by JA Huss
“Ford, wait.”
The seatbelt clicks as I release it and pull the seat out, push past her and stick the seat in the back of the Bronco. “I have seatbelts back here, I know I do. I just need to find them.” My hand sweeps under the back cushion searching and I find the webbed strap and pull it out, then go looking for the lock. “OK, I’m not sure how to buckle that seat in, so you do that and I’ll get the stroller and stuff.” I push her out of my way, not roughly, just move her aside, and go back to the van to get the rest of the stuff. When I look back she’s just standing there by the open door.
“What?”
She’s got that look on her face. The look pretty much everyone gets after they realize I’m either a genuine freak or a psychotic criminal.
“What?” I ask again, because she’s just staring at me.
“OK. I’ll wait you out on this one, but I’m not done.” And then the look is gone and she turns back to the baby seat and gets busy.
I grab the stroller first and put it in the cargo area of the Bronco, then go back for the bags. She’s using grocery bags again. This time she’s got a bunch of my clothes in the bags with her meager wardrobe.
“I packed for you since you never bothered.”
I look at her and she’s got her hands out, asking for me to load her up with bags. “It’s not a long drive to LA, I’ll buy what I need. And I figured you were stealing my t-shirts.”
“I am,” she says with a smile and I relax a little. She’s not gonna push it and I’m grateful. I’m feeling the need to get the fuck out of Vail all of a sudden. I hand her a couple bags and I grab the rest. “Can we stop and get some snacks and stuff?”
“Yeah, but not here. We’ll stop in Grand Junction.” I look over at her and smile as she packs the truck. “They have your favorite store there.” She flashes me a funny look over her shoulder. “Wal-Mart.”
She laughs. “Have you ever been in a Wal-Mart, Ford?”
“I have people shop for me.”
“We shopped yesterday.”
“I made an exception. I figured you needed stuff but you decided to be a cheap date.”
I close up the back of the Bronco and Ashleigh keeps the diaper bag with her and gets in the passenger side. Front seat this time, so I figure she’s over her tantrum from this morning.
“I’m still mad at you,” she says, slamming her door.
I close mine as well and start up the Bronco. She rumbles alive and I smile. “Fuck, I missed you, baby.” I look over at Ash because I know she’s waiting for me to say something. “What?” I play dumb.
“I’m done with your games. I’m not playing anymore. I can’t do it. You win. So let’s just be friendly until we get to LA and I swear, I’ll pay you back for all your help.”
I back out of the space, honk at Jason who’s waving from the door as he talks to some guy who just pulled up, and we are off. “I don’t want your money,” I reply to her statement once we’re on I-70 heading west. “I’m fucking rich. I have way more than I need.”
“Your loss, then.” And then she settles into her seat and stares out the window and stays silent.
We drive past the rest of the village and a few miles later I see the turn-off for Minturn. “That’s where my dad is buried,” I say as I nod my head to the road sign for Highway 24.
“Oh, really? I bet it’s beautiful. There are definitely worse places to be laid to rest.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been up there to see it.”
“What?” She looks over at me with an incredulous look. “You need to go now.”
“Yeah, right,” I laugh.
“You’re a few miles away, how often do you come up here?”
“Never anymore. I wouldn’t be here now if the fucking truck hadn’t broken down. Or if I’d stayed put in Denver on New Year’s Eve and flown out to LA the next day like I planned.” I blow past the exit for Minturn and Ashleigh physically turns around in her seat to watch it disappear.
“Go back.”
“No, I’m not going back. Just turn around.”
“Go back, Ford. I’m not kidding.”
“Why do you care, anyway?”
“Because it’s a cowardly move, that’s why. I’ve lost all respect for you.”
I grunt. “As if you had any.”
“Actually,” she says, glaring over at me, “I respect you quite a bit. You’re not a creep, you seem to be honest, and even though you might be some famous criminal in these parts, I trust you. And I’m telling you, if you don’t go see that grave and get over this thing with your dad, then you’re a coward. You’re running away from this too. Just add the cemetery to your list of things to avoid along with those friends of yours back in Denver.” I stay silent and she huffs out some air. “Coward,” she repeats, crossing her arms across her chest as she crosses her legs. A gesture that practically screams I’m done with you.
For some reason this graveyard bullshit might be her line. And I might’ve crossed it.
I sigh and take the next exit, get off the fucking freeway, get back on going east, and head back towards Minturn. I look over at her and she’s smug and smiling. “Happy?”
She swings the foot of her crossed leg and her hands are in her lap again. She’s absolutely triumphant.
I backtrack few miles, then get off the Interstate and take 24 towards Minturn.
“Do you know where the cemetery is?”
“It’s Minturn, Ashleigh. It’s like Vail. You can’t get lost. It’s a strip of places along a road. I’m pretty sure the cemetery won’t be hard to find.”
“You small-town people are sorta stuck-up. It’s Vail, Ashleigh,” she says in a mocking voice. “I’m from the city. We have loads of cemeteries and if you take a wrong turn, you might end up dead in one before your time. So excuse me for asking.”
I like smartass Ashleigh, she’s entertaining. So I let her stew in her anger and defiance until I see the cemetery sign. “OK, I’ve had enough of your mouth. Just be quiet.”
I’m nervous, I think. It’s not like my dad is really here, but it’s meaningful to me. And I didn’t have a chance to prepare for it, so it’s all sorta rushing up at me at once. I turn the truck into the lot and read the signs real fast to see if there are rules. There are—no one after dark and that kinda shit. But nothing I need to know since it’s midday. “I don’t even know where he is.” The words are already out of my mouth before I realize how bad that sounds. My own father, laid to rest two years ago, and I have no idea where he’s buried.
“I can help you look if you want. What’s his name?”
I look over at her to see how serious she is, but her mood has gone from smartass to somber in a few seconds. “Rutherford Aston.”
“You’re a Junior?” she asks smiling.
“No, he was the third, I’m the fourth.”
She stares at me and then nods her head. “It’s a great name. I bet if you have a boy you’ll name him Ford too, huh?”
Would I? I have no idea. I don’t answer, just open the door and get out. “You can help look if you want.”
She grabs the baby and we take off in different directions. I head to the headstones that look new, but Ashleigh goes off towards the old ones. I wander around aimlessly for about five minutes and then give up and call my mom.
“Ford?” she asks when she answers.
“You know it’s me, the caller ID says Ford. Why do you always ask?”
“It’s possible you just did a butt-dial, Ford. Your calls are so sporadic, how should I know.”
I laugh. My fucking mom is such a freak. “I only did that once, like six years ago. Anyway, I’m up at the cemetery in Minturn looking for Dad’s grave, and I don’t know where it is.”
Total silence on the other end.
“Mom?”
“Sorry,” she says softly. “I’m just a little stunned.”
“I’m standing next to a giant angel with a trumpet in the center. Where do I go from there?�
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She gives me directions and I find the grave a few minutes later and hang up before she starts crying. My mom misses him too and I bet she’s sorry she’s not here with me.
His headstone is not huge like you might expect for a man who was the heir to a massive manufacturing empire. It’s a medium-sized upright slab of polished black granite that is gray on the inside, so the lettering has a high contrast to it. It says Husband, Friend, Advocate on the top line, then FATHER in much bigger letters on the second.
My heart swells a little at this. Because I’m an only child so the stone was lettered this way specifically for me. Why didn’t I come for the funeral?
“Dad,” I say softly. “God, I’m so sorry.” I look up and Ash is watching me from the other side of the cemetery. She gives me a little wave and then turns away and walks back to the truck. “I’m so fucking sorry,” I say it again. These are the only words I’ve ever said to him since the accident. I used to say it a lot, but it’s been a while so it feels necessary.
“What would you say back to me, Dad? If you were here?” I try and picture him, standing in front of me. What he’d think about how it all ended. What he’d think about me not coming to say goodbye. I try to read his mind from across the vast emptiness of death and I’m not doing too well.
“Do you blame me?” I’d ask him that question first if he was here. “Because I blame me.” I stand there as the cold wind picks up and then bend down to look closely at the various things people have left at the grave. There’s a red and green wreath leftover from Christmas that says I miss you. The card is plastic and written in waterproof marker. It’s in my mom’s handwriting. She comes all the time, from the looks of it. How sad to lose the one person in life you loved the most. How does she get through her days?
How can she even look at me knowing that I was the one who killed him?
I let out a long breath and turn away. There are no answers in this graveyard. Just me and my guilt and my sadness. I walk slowly back to the Bronco with my hands stuffed in my jeans and my head ducked into the wind. Ashleigh is in the backseat nursing. I smile at her as I get in, trying to push down the feelings that threaten to overwhelm me. “Someone’s hungry?”
“Yeah,” Ash says softly. “Me. I feel the need for gas station food. Can you wait a few more minutes while I finish up? Then I’ll put her back in her seat and we can go.”
“Yeah, sure.” All I really want to do is get the fuck out of here, but babies have to take priority over my guilt, so I busy myself looking for music on my phone. “What bands do you like? I have no radio but I can make this hunk of shit play Spotify.”
Ashleigh laughs. “You have a cassette player, Ford.”
I reach over and open the glove box and pull out one of those contraptions you stick in the cassette deck so you can hook modern shit up to an old-ass car. “I’m an Eagle Scout, remember? I’m always prepared.”
“Play something soft then. So she’ll fall asleep.” Soft. I do a quick search on my phone and come up with a playlist of classical music for babies. When it starts playing Brahms’ Lullaby Ashleigh lets out a little sigh. “That’s perfect.”
“Yeah. It sorta is.” I turn around and look at the baby. She’s pink and a little bit sweaty in all her clothes and blankets. Her hair is very dark, like Ashleigh’s, and I know her eyes are dark and not blue because I’ve seen them, but they are closed now as she suckles for a few seconds, then stops and just when I think she’s really asleep, she suckles again. “What’s her name? You never told me her name.”
“You never asked,” Ash says as she peeks up at me through her hair.
“I’m a dick, I know.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll cut you some slack because I get the feeling you’re used to being on your own. Her name is Katelynn, like the two names put together and not the trendy spelling. But I call her Kate. Like the Duchess.”
“Kate,” I say as I turn back to pick out my dad’s headstone in the small sea of markers popping up from the snow. “It’s perfect. Very classic.”
“Like the music,” Ashleigh replies.
“Yeah,” I say, looking back at Ash. She’s got her eyes closed now—the baby’s pushing her sleep button. I laugh a little at that and she opens her eyes for a moment, then they get heavy and drop again. “You want me to go? Or you need to put her back in the seat?”
“No,” she says with her eyes still closed. “I’ll put her back.” And then she gently removes the baby from her breast and whispers soft things in her ear so she’ll stay asleep when Ashleigh buckles her up. She climbs over the console, resting her hand on my shoulder for support, and plops down in the passenger seat. “Sorry, I forgot I can’t touch you. It won’t happen again.”
I squint my eyes at that remark, wondering if it was a dig, but she just busies herself with her seatbelt and ignores me.
“OK, I hope you’re happy. We’re officially an hour behind schedule.”
“Are we on a schedule?”
I look over at her as I start the engine. “Are you on a schedule?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I have meetings every day this week, but fuck it. I missed today and I’ll miss the rest most likely. But I’m not worried about it so we’ll just do our thing and we’ll get there when we get there.”
Ashleigh smiles at me. “Sounds good to me.” She turns her head to the window and tucks her legs up near her chest, like she’s trying to curl up into a ball. And before I can get back onto the highway that will take us back to I-70, she’s asleep.
I have to admit, I might like Ashleigh. She’s assertive with me, and she was pretty pissed off this morning, but she’s not a grudge-holder. She might be the opposite of me, actually. She’s almost easy-going. And that’s something considering how much stress she’s probably under. She’s small. She can’t be any more than five foot two. And she’s very blunt. She doesn’t offer much, but every time I’ve asked, she’s given me more than I’d give her. And she’s not pushy. She did try to insist I come out here to the cemetery, but I doubt she’d have been mad for long if I refused. And whenever she gets the back-off vibe from me, she does exactly that. She gives me space. It almost makes me want her more when she pulls away like that.
So what is she? She might be a Complier. With conditions. Because she’s kind of a Fighter too. But not a Grudge-holder. And she likes me, that I know for sure. She would not travel across four states with her infant baby if she didn’t at least like me. And she’s a Mother. I’m sorta digging that part of her. How she talks to the baby in that low whisper and the way she falls asleep when she’s nursing. I like it.
Plus she keeps my mind off Rook.
And maybe it’s wrong to use her like that, but I’m having a hard time feeling bad about it right now.
Chapter Twenty-One
The girls sleep all the way to Grand Junction. I almost want to wake Ashleigh so she can see the drive because it’s really breathtaking, but I guess if she was interested in it, she’d try to stay awake.
“I can’t believe you’re still listening to this music, Ford,” she says as she tries to pull herself out of her slumber in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
“I barely noticed it. My mother played this kind of stuff for me all growing up. Said it was calming.” I look over at her and I can tell she likes it when I talk about personal things because her mouth forms this half-smile and her eyes open a little wider. “And it is. Put the two of you to sleep.”
She stares are me with that half-smile for a moment longer, probably waiting to see if I’ll elaborate. Then decides I won’t and sits up straight. “You were messing with me earlier, right? About never being in a Wal-Mart before?”
“I grew up in Denver, Ash. Not Beverly Hills. We shopped at the Wal-Mart every week.”
“Well, sometimes you’re so serious, it’s hard to tell when you’re joking. What are we getting, anyway? Snacks or something?”
“Yes, and baby things. I’m sick of looking at her stu
pid footied sleepers.” I open my door and get out and Ashleigh does the same, then unbuckles and grabs the carrier from the back seat. “And what’s the deal with that thing anyway? It’s such a pain in the ass to buckle that seat in every time we get back in the truck.”
“I have two at home, but I only brought one.”
She blows out a long breath of air and looks up at the sky as we walk towards the store entrance together. It’s snowing a little but it looks like the storm’s coming from the southeast this time, which means it’ll swirl around once the tail end hits the mountains and head east again, so we should be fine heading west. “Were you in a hurry when you left?” We grab a cart and she puts the carrier in the back this time.
“Sorta.”
And that’s all I get. Just sorta.
She heads over to the baby clothes, doing her best to ignore me.
“Are people missing you? I mean, you have family, right?”
“What’s with all the questions? I’m not prying into your personal problems.” She sorts through some baby clothes and then gravitates to the footied sleeper and starts flipping through the rack.
I look at the stuff nearest me. Car seats. “We should get another car seat. Then we won’t need to keep taking this one in and out.”
She stops looking through the clothes and stares at me.
“What?”
“What’s with this we stuff all of a sudden?”
Her words are like a slap. “Just thought you could use another one to make life easier, Ashleigh. Believe me, I’m not about to start playing daddy to your kid. So relax.”
She throws some sleepers in the cart and I grab a few other articles of clothing the same size that do not have built-in socks, and follow her over to the diapers. She puts two large packages on the bottom of the cart, and then wheels us into the next aisle where she grabs a few small toys, a bib, and some baby wipes. There is like a shitload of crap you can buy for babies and if I was the one shopping, I’d be stuck in this aisle forever trying to decide what to get.
“OK, I’m done,” she says in a curt manner.
“Are you mad?”
