Miriam shuddered. She pulled off again, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. She wasn’t working very hard to prove she loved her family if one post from Ella Evil could make her turn tail and run. “All right,” she said. “All right.”
She picked up her phone again and sighed at the “Upload media” button.
“What’s the matter?”
“I have to upload a picture of the last stop in order to unlock the next one. But all my pictures are on here.” Miriam tapped the disposable camera tucked into the cupholder.
Dicey dropped her forehead in her palm, shaking her head. “Oh, Miriam. You could’ve taken a picture from the observation deck.”
Figures.
“It really is too bad you couldn’t get a video of you singing to the telescope,” Dicey mused, staring out the window.
The guitar and the cello in the back seat seemed to whisper her name. “Well …” She scanned the scenery: trees, fields, mountains. Beauty everywhere. “I suppose I could do something right here. You could take a picture for me.” She twisted her neck to look at the hard black cases in the back seat.
Dicey followed her gaze. “You actually play those?”
“Some. I mean, I’m not bad. I played cello in high school.”
“Okay, then let’s go.” Dicey opened her car door.
Miriam got out too. Was she really doing this? Maybe she had absorbed some of Talia’s courage. Playing on a stage was one thing. Playing to a bunch of trees and fields beside a road felt somehow far more conspicuous and threatening.
But Talia would have done it. No question.
Miriam opened the car and grabbed the cello before she talked herself out of it. She’d sung for Blaise yesterday at the telescope. Today, she’d play for her daughter.
* * *
Miriam braved the tattered remains of last year’s undergrowth, getting Talia’s leggings and lace-lined tunic full of sticktights for her trouble. She perched on a stump overlooking a newly plowed field. It wasn’t a cello chair, but it could have been worse. Miriam settled on the stump, extended the end pin, and set it on the ground between her feet. She wondered what Talia would have thought about all this—the peg in the soft dirt, Miriam getting ready to play the instrument that had been her pride and joy.
Who was she kidding? Talia would have loved it. She would probably have materialized an accompaniment track and made a slick, high-production video of the experience. Where had that girl gotten her flair for the dramatic?
Miriam knew exactly where. Keep it together, Mira. Focus on the details.
Rosin the bow. Tune the strings.
Talia’s cello sounded terrible. Miriam couldn’t fix it by adjusting the fine tuners below the bridge. She closed her eyes and reached deep inside for her almost-perfect pitch, then bowed the A string with one hand while twisting the peg at the end of the neck with the other. She’d never heard this instrument so far out of tune. Then again, it had been sitting in its case for a year. What else could she expect?
And once again, she could barely breathe. Had the sun gone behind a cloud? No … she knew this feeling, this sensation of falling in slow motion down a long tunnel, farther and farther from the light.
If she’d harbored a hope that leaving home would deliver her from triggers, she’d clearly miscalculated. A cello, of all things. But a cello that, until a year ago, only saw the inside of its case when Talia was on her way somewhere with it. When she got stuck on a programming conundrum, she played. When she was ticked off at her parents, she played. She’d even taken it with her to Argentina last year—no, two years ago—when Teo took the twins to meet his extended family.
Miriam hadn’t gone on that trip either.
“Miriam? Are you okay?”
Miriam blinked. The sound of birdcalls returned; sunlight still filtered through baby leaves fluttering in a cool, pine-scented breeze. She looked up to find Dicey peering at her. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m, um … I’m here.” Not okay, but still here, among the living.
Dicey seemed to be debating whether to push the issue, but she pursed her lips and moved on. “You ready to go all Sound of Music?”
One thing about this girl: she made Miriam laugh. Or, well, chuckle, anyway. “All right.”
A car passed and slowed to gawk. Miriam tensed, expecting them to stop and accuse her of trespassing.
Dicey glanced at them as they accelerated away. “Just ignore them,” she said. “And ignore me. I’ll walk around and take some pictures so you have several to choose from.”
It felt awkward and slightly forced, but Miriam squashed her antipathy and nodded. She stared across the field, tilled but not yet planted, and the old hills rising beyond it. In the trees around her, birds competed to fill the morning. She didn’t know what to play. The only thing in her head, thanks to Dicey, began with the words “The hills are alive.”
And of course, the melody that had kept her awake last night.
Well, why not? She closed her eyes and began to play. It was a pretty melody, soaring and plaintive. She wished she could place it. This wasn’t like her. On the long car trips to visit Mom and Dad in Detroit, they used to play Name That Tune. Miriam had an almost photographic memory for melody; nobody could beat her, whether they sang classical, pop, show tunes, country, or liturgical music. Once in a while, Teo had managed to stump her by starting in the middle of Tchaikovsky, borrowing from himself. Otherwise, she was invincible.
What was this melody? There was more to it now than in the darkness last night, but still, twelve bars in, she came up blank. The bow faltered. The vibration of the strings faded away. The birds took up the slack. In the distance, Miriam heard the hiss of tires on asphalt.
A touch on her arm. “That was gorgeous, Miriam,” said Dicey. She crouched to examine the sleek lines of the cello. “I wish I could’ve learned to play.”
“Never too late.”
That twist to Dicey’s lips might have been a smile. “If you say so.” She handed Miriam’s phone back to her and started fiddling with her own.
Miriam laid the device on her leg and gazed across the valley. She wasn’t ready to put away the cello. The melody filled more than her head; it seemed to be spreading out inside her heart, connecting her to the profusion of green all around. Playing that melody here, in this space, had felt like … healing.
Her phone dinged. It was her sister: I don’t get it. You couldn’t take one weekend off to spend Easter with the family but you can take who knows how much time for a road trip? How do you think that makes Mom feel?
Miriam growled. “I work on Easter, Jo,” she told the device. “It’s my job.” But they’d been through all this four weeks before Easter, when Jo tried to buy her a plane ticket to Albuquerque. Mom understood. Or at least she claimed to. Perhaps Jo knew better. She and Mom had always been close. When Jo lived at home, they’d go shopping together or get nail treatments at the beauty school. Miriam would beg to tag along, but Dad always said she was too little. Once Jo left for college, Miriam thought she’d get her chance, but Jo called to talk to Mom every day, so maybe Mom never felt the need.
Miriam scrolled through the pictures. Dicey had a good eye. She chose one and uploaded it, then packed up the cello and headed for the car. The burn in her calves as she hauled the instrument up the hill felt … good. She felt good. That bubbling sensation beneath her locket surprised her. She’d forgotten music could make her feel this way: alive, humming with potential. If she could make music at one stop on this Great American Road Trip, why not at all of them?
Maybe she really could find redemption out here.
The women got back in the car. “I’m totally sharing this with all my friends,” Dicey said.
“Do I even want to know how many friends you have?”
“A bunch.” Dicey shrugged, a smug twist to her lips. “So now what?”
Miriam smiled and pulled out Blaise’s wheat penny. “Here goes nothing,” she said, and flipped the coin.
Part 3
Cincinnati, Ohio
I spent a lot of years trying to outrun or outsmart vulnerability by making things certain and definite, black and white, good and bad. My inability to lean into the discomfort of vulnerability limited the fullness of those important experiences that are wrought with uncertainty: Love, belonging, trust, joy, and creativity to name a few.
—Brené Brown
Talia’s intro
So, one stop down! Wouldn’t you like to know how many are left? Guess what? I can’t even tell you because we’re figuring this out and recording videos as we go too. How fun is that? Almost makes me want to go on the trip with you.
Wait a minute. What am I saying?
Anyway.
So … drum roll … your next stop is … Cincinnati, Ohio! It’s a date night! There’s all kinds of stuff to do there. You can take a steamboat ride, you can rent bikes, you can walk a labyrinth, see a baseball game. Maybe there’ll even be a concert. Who knows? Anyway. You’re welcome. Have fun, kids. Don’t call us. We really don’t wanna know.
10
Friday, April 29
Eastern Ohio
DICEY SLEPT MORE THAN anyone Miriam had ever met, including her teenage son. She slept through five counties and over an hour of All Things Considered, after which Miriam went looking for a pop station because listening to presidential politics was doing nothing for her existential crisis.
As she drove westward, humming, the sun disappeared into a cloud bank. The afternoon darkened, making it feel later than it really was. Dicey woke up coughing in Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a fast-food napkin, covering her mouth until the hacking finally stopped.
“You okay?” Miriam asked.
“Fine. Except this isn’t the interstate.” Dicey folded the napkin and tucked it away.
“Yeah. Construction zone, followed by an accident. Google rerouted us. Unfortunately, it also bypassed Charleston.”
“Oh.”
“I figured I might as well take you as far as Cincinnati. You can catch a bus there too.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
“Sure. I’m glad for the company.” On the radio, Taylor Swift was whining about her boyfriend. Miriam started singing softly again; Dicey pulled down the corners of her mouth to hide a smile. “You listen to TSwift. Really?”
“What can I say? It helps me get my teenage angst out.”
“Ugh. That’s totally a Tweet.” Dicey tapped out a post, speaking it out loud: So now I know what church choir directors listen to. TSwift. Explains a lot, I think.
“Lovely.” Miriam shook her head. “So keep me company. Tell me about yourself.”
Dicey shrugged. “What’s to tell? Pregnant, no degree, no future.”
Miriam pried her jaw open. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“Suit yourself.”
She gripped the steering wheel hard. “My daughter would have turned eighteen in February. Don’t tell me you have no future. You’re alive.”
Dicey slumped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was supposed to be a joke. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”
Miriam eased up on the steering wheel. “Thanks for that.”
Dicey coughed again, drank from her water bottle, and screwed the cap back on. “My mama’s amazing,” she said, and the sardonic note in her voice was gone, replaced by sincerity. “She raised five Black boys in south L.A., and every one of them got himself a college degree.”
“Wow.”
“And my dad came around just often enough to keep from having to pay child support. Till I was about five, anyway. Then Mama told him he better hang around for good or else don’t bother coming back at all. Soon enough, she was sorry she ever did. He was an ugly drunk. Breaking things, calling names. All that yelling. The first time he laid a hand on her, though, she packed us all up and moved up to the Bay Area. We haven’t seen him since.”
“Wow,” Miriam said again. It seemed a ridiculously inadequate response. She knew all about men who weren’t father material, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say so.
Dicey twirled a string of beads hanging off her backpack. “When I was five, Mom went to get her nursing degree so she could …”
Miriam waited a beat before venturing, “Have a career of her own?”
Dicey gave a noncommittal shrug.
A ring tone interrupted the radio. The dashboard screen flashed Incoming call from: Becky Lindon.
Miriam answered. “Becky! What’s up?”
Her friend’s voice filled the speakers. “Finally!”
“I didn’t have a cell signal.”
“Yes, I saw your post. Well, I’m glad to hear you sounding so … chipper.”
“It’s been interesting.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Um …” Miriam glanced over at Dicey, who was pretending not to listen. “Not right now.”
“All right. So, you know about … um …?”
“Ella Evil? Yes, I know about it.”
“Well …” Becky sounded disconcerted. “That wasn’t what I meant, but since you brought it up, you seem surprisingly calm.”
“It’s me,” Dicey said. “I’m giving her sedatives.”
A brief pause. “Uh … hello,” Becky said. “I didn’t realize there was someone else in the car.”
“Yeah, I figured I better announce myself before it got weird.”
“Dicey, meet my friend Becky. She’s one of my choir members. And our social director. Becky, this is Dicey Smith. I’m giving her a ride to the bus station.”
“Oh.”
Monosyllables were not Becky’s style. “What’s going on, Bec?”
Becky hesitated. “Well, there’s a comment you need to see. On Blaise’s video.”
That didn’t sound good. “What is it?”
“You need to read it yourself.”
“Hang on.” Dicey’s thumbs danced over her screen. “Here, this must be it—it tags about a bazillion people.”
Miriam clenched her fists on the steering wheel. “So what does it say?”
“It’s a link to an old Instagram post.” She peered at it. “It’s a picture of two boys. I guess one of them must be Blaise. This guy says, ‘When I saw this video, all I could think of was those two fairies at science camp who got caught outside together after curfew. Went looking and guess what? This is one of them! You figure those queens—’”
Dicey stopped abruptly, but the lid had already blown off the hot, hard scab covering Miriam’s heart. “Finish it,” she said.
“Uh, Miriam—”
“Finish it!”
Dicey hesitated. Sighed. Clicked her phone off. “The gist of it is this prick questioning whether either of them …” She redirected. “If they were … actually equipped to have sex.”
Miriam’s rage raised the temperature in the car ten degrees. She had to open the window and let in the cool of the approaching storm, just so the cabin didn’t spontaneously combust. “Let me see.”
“Miriam—”
“Now.”
Dicey thumbed the phone and held it out. A quick glance showed her Blaise and another boy holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes with an intensity that leaped off the screen.
Miriam returned her attention to the road, breathing hard through her nose. What kind of person went after someone who was dead?
Dicey peered at the screen. “The original post got a lot of interaction.” She hesitated. “These comments are horrible. It went on for days. Can you imagine living with that for a whole week?”
“I thought the same thing,” said Becky softly. “Did Blaise tell you anything about it, Miriam?”
Her rage vanished beneath a wave of pain so powerful, Miriam felt as if her guts had been yanked out of her body and thrown on the pavement. “No,” she said.
She pulled off on the shoulder and bent over the steering wheel. She remembered that camp. Blaise had been so excited�
��a whole week devoted to astronomy. Yet afterward, he’d had nothing to say. He was quiet by nature, but this was different. For weeks afterward, he’d been moody and withdrawn. He’d only perked up when Talia brought home information from her cello teacher about a tiered competition whose final winners would earn ten thousand dollars in scholarships, payable to a music school of their choice. He threw himself into preparing for the first round, and Miriam breathed a sigh of relief and let it go.
She’d given him space and privacy when what he needed was love. Why hadn’t she dug deeper? He’d been suffering, and she’d done nothing to help him bear it.
“Ssssooooo …” said Dicey, “your son was gay?”
Miriam shook her head, the steering wheel rolling across her forehead. “I didn’t think … I don’t know.”
The music in her suitcase mocked her: the manila folder, the printouts, the manuscript notebook filled with her pathetic attempts to finish what Blaise had begun. No wonder she’d failed so miserably.
The clouds hunkered down, sucking wattage from the day. It couldn’t be. He would have told her.
Wouldn’t he?
Her body craved motion. Miriam sat up and accelerated back onto the highway. “I can’t talk about this right now. I gotta get off the phone, Bec.”
A long pause. Then Becky sighed. “All right. Call me tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Music replaced her friend’s voice in the speakers. The perky beat grated like sandpaper. Miriam punched the radio off.
Of all Miriam’s family, she and Blaise had understood each other best. Why wouldn’t he have told her? Did he think she’d be angry? Reject him?
Maybe he’d told Teo. Teo never got angry about anything. It was his most maddening trait. He never let anything get to him.
A fat drop of rain splattered the windshield. Another. And another. Miriam turned on the wipers, but they only smeared the dust. She punched the wiper fluid dispenser.
She had to finish that music. Find whatever message Blaise had left for her there.
“Um, Miriam?”
She glanced to her right. Dicey had a slightly strained look on her face.
A Song for the Road Page 7
