The Long Way Home

by McQuestion, Karen

  Marnie shook her head. “She gave me a ride home one night when my car wouldn’t start. After that I had her over for dinner as a thank-you. I like her and she seems very nice, but I can’t say I know her well.”

  Rita frowned. “So we’re traveling with a complete stranger? Seems a little dicey to me, not to know someone and be sharing car space for a week.”

  Complete strangers. It occurred to Marnie that the same could be said of Rita. In fact, she barely knew either of these women. For all she knew, they had homicidal tendencies. Or were just really annoying. Before she could say anything in response, Rita pointed to the house. “Oh there she is now. Odd that we didn’t see her when we were inside.” Marnie looked up to see Jazzy coming down the walk, a skip in her step.

  “Good news!” Jazzy said, breaking into a wide grin. “Laverne wants to come with us.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rita leaned against the car, a puzzled look on her face.

  “Who’s Laverne?” Marnie asked.

  “Laverne,” Jazzy said, pointing back at the house. “You know—Laverne.”

  This was going nowhere. Marnie tried again. “How do you know her?”

  “Your neighbor, silly.”

  “My neighbor?”

  “The lady who lives downstairs from you.” Jazzy stopped just an arm’s length from where the two women stood. At this distance, Marnie could really see Jazzy’s clear blue eyes and a scattering of very light freckles across her nose. “When I told her we were going to Las Vegas, she said she wanted to come along.”

  “The lady downstairs. You mean Mrs. Benner?” Marnie asked, astonished.

  “I don’t know her last name. She just said Laverne.”

  Rita spoke up. “I wish you had talked to us first, Jazzy. There’s simply not enough room for another person. You’re going to have to tell her she can’t go.” Her voice was firm. A mom voice.

  “Oh, sorry.” Jazzy looked crestfallen. “I wasn’t thinking I guess. It’s just that she was so excited, and I figured since she was Marnie’s neighbor, it would be okay. The more the merrier is my philosophy.”

  “But I’ve never met Mrs. Benner,” Marnie said, protesting. “I don’t even know what she looks like.”

  “You’ve never met her?” Now it was Rita’s turn to be astonished. “How can you live above someone and not know what they look like?”

  “Her son told me she wants to be left alone. That under no circumstances should I bother her. He was very clear on that.”

  “You need to march back inside and tell her that you made a mistake,” Rita said to Jazzy. “Blame me if you need to. Tell her I said there’s not enough room in the car, and that she can go with us the next time.” She ran her fingers through her hair.

  Jazzy took a deep breath. “But see, I have this gut feeling that she needs to be on the trip with us.”

  Rita sighed. “Jazzy, I hate to be a party pooper, but we’ve reached our limit already. It’s going to be hard enough with the three of us.”

  “I don’t think she’ll take up much space,” Jazzy said, reminding Marnie of a kid pleading for a new puppy. “Two in front and two in back would work out fine.”

  The front door flew open then and a small elderly woman with white poodle hair and wire-rim glasses stepped out onto the stoop, dragging a suitcase behind her. “I’m ready, I’m ready,” she called to them. When she stepped down onto the walkway, the door clattered shut behind her. “I can’t thank you gals enough for including me on your trip.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Watching Laverne pulling her luggage down the walk, Jazzy thought about how much her appearance had changed in the last ten minutes. Funny that people used the word aged to describe when a person looked older, but there was no word for the reverse process. No one ever said someone had “youngered.” But Laverne definitely looked like she’d shed some years. The lines in her face were still there, but her smile made them less noticeable. Her posture was different too. Instead of walking hunched over, she stood upright and moved with lively steps. The woman had to be at least seventy-five, but you couldn’t tell it by the way she moved.

  “Hey, Laverne,” Jazzy said.

  Laverne stopped on the sidewalk and patted her suitcase like it was an obedient dog. “Thanks for waiting. I could’ve been quicker, but I had to call my son and tell him to take care of Oscar.”

  “Oscar?” Marnie asked.

  “My cat,” Laverne said.

  Jazzy said, “Laverne, I’d like you to meet Rita. This is her car. And of course this is Marnie, your upstairs neighbor.”

  “Hey,” Laverne said gruffly, waving a hand in their direction. “I hope you don’t need me to share in the driving. I didn’t keep up with my license and it expired a while back.”

  “About that,” Jazzy said. “I’m sorry to have to tell you I have some bad news.”

  “Oh?” Laverne’s brow furrowed.

  Jazzy twisted her hands together sympathetically. “Yes—”

  Rita interrupted. “Let me tell her, Jazzy, since it’s my car.” She gave Laverne a big smile. “You’ll probably have to ride in the backseat for most of the trip. We already had the seat arrangements worked out before we knew you were coming along.”

  Jazzy had an inkling Rita was going to change her mind, but it clearly took Marnie unawares and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “Okeydokey,” Laverne said. “I don’t care where I go as long as you don’t put me in the trunk.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Jazzy said. “The trunk is full.”

  Indeed, it was nearly full. There was only enough room for Laverne’s suitcase and that was all. Jazzy slammed the lid down and joined Rita in the front. In the back, Marnie and Laverne fumbled with seat belts. Two clicks later, Marnie gave the okay to go.

  “Now,” Jazzy said, looking at her GPS, “if we drive for four hours straight, we can stop to eat in—”

  “Oh, honey,” Rita said, overriding her. “I can tell you right now that we won’t be driving for four hours straight at any time during this trip.”

  “Why not?”

  Rita laughed and pulled away from the curb. “You’re just a baby, so you probably don’t know this, but when you’re traveling with old broads you have to factor in a lot of bathroom stops.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Following Jazzy’s directions, Rita headed west, then eased her car onto the expressway. GPS, she decided, had to be the best gift to car trips since air-conditioning. Jazzy had named hers “Garmina” and had set it to speak in a British accent, an option Rita didn’t know was possible. “Garmina just sounds more polite when she has an English accent,” Jazzy said. “The American version sometimes sounds irritated, especially when she says, ‘recalculating,’ over and over again. Like she thinks I’m some kind of idiot.”

  Rita’s husband, Glenn, had found it hard to believe she was going on a car trip with two women she’d just met, but he was pleased for her too, she could tell. She hadn’t been herself since Melinda died. Time and again she’d tried to get back to being the person she was before the murder, but even her best moments were a charade. Like she was going through the expected motions of life. With each passing month she thought it would get easier, but that didn’t happen. Every day was one more day without Melinda.

  She once heard a radio show psychologist say that death was painful, not because people couldn’t see their loved ones anymore, but because they couldn’t communicate with them anymore. That made perfect sense to her. Rita could stand not seeing Melinda and not having her as part of her everyday life, if only she could have some contact, some assurance that things were the way they should be and that her daughter was fine. The violence that had taken her life marred the memories of her vibrant self.

  This trip was the first time she’d felt even a smidgen of joy. She wanted to help Marnie reconnect with her stepson. Someone should be able to hug her child even if she couldn’t. When it was time to go, Glenn had helped her
carry her things out to the car, and asked if she had her phone and enough money. “Make sure you call me,” he said. As if she wouldn’t.

  “I’ll be back in a week or so,” she said, giving him a kiss. “And I’ll call you every night.” Wait until she told him they’d picked up a fourth passenger at the last minute. She still couldn’t believe she’d allowed Laverne to go with them. The old lady just looked so overjoyed to be going that Rita didn’t want to be the one to cast a storm cloud over things.

  “Everyone comfortable?” Rita asked. Jazzy nodded vigorously and a double chorus of “Yes!” came from Laverne and Marnie in the backseat.

  “I’m so glad we don’t have to go through Chicago,” Jazzy said. “With the construction this time of year it’s a nightmare. I hate those orange cones.”

  “Worse are the concrete barricades,” Marnie said. “I’m always worried the car will scrape against them.”

  “It’s probably a good thing neither of you are driving,” Rita said. She prided herself on her good driving record. She’d never had an accident, never even had a speeding ticket for that matter. Nerves of steel behind the wheel, that was Rita.

  When Rita’s daughter, Melinda, turned sixteen and got her learner’s permit, Glenn took her out driving once and it had been a horrible experience for both of them. They came into the house afterward with Melinda crying. “Daddy yelled at me,” she sobbed.

  Rita gave Glenn an accusing look. He threw up his arms and said, “See if you can do it any better.” From then on, she was the one who took Mel driving and that was fine. Every summer after that, mother and daughter went on a road trip and shared the driving. Glenn opted to stay home the first year and after that he wasn’t invited. There was something sacred about traveling together, just the two of them. They talked and laughed and talked some more, stopping when they had to and taking detours when something interested them. Rita realized with a pang that she missed Melinda not just as a daughter, but as a friend too. And she also missed future Melinda, the daughter who someday would have been a mother, making her a grandmother. Melinda would have been a good mom.

  Laverne opened the window a bit and tentatively stuck out a hand. “Ahh,” she said, closing her eyes. She looked euphoric.

  Rita glanced at the rearview mirror and smiled. “If you want the air on, just let me know.”

  Laverne, eyes still closed, said, “For now, this is perfect. Just give a holler when we hit the state line. I’ve never been out of Wisconsin. I want the full experience.”

  “You’ve never been out of Wisconsin? You’re kidding!” Jazzy’s eyes widened. She turned around. “Why not?”

  “We never had the cash to be gallivanting around. I had a bunch of kids and they needed shoes and food and whatnot. And then when they grew up, we were saving up for retiring. It went on and on.”

  “Still,” Jazzy said, “to not go out of Wisconsin your whole life!”

  “My life isn’t over yet.” Laverne closed the window. “And I’m getting out of Wisconsin now, aren’t I?”

  “You’re not only leaving Wisconsin. You’re heading to Las Vegas,” Rita said.

  “Sin city!” Jazzy said.

  Rita said, “Home of the Hoover Dam.”

  “An oasis in the desert,” Jazzy added.

  “Gambling,” Laverne said, her eyes shining.

  And Marnie softly added, “The place where I can finally see Troy.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jazzy hummed along to the music. At the start of the trip, she’d asked if she could hook up her iPod to the car stereo and the ladies were fine with it. Since then, she’d spent a lot of time scrolling through songs to make sure the music matched the view.

  They’d established a routine. Every hour or so they made a bathroom stop. Marnie said she didn’t really find it necessary, but joined the other two anyhow, just in case. Jazzy declined. She couldn’t even imagine having to pee that often. “Have you guys thought of seeing a doctor about this condition?” she asked, which made them laugh. When Rita had first mentioned frequent bathroom breaks, Jazzy hadn’t dreamt it would be this often. Good Lord, how could a person function in life with having to stop and hunt for a toilet all the time?

  Most of the time the group kept a lookout for their restrooms of choice—the parklike rest areas found along Wisconsin highways. When they stopped, the other women visited the bathrooms, while Jazzy checked out the display case and studied the large state map, complete with red arrow labeled, “You are here.” Her third-grade teacher had said Wisconsin was shaped like a mitten, and that was sort of true, although she noted now that Michigan was clearly even more mitten-shaped.

  Marnie spent a lot of her time in the car looking at a road atlas, tracing their path with her finger. Jazzy knew Marnie was wishing they could get there faster. Jazzy had involuntarily tapped into Marnie’s stream of consciousness, and was picking up her thoughts and emotions. It wasn’t a fun place to be. The woman was down on herself a lot. Her latest mental self-flagellation involved her fear of flying. Marnie had been thinking the same thought, over and over again, ever since the trip began. If I wasn’t so afraid to fly, I could be in Las Vegas already. If I wasn’t so afraid to fly, I could be in Las Vegas already. It was driving Jazzy crazy. She wanted to tell Marnie to ease up on herself. Everyone had something—some fear, some shortcoming, some problem. And some people had multiples in each area. The problems were what made people human beings—they fostered compassion and encouraged growth. What would be the point if everyone was perfect? She wanted to tell Marnie this, but Jazzy knew from previous experience that the words wouldn’t reach her. This was something Marnie would have to learn for herself.

  Out of all of them, Laverne was the most interested in the view. She looked out in rapt attention, clutching her large purse. She gawked as they passed farm fields dotted by Black Angus cattle. When they passed a sign for the city of Fitchburg she said, “Sounds like a Civil War name.” She nudged Marnie when she spotted a hawk flying overhead. Marnie feigned polite interest and then went back to reading the atlas. As they got closer to the Mississippi River, the route became hillier, and the road often dipped between walls of rock three stories high. Laverne gaped unabashedly.

  At the end of the afternoon, when they were within reach of the Iowa border, they saw a sign for the last of the Wisconsin rest stops until the return trip. “Does anyone want to stop?” Rita asked, once again.

  “You betcha,” Laverne said. Rita veered off the freeway and headed down the long exit toward the rest stop. In the distance they saw a parking lot and building fronted by a flagpole. A US flag topped the pole, with the Wisconsin state flag below, both waving in the breeze.

  “I was here with my daughter once,” Rita said. “The building was inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright—prairie style. There’s a really nice deck in back that faces the Mississippi. You can’t see the river, but you get the sense it’s out there.” She sounded sad, but when she caught Jazzy’s eye she managed a small smile.

  When they exited the car, Rita turned back to lock the doors with her remote. Beep, beep. Laverne lagged behind the others as if she were moving through water. “Just go ahead of me,” she said to the others. “I know I’m slow.”

  Jazzy stayed by her side. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no hurry.” She accompanied Laverne inside and watched as she entered the ladies’ room on the left. Then Jazzy stopped to take a drink at the bubbler, sipping slowly before pausing to let the arc of water wet her lips. Cold and pure and refreshing, like spring water. She went back outside and lifted her face to the sun. Such a beautiful, sunny day. Just the sort of day one dreamt of when winter was at its worst.

  She meandered down to one of the covered picnic tables scattered behind the building and stopped to lean on one but didn’t sit down. It was nice in the shade. A thought suddenly came, telling her to walk down near the edge of the clearing, closer to the trees and the tall grass. Was it her own thought or something from outside her? It wasn’
t always easy to tell. Either way, it seemed like a reasonable thing to do. Jazzy made her way down the incline. Now she was near a cluster of trees, a thicket of trees so deep that the area was nearly a woods, and the voice said, Close your eyes. She felt compelled to stretch her arms out wide and became fully aware of the rustling of the wind in the trees, the smell of exhaust wafting from the parking lot. She imagined herself linked to all that was around her. The air in her lungs, the energy in her limbs, the electricity in her brain, all connected to everything and everyone else in the universe. She took a deep breath, keeping her arms extended. She wanted to embrace the world.

  Stay still, the voice said. Be open to the possibilities.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rita was the first one out of the bathroom. She lingered at the display, glanced at the brochures in the rack, and took a sip of water at the bubbler before going outside to wait for the others. They’d only been on the road for a few hours, and she was already starting to doubt the wisdom of this trip. It had seemed like a good idea when Jazzy had broached the subject at the grief group. God knew Rita needed something to pull her out of her rut. Glenn had tried for years, bless him, with no success. They’d gone on trips, gotten a kitten, volunteered at a homeless shelter. Every step of the way she thought how much more fun it would be if Melinda were there.

  This trip was different, mostly because Glenn wasn’t with her and also because she’d met these women after Melinda died. She’d thought that maybe, just maybe, this would keep her mind off herself. And it was working, at least somewhat. Driving required concentration, and the other women were nice, so far. So why did she feel so alone?

  A woman pushing a baby in a stroller approached the glass door, and Rita opened it from the inside. The woman, who wore training sneakers, spandex shorts, and a tank top, had a decidedly athletic look. “Thanks so much,” she said brightly, guiding the stroller with one hand and taking a sip from a water bottle with the other. Rita nodded, and after the stroller cleared the door, she headed outside to wait for the others.