the weird thing was, he didn’t seem to be laughing at all.