A Song for the Road

by Kathleen Basi

  He nailed it.

  Miriam’s insides felt squirmy. Squirmy in a good way. Happy! That’s what this was. She felt like doing a little dance … until she caught the eye of the woman with the cup. She hadn’t imagined the hostility there.

  Miriam returned her attention to the boy. Just one more. And only because of his shirt. If the parents hadn’t shown by then, she’d find a policeman.

  Teo used to play the Superman theme for Blaise at bedtime, to ward off the monsters under the bed—a ritual Miriam found irksome on days when she felt strung out and stretched thin, and Teo had worship commission or ministry training at church. But she’d learned to do it. Not with Teo’s flair, but enough to banish the monsters.

  She started the iconic theme. Instantly, the little boy stood up straight and put a fist out, turning a slow circle as he sang along.

  She finished with a cheesy flourish; the crowd laughed and applauded. People started throwing coins and bills in Miriam’s guitar case. She hadn’t anticipated that. “No, no,” she said, rising. “You don’t need to—I’m not—”

  “You are despicable,” came a voice right in her ear. Miriam whirled. The hostile woman.

  Not hostile. Drunk. Miriam took a step back and bumped into the swing. The guitar strings vibrated as wood contacted metal.

  “Exploiting a child to get people to give you money!”

  Miriam glanced at the boy—or, more accurately, where he had been a moment ago. Because he was gone.

  She dropped Teo’s guitar in its case and sidestepped her antagonist. The child hadn’t gotten far, fortunately, but he was wandering down the lawn toward the riverbank. “Kiddo!” she called. “Superman!”

  The woman followed. “You can’t get away. I’ve called the police on you!”

  The woman was drunk and crazy. Miriam hurried after Superman, hoping Dicey would get back soon, since she’d left her belongings unguarded at the top of the hill.

  But someone else was streaking toward them now: a twenty-something man who looked frantic enough to be searching for a lost child.

  Miriam waved him over. “Is this your son?”

  “My sister’s kid,” he said, gasping for breath as he pounded out a text. “He has autism.”

  “I thought he might. I have to warn you—”

  The drunk woman weaved toward them, waving both her glass and her phone while she raved about circles of hell.

  “—about that,” Miriam sighed.

  “Who are you?” demanded Drunk Lady. Beer sloshed out of her glass, dousing both Miriam and the boy’s uncle. “Cops didn’t know you had an accomplice, did they?”

  “Look,” Miriam said, “I wasn’t using him to make money. His uncle has him now. Let it go.”

  “Oh no.” Another slosh, this time dousing the boy, who wailed. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, sister. I called—”

  “The cops,” Miriam finished with her. They couldn’t get here soon enough, as far as she was concerned.

  “We don’t need cops,” said the uncle, putting his hands on his nephew’s shoulders and tucking the boy close against his legs.

  “Hey!” Drunk Lady raised her voice. “Hey, everybody! These two are the kidnappers! This is that kid from the Amber Alert!”

  Miriam and the young man both froze, staring at each other open-mouthed. Then his face crumpled into fury. “Back off, you crazy bitch,” he snapped. Superman began to hum, his body rocking. “This is my nephew, and I’m taking him back to his mother.”

  “Nice try. Everybody! Everybody!” The woman pointed to the boy. “The kid from the Amber Alert! Help! They’re going to get away!”

  The man began to steer his nephew away. He didn’t see the punch coming.

  But Miriam did. Instinctively, she leaped into its path.

  For being drunk, the woman packed quite a wallop. Without time to brace for the impact, Miriam staggered backward into the pair she was trying to protect. The man nearly fell on his nephew.

  When he regained his balance, he swung on the drunk woman, shoving her backward with a snarl. She retaliated with what had to be self-defense training, both of them red-faced and shouting, both oblivious to the child rocking and keening in the danger zone between them.

  Damn it, somebody had to think of that poor kid. Miriam reached down and scooped him up to pull him out of harm’s way.

  And all hell broke loose.

  Screaming. Thrashing. Beating on her. Kicking. Talia’s hat went flying. It caught the stiff breeze blowing off the Ohio River, but before Miriam could go after it the woman slammed her fist into the back of Miriam’s ribcage. She nearly dropped the boy. Her maternal instincts kicking in, she managed to get him safely to the ground.

  Then she turned to the drunk woman and punched her in the face.

  Which was, of course, the moment the police arrived.

  The drunk woman took off running. Why was she running? She was the one who’d called the cops in the first place!

  A female officer sprinted after her. In the distance Dicey, laboring down the sidewalk with a panicked expression on her face, nearly got run over. She staggered as the drunk woman shoved her aside and continued on. “Dicey!” Miriam ran to help.

  Or at least she tried. Because then there were hands on her elbows, restraining her. More shouting.

  And then, the icy burn of handcuffs.

  16

  THE TINY, WINDOWLESS ROOM had a one-way mirror and a table with two chairs. Normally, fluorescent lighting didn’t bother Miriam, but this one flickered visibly, and with nothing else to listen to and nothing to think about except how she was going to pay for a lawyer who could convince a judge and jury she hadn’t done anything worse than lose her temper …

  Well, that electric buzz had her skittering on the end of her last nerve.

  She propped her elbows on her knees and rested her head in her hands. If Teo had been there, he would’ve figured out a way to de-escalate the situation, drunk woman or not. Probably he’d have stopped the impromptu mirror-mirror musical revue before it started, in favor of packing up and finding the boy’s parents. Which clearly would have been the wiser course.

  The door clicked open. Miriam’s adrenaline surged as the detective who’d questioned her came in with his hands in his pockets. “You’re free to go, Mrs. Tedesco.”

  She gaped at him. “Just like that?”

  He sat down across from her. “The video corroborates your story.”

  Thank God for Dicey’s videography! That video was getting deleted the moment she got her phone back, but still, thank God!

  “What about the boy?” she asked. “Superman? Is he okay? Did his mother find him?”

  “Yes, they’re all fine. Apparently he wandered away from the playground up by the Roebling Bridge. So at least we don’t have another missing child to find.”

  “I don’t understand why she fixated on me.”

  He shrugged. “You fit the same general description as the suspect.”

  Miriam pressed the heels of her hands to her temples and groaned.

  He stood up. “Come on. Your friend is waiting for you.”

  Her friend. The friend who’d saved her butt and whom she’d resolved to drop off at the bus station at the first possible opportunity. The friend she’d been rude to last night.

  Now she really needed to apologize.

  Miriam almost burst into tears when she entered the waiting area and saw Dicey, looking pale and drawn, struggle to her feet.

  Dicey did burst into tears. “I’m so sorry!” she wailed. She threw her arms around Miriam, the hard swell of her belly like a punch in the gut. “I had the livestream running, and I thought I’d go get some panoramic shots, and I didn’t realize it had all gone to shit until too late. They confiscated the phone and the guitar and everything. It took me an hour to convince them to talk to me!”

  Miriam patted her back. “It’s okay, honey. I’m just so grateful you didn’t bail on me. Especially after I was such a bitch to you last
night.”

  “You weren’t a bitch.”

  Miriam opened her mouth to argue, but then Dicey’s earlier statement sank in. “Hang on,” she said slowly. “Did you just say ‘livestream’?”

  Dicey coughed hard, once only, and blew her nose. “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry. I know I didn’t ask, but when that boy—”

  “Livestream.”

  “Yeah. I mean …” Dicey’s shoulders hunched. “You didn’t say no, so I figured …”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” Dicey looked at the floor, fiddling with her blue bracelet, her shoulders hunched. She clearly thought Miriam would bite her head off.

  A tempting idea. If only Dicey hadn’t just saved her butt.

  Miriam sighed and rubbed her forehead. This day just kept getting better and better. “Do his parents know their kid was livestreamed?”

  Dicey looked like she wanted to crawl in a hole. “Um, yes.”

  “And they said what about it?”

  “Well …” She shrugged. “They’re more philosophical than anything.”

  “Did you apologize?”

  Dicey gave her a withering stare. “Of course I did.”

  “A lot?”

  “Profusely.”

  Miriam sighed. Nothing to be done about it now. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get going, then.”

  They stepped toward the door, and traffic noise swept over them in a warm, humid wave. Becky’s Hyundai sat in front of the station, loaded with all the equipment. Miriam turned to Dicey. “You loaded it all by yourself?”

  Dicey shrugged. “Somebody should have been livestreaming me. I probably looked like a camel with a hump on both sides.” She gave Miriam a mischievous look. “Race you to the car.”

  Miriam’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Totally serious. But you run. I’ll waddle.”

  Miriam chuckled. “Fine.”

  “On the count of three. One—GO!” said Dicey, and took off down the stairs, giggling.

  She did look pretty comical waddling down the steps of the police station. Miriam laughed out loud as she followed. She hadn’t had a good belly laugh in a long time. It lifted her spirits, but she didn’t know why for a moment.

  When her brain caught up, everything became clear. Why not?

  As Dicey settled into the passenger seat, her laughter spiraled into coughing. Miriam reached over with alarm. “Are you okay? Dicey, honey—”

  “Okay,” she gasped. “Just go.” She shoved Miriam’s arm away.

  Miriam put up both hands and left her to her coughing fit. She nosed her way out into traffic.

  By the time she merged onto the highway, Dicey’s hacking had eased. The younger woman leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Miriam stole a glance at her. “Are you okay?”

  Dicey nodded. They both knew the itinerary: a short jaunt to the bus station and a farewell Miriam no longer wanted. Maybe she didn’t have to do this alone.

  She cleared her throat. “So, Dicey, I was thinking.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wondering, really, where exactly it is you’re headed. And how much of a hurry you’re in to get there. Because, if you’ve got a little time, you’re welcome to ride with me, as long as it’s generally on the way.”

  The slow smile was so unlike Talia’s quicksilver grin, it underscored how alike the two girls were in other ways. “I’m headed home,” Dicey said. “To California. And I’d love to tag along.”

  Miriam pulled Blaise’s wheat penny from her wallet. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m going to California too. Care to do the honors?”

  Dicey grinned and took the penny. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Part 4

  St. Louis, Missouri

  Such is my experience—not that I ever mourned the loss of a child, but that I consider myself as lost!

  —Deborah Sampson

  Talia’s intro

  So, have you got the hang of this yet? Here’s hoping. Though Mom’s probably a lost cause. Dad, you’ll have to walk her through it.

  Your next stop is Cahokia Mounds. You’ll like this one, Dad. The Almighty Wiki says this is a … “pre-Columbian Native American city, circa 600–1400 CE, situated directly across the Mississippi River from modern St. Louis, Missouri.” It’s got eighty mounds, and one of them is really big. Like, a hundred and fifty-four steps high. Hope you packed your walking shoes.

  17

  Saturday, April 30

  En route to St. Louis, Missouri

  THE MILE MARKERS FLASHED past unseen, Miriam steering for St. Louis on autopilot. She’d planned to camp tonight, to save money, but the thunderheads gathered above, flashing blue without ever revealing a single lightning bolt, changed her mind. As usual, Becky saved the day, texting her the number for a Benedictine monastery in north St. Louis that offered rooms to travelers in need.

  And now, with Dicey absorbed in her scrapbooking app, there was nothing to keep her mind occupied except Talia. Beautiful Talia and her unbeautiful crack at Miriam’s discomfort with technology, now on display for everyone to hear.

  It made no difference, knowing the video had been recorded long before the big fight. It still felt like a poisoned dart.

  Her phone rang through the Bluetooth. Miriam glanced at the screen and groaned.

  Dicey looked up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Miriam said, and answered. “Hi, Jo.”

  “Miriam,” said her sister. “Please tell me you told Mom.”

  “Told Mom what?” Too late, Miriam heard the defensiveness in her own voice. Jo had always known exactly what buttons to push.

  “Hello? You got arrested on Facebook Live?”

  Miriam stole a glance at Dicey, whose shoulders hunched. “Ease up, Jo. It was all a misunderstanding. Everything’s fine.”

  “Ease up? Ease up? My kids found out about it at school! They were terrified. These are your nieces! Did you even think how this might affect your family? Of course not. You just went off half-cocked on a trip across the country, no planning—”

  “Hang on,” Miriam interrupted, focusing on the part that would not cause her to lose her temper. “Why would the kids have heard about it at school?”

  It might have been the first time Miriam had ever silenced her sister. When Jo spoke again, her voice was much lower. “Do you really not know?”

  “Know what?”

  “It went viral.”

  Dicey and Miriam exchanged a wide-eyed glance. Then Dicey leaned over her phone, navigating furiously. “She’s right, Miriam. Holy crap.”

  The connection hissed in silence while the word looped in Miriam’s head, viral viral viral viral, like the teacup ride at Disney World. If you didn’t hold onto the wheel, it got completely out of control, centrifugal force plastering you to the wall, powerless over your own body.

  “This is exactly why you should be calling off the whole trip,” Jo said, and the edge was back. “If you’d thought about it for half a minute instead of going off half-cocked, you’d never have left home.”

  Miriam locked her jaw to keep from responding.

  “I-it’s kind of cool, actually,” Dicey ventured into the silence. “Most of the comments are really sweet. Most of them.”

  “I’m not looking at comments.”

  “But—”

  “Not happening, Dicey.”

  “Okay,” Dicey said meekly.

  “Well, that’s the first thing you’ve said that makes any sense,” Jo said.

  Since she’d said almost nothing, that wasn’t saying much. Jo had a way of making Miriam want to run out and do exactly the thing she was told not to do. Jo was the only person in the world who could get that reaction out of her. “Not helpful,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Look.” Jo’s voice softened again. “I know it’s been hard, but this won’t change anything. Just come home. Please. Before anything worse happens.”

  Miriam rubbed h
er forehead, examining her motivations. “No,” she said. “I’m going on. Because it’s what they would have wanted.”

  “Mira—”

  “Will you please talk to Mom for me?” Miriam asked.

  “You need to talk to her yourself.”

  “You’re probably right, but—”

  “Of course I’m right.”

  Miriam counted to three to settle her irritation. “Please, Jo. I’ll call her in a day or two. I promise.”

  Jo was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was tight. “Fine,” she said. “I’m holding you to that.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good night then.”

  “Bye, Jo.”

  Dicey exhaled when the music returned. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” Miriam sighed.

  “Is she always like that?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” Miriam sighed. “Viral, huh. Talia would have loved that. Imagine the stories she could have told her kids about it.”

  Dicey dimpled. “Like my mom kicking my dad out of the house wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and black socks, with a slice of anchovy pizza in his hand.”

  Miriam chuckled.

  “You really don’t want to look at the comments?”

  “Nope. What I’d like you to do is tell me about your scrapbooking.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing. That’s the point.” Miriam reached over and tapped Dicey’s phone. “Do you do a lot of it?”

  “This is my first time. But my mom made each of us a homemade baby book.”

  Miriam’s mother hadn’t done anything like that for her. But then, she hadn’t done it for Jo or Brad either. It wasn’t her way. But that didn’t stop Jo from being fiercely protective of Mom. What critical piece of empathy was missing in Miriam? Because Jo was right. It hadn’t even occurred to Miriam to let Mom know what happened in Cincinnati.

  She shook her head clear. She was trying to focus on Dicey, not herself. “Are you close to your mom?” she asked.