Ashes to Asheville

by Sarah Dooley

  “Mama Lacy decided to live and it didn’t work. I decided to stay with you and Mama Shannon, but it didn’t work. Why do you think we can make this work, Zoey Grace?”

  I hear her breathe in again. Hear her sniffle. But her answer never comes. We walk along the shoulder in silence, stepping as far off the road as we can get when the coal trucks rush past. I feel the dog tense in my arms. One time, Zany sees a police car going the opposite direction and she drags me behind the guardrail to hide. Almost right away, a sharp rock slides into my sneaker.

  “I wish you’d worn real shoes,” Zany says when she notices me limping. “This is probably child abuse. I could probably go to jail for letting you do this.” Her voice still sounds like she’s maybe crying a little bit.

  “I’m not a little kid,” I protest. “I’m fine. These shoes are fine.” I try not to let her see me limp after that.

  We pass a mile marker that says 1 and I try to remember how the mile markers work. I know they count up or down from the border of a state. I don’t know how far away Asheville is from the border, so it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference to me, but I do know we’re not going to be able to walk the whole way. Still I plod after Zany. The poodle gets heavier and my arms ache.

  It seems like hours and hours pass. I’m panting and limping and complaining loudly about the stitch in my side and how thirsty I am and how we forgot our Twinkies in Adam’s truck, and then we pass a mile marker sign that says 2 and I sit down in a heap.

  “We’ve only gone a mile?” I wail.

  “Fella!” Zany throws up her free hand in frustration. “Are you going to moan and groan the whole way? Because if so, can you walk on the other side of the road? I’m sick of listening to it!”

  “But this dog is heavy! And I’m starving!” Well, not exactly starving. But I’m starting to get hungry, and so is the poodle.

  “I’ve got a little change in my pocket,” Zany says. “Can’t you make it to the rest area?”

  The mention of a rest area interests me, and I let my sister pull me to my feet. “Where’s there a rest area?” I ask suspiciously, squinting ahead.

  “It’s somewhere on the mountain,” she says.

  “Well, that’s specific.” But I follow her. We’ve passed another mile marker before the exit finally comes into view through the fog.

  At the rest area, I make a beeline for the snack machines. Zany heads for the bathroom. While she’s gone, I put Haberdashery down on his three good legs, and I hold the end of his duct-tape leash so he can’t run off and cause any more trouble.

  There are signs pointing to a scenic overlook and I’m thinking how cool it would be to pop up and look over the mountains with their fog. Maybe from up there we’ll be able to see Asheville. Maybe we’re almost home.

  I wait and wait for Zany, but she doesn’t come out. When I go into the building after her, I think she’s studying the giant map on the wall, but she turns out to be listening to the radio, which is going on about two missing kids who sound awfully familiar. The reception is spotty, maybe because of the rain. I hear the words runaway and custody. A minute later, I hear poodle, and I tug on Zany’s arm.

  “We should keep moving, don’t you think?”

  She nods.

  I lead her out of the building and toward the scenic overlook, thinking maybe from there we can see if any police cars are after us. She doesn’t ask where we’re going, just follows me, and by the time we’re halfway there, she’s in the lead. My nose and my ears and my toes are so cold they ache, and my breath is coming out in my own little puffs of fog.

  At the top of the steep trail is a wooden platform surrounded by a tall railing. There’s a sign here, but I don’t read it. Instead I climb onto the railing and sit. Below my dangling feet, Haberdashery whines. Zany leans next to me and we gaze at what is supposed to be a breathtaking view of the mountains.

  All I see is fog.

  “I think we’re alone,” Zany says.

  I nod. “I think we’re all alone in the whole world.”

  We let the words get soaked up by the heavy fog and the forest. But it doesn’t feel like the words are disappearing. It feels like they’re going someplace. I get shivers and I feel like something strange is happening. I think of the letter back home in my treasure box, the one in Mama Lacy’s neat handwriting, which got messier toward the end.

  “Do you really think Mama Lacy can hear us when we talk to her?” I ask, half hoping the fog will eat up my voice before my pathetic question makes it to Zany’s ears.

  No such luck. Zany turns to look at me.

  “I think she can hear everything we say, whether we’re talking to her or not.”

  It’s weird then that she’s my sister and we’re still so different. She’s got this faith in the universe, that it can get messages to our dead mama, that a birthday present still matters even if the person you’re giving it to is never going to have another birthday. And me, I’m trying to see through the fog to pick out the individual water droplets. I can’t leave anything alone and I can’t let anything just be magic. I have to pick it apart until I know how it works. I can’t see how anybody can hear us but each other, least of all Mama Lacy.

  “Come on,” Zany says, jerking her chin back toward the road. “We got a long way to go yet, Fella.”

  I don’t answer. I just quietly follow her down the trail. Right before we get out of sight of the overlook, I turn and whisper.

  “Mama Lacy? Can you hear me?”

  I hear wind in the leaves and a truck whooshing down the interstate, but nobody answers.

  chapter

  22

  At the base of the overlook trail, Zany stops walking so fast I smack into her nose-first. My feet slide and I stomp in frustration.

  “What are—”

  That’s as far as I get before Zany spins around and slaps a hand over my mouth. I’m so startled I step backward too quickly and we both go tumbling into the woods in a heap.

  I’m all set to let loose screaming at my crazy sister, when I hear a familiar voice cutting through the fog.

  “I honestly don’t see why you have to stop at every gas station and rest stop! You know where they’re going! You know they’re probably already there!”

  “Pipe down!” Mama Shannon’s voice sounds the way it always does when she’s dealing with Mrs. Madison—frazzled to the breaking point, like a rope swing wearing through. Any minute she’s going to crack and start screeching at Mrs. Madison the way I sometimes do with Zany.

  “No, young lady,” Mrs. Madison trills, “I will not, as you so gracefully request, ‘pipe down.’ I’m just as concerned about my granddaughter as you are and my advice is just as valid—if not more so. You’re hysterical. And you still haven’t answered my question. Why do you insist on stopping at every gas station and rest area to wave a picture in people’s faces when you know the girls are probably right up ahead in that city you all seem to like so much?”

  “Because!” I have not ventured to stand up and get a look, but Mama Shannon’s voice is getting farther away. “They left the car in Virginia! There’s no way they made it to Asheville already. And if some trucker or somebody on this road picked them up, I want to know where they are and if they’re safe!” Her voice cracks on the word safe, and Zany squeezes my hand. “I can’t pass up a stop where the girls might be sitting, waiting to be rescued! And you have two granddaughters!”

  I should have known she hadn’t missed that last part. My stomach aches with guilt. I think maybe I should have been reminding Mrs. Madison of Zany all along. Zany would have, if she had been in my shoes. But Zany never seems to have trouble finding her courage. She’s driven this whole trip, and I don’t just mean that she’s driven the truck. It was all her idea, and I’ve been trying to pull her back the whole time. I worm my hand out of hers, not feeling like I deserve the comfort, but she
picks it up again and I’m glad.

  When Mama Shannon’s and Mrs. Madison’s voices get distant enough that I know they can’t see us where we are, I stand slowly. Zany pulls me back and goes ahead of me, which makes sense since she’s wearing black instead of shimmery pink. I’m surprised to see Mrs. Madison’s shiny, rarely used car outside its garage. It isn’t so shiny now that it’s coated in road salt.

  “I can’t believe they teamed up,” Zany marvels.

  “Yeah, well, Mrs. Madison doesn’t drive. She’d have needed Mama Shannon to take care of that part. And Mama Shannon didn’t have a car, since we stole it and broke it, so I guess—”

  “Yeah, I get it, I’m just saying.” Zany’s keeping her voice low even though both grown-ups have gone inside the bathrooms.

  “Should we tell them we’re here?” I ask Zany. I’m really hoping she’ll say yes. They can talk her out of scattering Mama Lacy’s ashes in Asheville. They can talk some sense into her where I can’t.

  Or maybe I’m hoping they can talk me into it. I’m worried it might be the right thing to do.

  Zany starts shaking her head. Before she says anything, I run after my mother and grandmother. Zany catches up just as I reach the map on the wall outside the bathroom doors. She pulls me back and puts a finger to her lips, a fierce expression demanding that I stop.

  “They’ll hear you!” she whispers.

  But it immediately becomes apparent that they’re not going to hear us. They still haven’t stopped arguing.

  “Maybe if your car would go faster than fifty-five,” Mama Shannon is saying.

  “Your car is on the shoulder of the highway in Virginia, so I wouldn’t be quick to judge. We wouldn’t even be here without my car.”

  “We wouldn’t even be here,” Mama Shannon shoots back, “if you hadn’t kidnapped my daughter.”

  “You’re being dramatic.”

  “Well, if I still had both the girls and they wanted to go to Asheville for Lacy’s birthday, I would have found a way to take them. They wouldn’t have had to sneak. If they were both still with me, they would have told me their plan. They must have known I wouldn’t take them, wouldn’t risk losing what little time I do have with Fella by taking her and having you report me as kidnapping her.”

  Mrs. Madison makes the noise that she always makes when her gardening club ladies get ready to leave, like it’s a real shame to see them go. “It’s sad,” she says, “to see you lose your head so completely. You’re not making any sense.”

  “Even though you did it legally, through the court, you know it was wrong to take Fella,” Mama Shannon says. She seems to have been saving up her words for a long time. “Lacy and I were raising the girls together. We were a family. It doesn’t matter what the law says. It doesn’t matter we weren’t allowed to get married or to adopt each other’s kids. We chose our family and we built our family and you don’t have to agree with Lacy’s choices, but you ought to respect them, especially since she isn’t here to defend herself.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Mrs. Madison asks, and then we all go quiet. Zany squeezes my fingers in hers. Neither of us can quite catch our breath after what we’ve just heard.

  Mrs. Madison does something then that I’ve never before heard her do. She backpedals. “That isn’t exactly what I meant to say.” But it’s too late. Her accusation hangs in the air like the dark clouds that have followed us all the way to North Carolina.

  “And what exactly did you mean by ‘that isn’t exactly what you meant to say’?” Mama Shannon says like she can’t quite find her air.

  “I didn’t mean to say that,” Mrs. Madison says. “I’m worried, that’s all.”

  “Yeah,” says Zany. “About your poodle.”

  Too late, she realizes she’s spoken loud enough to be heard. The door swings open so quickly that we have to step back out of the way. Both the grown-ups start talking at once and Zany moans in dismay. We’ve been caught.

  chapter

  23

  “Lord God above.” Mrs. Madison clasps her hands in front of her as if she’s praying. Beside her, Mama Shannon doesn’t seem to know what to do with her body. She steps forward, stops. She closes her eyes and lets out this shaky, forceful breath. Her fingertips press against her lips, and she has to start three times before she can make words come out.

  “Are you girls all right?” she asks at last, in a voice hoarse with worry. I’ve never seen her look quite like she does right now. Her face is pinched tight, looking so much like Zany’s when she’s mad. Both of them have freckles that stand out against their pale skin. Both of them have faces that look more natural with a smile than a frown. Mama Shannon’s voice wavers. “You haven’t been hurt?”

  “We’re fine,” Zany says.

  “We’re fine,” I echo.

  “How long have you been hiding out here, letting us look for you?” Mama Shannon demands. I remember how sometimes when I get scared, it makes me get mad, so I try not to be upset at the anger in my mother’s voice.

  “We just walked this far because Adam’s truck got a flat,” Zany says.

  “Who’s Adam?” Mama Shannon is quick to ask.

  “He’s the guy who stole Mama Lacy,” I jump in, “but he gave her back when he realized what she was. And your car was overheating plus anyway the police found it, so Adam gave us a ride, and then we stole his truck.”

  “You rode with a stranger?” Mrs. Madison shrieks, as if we have just announced that we rode with a convicted murderer. This is the first attention she’s paid to us, as she has been kneeling in front of Haberdashery, exploring every inch of him and letting him lick her face.

  “He was going the right direction,” Zany says.

  “Asheville,” Mama Shannon confirms. “Yeah, I put that together when the vet called from over Wytheville way and then the cop saw you down near Bristol.”

  “Who called you?”

  “The police called me, Ophelia. The police called to keep me up to date. They know I’m out on the road following you. They told me not to, but . . .” She shakes her head back and forth, back and forth. “I knew where you were going, so I started after you. Stopped here and there to show your picture to a few people, but I didn’t know where to start. You could have been killed!”

  “We’re fine, Mama,” Zany says. “We were going to be home before you even woke up, but . . .” She waves a hand in the air because there is no way to explain in words all the things that went wrong with that plan.

  Mama Shannon taps her fingers together for a minute and then she’s hugging us so tightly I can’t breathe. She’s got one arm around Zany and the other around me and my face is pressed to her chest. I’ve never felt her hold on so tight before, and I reach to hold on just as tightly. My throat clogs with tears. I didn’t realize until I had a Mama Shannon hug how badly I’d needed one.

  We don’t talk again until we’re in the car, Mrs. Madison clinging to a wriggling Haberdashery and fussing over his injuries. Without him, my arms feel empty. I almost wish Zany would give me back the urn, but she’s cradling it in both hands. The rest area is only available to eastbound cars, so we have to keep going toward Asheville, though Mama Shannon makes it clear we’ll be turning around as soon as we find an exit.

  “Once I called Joanie and she told me the ashes were gone, I knew what you were doing.” Her voice is low, almost dangerously angry. But I can’t help asking.

  “Who’s Joanie?”

  All three of my family members in the car swivel to stare at me, until I feel my face get red because the answer must be obvious to everybody else.

  “Joan Madison,” Mrs. Madison says, extending her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Oh.” I sulk, feeling stupid. How should I know my grandmother’s first name when nobody ever calls her by it?

  But Mama Shannon still isn’t done. She keeps g
oing with a voice that gets slower and more serious with every word.

  “You were going to scatter my wife’s ashes without me. Do you not—do you not understand how that’s wrong? Do you not understand how you can’t do that to a person? I tried to raise you girls to be more thoughtful than that, and I know Lacy did better than me at raising you that way. So how can you not think about me? Waking up to find out that you’re gone. Waking up and finding Lacy gone . . . forever . . . again . . .” Her voice breaks and I hear her crying. She sounds less like a mom right now than I have ever heard. I want to crawl into the front seat and hug her again, but this isn’t like I’ve stayed up past bedtime or made a failing grade on a spelling test. This isn’t something I can fix with a hug. I sneak closer to Zany, but she doesn’t look like she knows what to do, either.

  Then Mama Shannon’s mom voice snaps back on at full volume. “And, Zoey Grace, I don’t know what you thought you were doing, dragging your sister along! You’re old enough to know how dangerous the road is! Riding with a stranger! Who is this Adam? How did you know he wouldn’t hurt you?” Her voice shakes so hard my hands start to shake, too. “You didn’t know who he was. He could have been anybody!”

  “He was nice, Mama,” I try, but she talks over me.

  “He could have killed you, Zany, or he could have killed your sister! And the kinds of people who eat at the Waffle House in the middle of the night?”

  “It was the police, Mama, that’s who ate at the Waffle House in the middle of the night.”

  “It could have been anyone! Any place you stopped, you could have been killed!”

  Zany’s wilting before my eyes. Drawing her feet up on the seat so her chin rests on her knees. Looping her arms around her legs. “I know it.”

  “I don’t think you do, or you wouldn’t have done it!”

  “No, I do. I was just—I was desperate. It’s her birthday tomorrow—today. And she won’t get any older. And she had that deadline. I needed to do something.”