A Song for the Road

by Kathleen Basi

  Miriam recoiled. It was the dress Teo and Talia had bought for her birthday. After the fight, Miriam couldn’t bear to look at it. She’d forgotten she’d hung it here.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Becky said.

  Miriam shoved it toward her. “You take it.”

  Her friend laughed. “Oh, honey, that ship sailed long ago.” She turned to the mirror, holding the dress against her body. “Twenty years ago I could have pulled this off.” She pursed her lips and turned back. “Well … maybe thirty. But not now. You, on the other hand …”

  Miriam turned her back. “I’m done for tonight.”

  They’d barely started, but Becky didn’t bat an eye. “Sure. Just let me finish pulling these last few things out.”

  As Miriam navigated to the laptop’s shutdown menu, the cursor flashed across a desktop folder she hadn’t noticed before:

  Project Parents.

  She hesitated. What could Talia possibly have been working on for her parents? Did she even want to know?

  She clicked it open. The contents of the folder fell off the bottom of the window. Video files, spreadsheets, documents with complicated programming code names, others labeled “heads” and “tails” in a series of numbers, and still others with names as inexplicable as “Ketchup.” And at the top, what appeared to be a program titled Projectparents.exe.

  She hesitated, then double-clicked.

  The computer spun for a few seconds. Then a video box sprang up, and Miriam found herself staring at the last thing she’d expected.

  Her children.

  3

  9:20 PM

  “HEY, THERE, MOM AND Dad.”

  “Mom. Dad.”

  Miriam recoiled, her hand accidentally smacking the keyboard. The video froze Talia and Blaise in time. They were stretched out across this very bed, resting on their elbows. Talia’s beautiful hair, thicker and darker than Miriam’s, was tied up in the same scarf Miriam now wore. The fresh sweetness in those brown eyes took Miriam’s breath away. The way her mouth buttoned up on the beginning of her next word. The single zit on her cheek.

  And Blaise, with his thick-rimmed glasses, the fine stubble around his jaw, and the deliberately messy state of his hair, which he worked so carefully to achieve every morning.

  They looked so much like him. How had she never noticed?

  Miriam closed her eyes against the reminder of everything she wanted to forget. The pit yawned before her, waiting to suck her back down. She could feel the ground sliding away. She was so tired of resisting.

  The mattress compressed beside her. Becky’s hand spread warmth in a circle around her back. “What did you find?” she asked.

  With effort, Miriam pulled herself back from the breach. “I’m not sure.” The fog was descending again. She clenched her fists—a physical reminder that she was alive, that she had both the ability and the responsibility to carry on.

  Miriam examined the frozen image on the screen. It was winter in this video; they were both wearing sweaters, and Talia wore her jingle bell earrings. So long before the fight. Months before they died.

  “Are you going to watch it?” Becky asked.

  Swallowing, Miriam hit “Play.”

  “So if you’re watching this, we’re obviously at Interlochen.” Talia’s eyes danced. She and Blaise had been so excited about getting to spend six weeks at one of the world’s preeminent music camps. They’d missed it by two months. “Blaise is probably hogging a piano someplace to avoid talking to anyone—”

  Blaise shoved his shoulder into his sister’s. “And Talia’s flirting, I’m sure.”

  Talia laughed—the dusky, silvery laugh that delighted everyone who ever heard it. “I don’t flirt.”

  “Do too.”

  “I just like people. Unlike some people I know.”

  Blaise looked straight at the camera, raising his eyebrows and dipping his chin with an eloquence that rendered words unnecessary. Miriam’s heart skipped. Actually skipped. How long since it had done that?

  “Anyway”—Talia elbowed him—“the point is, we know very well you guys are useless without us around. The last thing we need is you stalking us, showing up every weekend. Blaise and I have an assignment for you while we’re gone.”

  “It’s a road trip,” Blaise said. “And don’t try to weasel out of it by claiming you don’t have the money. We’re working our butts off to get scholarships, so pull out the tent and camp if you’re that worried about it.”

  “And no using the ‘work’ excuse either.” Talia pointed a finger at Miriam. “You said yourself, Mom: there are very few liturgical emergencies.”

  Miriam chuckled. She’d forgotten how alive these two made her feel. No, not forgotten, exactly, but the visceral reality of it was electrifying.

  “So,” Talia went on, “here’s the deal. This is a special kind of road trip, and I’m warning you …” She leaned into the camera until only her eyes were visible. “It’s gonna be a stretch for you, Mom.” She retreated. “This is called a flip-a-coin vacation.”

  Blaise mimed holding a microphone to his mouth. “What’s that mean, Miz Tedesco?” he asked in a game-show-host voice, and thrust the imaginary mic in front of her.

  “I’m so glad you asked, Mr. Tedesco. It means at every stop you’ll flip a coin and open the corresponding file, which will take you to a Google map leading to your next destination. Every file is locked until the one before it is opened. And once you open it, you can’t go back, whether you like what you see or not!”

  “Oh, lordy!” Becky laughed out loud. “She sure pegged you, didn’t she?”

  “Rules of the game, guys,” Blaise said. “This is serious. Talia’s been working for weeks to figure out that programming gem.”

  “Don’t try to second-guess it,” Talia said. “You can’t predict it, so don’t try. You’re going all the way across the country, from coast to coast, and it’s completely out of your hands. You’re just along for the ride.”

  “But,” Blaise said, “we promise the last stop will be someplace nice and romantic.”

  “Ugh, Blaise, seriously. Did you really need to say ‘romantic’?”

  Another shoulder shove. Miriam laughed even as she brushed at her eyes.

  “You gotta give them some hope, or they won’t go at all,” Blaise told his sister.

  Talia made a guttural noise of disgust. “Fine,” she said. “We’re going to find you the most beautiful beach on the West Coast. See? I’m not completely unreasonable.”

  “Darling girl,” Becky told the screen, “you are a wonder.”

  Miriam put an arm around her friend and squeezed her thanks for expressing what she couldn’t say herself.

  “By the way. You have to do this, because I have plans for this baby. I’m going to sell it once you guys have tested it for me, and pay for my college tuition.” Talia made a kissy face. “You’re welcome. Now, get packed for your summer vacation, parental units. Over and out!”

  The video ended with fanfare and the words slowly writing themselves across the screen: Love, Talia and Blaise.

  Miriam sat on the edge of the bed, savoring the sensation for a long moment before recognizing it.

  Joy. It was joy.

  The time these kids had invested in this project! Miriam could see from the number of files—some of them recognizable formats, most of them not—the complexity of this undertaking. And all while they were practicing for the finals of their scholarship competition in San Francisco. The one they’d won just before departing the world forever.

  “A flip-a-coin road trip,” Becky said. “Genius.”

  What Talia might have accomplished if she’d lived. Miriam’s joy was draining fast. Trying to hold onto it was like trying to hold the sea in a sand castle moat. Her gaze caught on something beyond the laptop, a family photo tucked into the corner of the dresser. It was taken after Talia subbed as principal cellist with the civic orchestra—a high honor for a sixteen-year-old. They’d gone out for ice crea
m afterward. Blaise and Talia had shot water at each other through their straws. She’d gotten so mad at them, especially when Teo joined in. “It’s like I have three children!” she’d snapped.

  “I never deserved them,” she said softly.

  Becky made a soft tutting sound. “Miriam, you know better than that. We all admired your family. Envied you, even.”

  Miriam looked around the shabby bedroom they could never afford to update. The idea of Becky, with her pristine house with gleaming stainless steel kitchen appliances and vaulted ceilings, envying her was laughable. Yet Miriam understood. Teo and the kids had a gift for happiness.

  She knew she’d done right by her children. By scrimping and saving, she and Teo had given Blaise and Talia the opportunities they needed in order to find out who they were meant to be. Which was more than she’d had; her parents had tried so hard to discourage her from pursuing music, right up to the day Dad died. She’d promised herself she’d do things differently. She’d let her children find their passion and follow it. She could cling to that, at least.

  But she’d always cherished a little regret for the life that could have been. How could Teo compete with that? Teo, who had always greeted her with a kiss and a hug, while she responded with a stream of logistics and scheduling conundrums. Teo, who’d come home every few days with some inexpensive token of affection. She’d never managed to offer him more than a semi-clean house and a good meal.

  The truth was, she was a fraud. Talia had figured it out, in the last few months, when Miriam had begun to look forward to the day the kids left home, and had started dreaming again. Her whole life had been about her.

  The edges of the room whispered silence to the shadows. Miriam longed to get away from it all—from the too-quiet house and the incomplete sonata languishing on the piano; from the need to hide from the world all the ways she’d failed her family.

  But she didn’t deserve a respite from this torture. She needed to stand face-to-face with the tempest and let it batter her until she felt something again. Something other than resentment and bitterness.

  Suddenly, everything seemed crystal clear. “I’m going to do it,” she said. She walked over to the closet and stood on her tiptoes. The house was so small, they’d had to store suitcases on Talia’s top shelf. She pulled one down and threw it open on the bed, gathering up Talia’s blouses and skirts and tossing them in helter-skelter.

  Becky watched, frowning. “Do what? Get rid of it all?”

  “Huh?”

  Becky gestured at the clothes piling up in the suitcase.

  “No,” Miriam said. “I’m going on the road trip.”

  Becky grabbed her arm. “Honey, you’re not thinking this through.”

  “I’m thinking just fine. I can find somebody to cover me for a weekend. I’ll be gone, what, a week? Ten days?”

  “A road trip across the US? You’ll be lucky to be back in a month!”

  “So what? I can’t go on like this. You said it yourself.”

  “I did,” Becky said slowly.

  “Simeon told me to take all the time I needed.” He hadn’t meant an extended vacation, but she didn’t really care. She’d been wearing the mantle of the grieving widow so long, it felt shellacked onto her spirit. She wanted it gone, and it never would be as long as she stayed here.

  She would point herself toward the west and a beach her family had died trying to reach. And when she stood in that place they’d never gotten to see, she’d be able to look her ghosts in the eye and say that once, at least, she’d given Teo everything she had to give.

  4

  Thursday, April 28

  7:50 AM

  “ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE about this?” asked Becky as she set the tent into the trunk of the Sonata.

  At this point, Miriam didn’t think it mattered if she was sure or not. They’d been up until midnight, taking care of details: calling Simeon to approve the time off, stopping the mail, finding subs to cover the next few weeks’ music at St. Greg’s. And of course, getting Talia’s app loaded onto Miriam’s phone. They’d had to call in John Merrick, who worked as an IT specialist. He’d figured out the transfer, but it had taken a while.

  She was committed now. She flashed Becky a cocky grin. “Are you sure you want me taking your car?”

  “That van of yours won’t make it, and you know it.” Becky sighed and shook her head. “Just call me, all right?”

  “I will.”

  “And follow the speed limit.”

  Miriam chuckled and slid Talia’s cello into the back seat of the Sonata beside Teo’s beat-up guitar case.

  Becky winced as it smacked the frame. “Why do you need the instruments, Miriam?”

  “It just feels right.” Miriam sucked in a deep, fragrant lungful of air. It was a perfect morning, the sky a flawless blue, the air vibrating. Every bird and bee in the greater Atlanta area seemed frantic to make up for lost time. The sweetness of spring made poetry of every indrawn breath. This was going to work. She was going to California to lay down her guilt at the edge of the ocean.

  “Miriam.” Becky pulled her around and faced her. “I need you to be honest with yourself. Look at you. You’ve packed yourself a single suitcase full of your daughter’s clothes.” She fingered Miriam’s—Talia’s—white peasant blouse.

  Miriam’s shoulders tensed. She knew it looked weird, but deep down she also knew she wasn’t brave enough for this monumental an undertaking. She was hoping wearing Talia’s clothes would let her imbibe some of her daughter’s fearlessness.

  Of course, it wasn’t working so far. One more gentle protest from Becky, and Miriam might just fold. But then again, she was still standing outside her own house. If she could just get on the road, momentum could carry her.

  “I need this, Becky,” she said softly.

  Becky’s nostrils flared; she sighed and nodded. “All right. But promise me you won’t pretend to be someone you’re not. It won’t make the pain go away.”

  “I’ll be fine.” There was a nervous, flighty weightlessness to knowing she was leaving all responsibility behind for a couple of weeks, nothing ahead of her but an unknown adventure planned by the children she’d lost. Miriam swiped her phone and pulled up Talia’s app.

  Welcome to your #GreatAmericanAdventure! read the home screen. Upload photo to begin.

  Screw that. Miriam swiped upward and found two icons: one of the profile of George Washington; the other, an eagle.

  “Well, here goes nothing,” she said. She pulled out one of the wheat pennies Blaise had collected over the years. It slid off her finger twice before she managed to flick it into the air. She didn’t catch it so much as trap it against her white blouse, chasing it downward and around her back until she managed to stop its momentum. “Shut up,” she said to Becky, who was trying not to smile, and smacked it on the back of her hand. “Heads,” she said, and tapped the icon of George Washington.

  A gif of a wagging finger popped up, and the screen reset to the words Upload media.

  “Seriously?” she muttered.

  Becky bit back a smile. “That girl was good.”

  Miriam scowled. “She knows I don’t do selfies.”

  “Well, you’re doing one now.” Becky pulled the phone out of Miriam’s hand and tapped on the camera icon.

  Miriam put her head down.

  In the photo, of course, Becky looked genteel and refined, not a single hair out of place. Miriam, as she’d intended, showed only the crown of her head. Was that a gray hair? Gah! As if she needed more reasons to loathe selfies.

  She uploaded it. Say something about this photo, the screen prompted. She sighed.

  Commencing Great American Adventure. Here’s hoping my programmer knew what she was doing.

  BTW I don’t do selfies. Just sayin’.

  The phone played a five-second snippet of “The Best I Ever Had,” flashing Congratulations! Your post has been sent! Time to flip a coin!

  Becky laughed and pulled out he
r own phone, her finger navigating busily. “It’s connected to your Facebook account,” she said. “And …” Another tap. “Yep, it’s cross-posting to a dedicated Facebook page.” She showed Miriam the phone, which boasted a header photo of mountains in the sunset, with the title #Gr8AmAdven below it. “I’ll forward this around to the choir, now that we know you’ll be forced to update regularly. That girl … amazing.”

  Miriam was a little impressed herself.

  Becky embraced her briefly. “I feel better knowing she’s going to force you to keep in touch. Explore that app so we can keep tabs on you.”

  “My dream come true.” Miriam hesitated. “All right. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  Becky exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment. Miriam was certain she felt the feather-light brush of a prayer skitter over her shoulder. “All right. You call me every day, you hear?”

  “You already said that.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Miriam paused. “But thank you.”

  Miriam got in the car. She checked the mirrors, adjusting them to just the right angle, and paused at the sliver of her own reflection—the tip-top of a pasty, heart-shaped face surrounded by dishwater-blond hair and a pair of hazel eyes that showed just a bit more fear than she wanted to admit. An uncharted road, and no control at all: the story of her life.

  She flared her nose and set her teeth, then tapped George Washington. “Okay, kids,” she said. “Let’s rock and roll.”

  Part 2

  Green Bank, West Virginia

  The regret of my life is that I have not said “I love you” often enough.

  —Yoko Ono

  Blaise’s video intro to the Green Bank Telescope

  Hey there, Mom and Dad. This first stop was my pick, so congrats on your good taste. Or luck. Y’know. Whatever.

  So, here’s what you need to know: you’re going to visit the world’s … lemme see if I’ve got this right … the world’s largest steerable radio telescope. Four hundred eighty-five feet high, in the middle of a valley in West Virginia, in a teeny little town called Green Bank. The dish is supposed to be so big it could hold two football fields, and they say it can measure the energy given off by a single snowflake hitting the ground. Cool, huh? But I gotta warn you, it’s kinda in the middle of nowhere, so I hope you packed the tent because I doubt they have a Motel 6. Sayonara. Have fun.