Once Upon A Road Trip

by Angela N. Blount

  Angie eyed him warily. “So, is that code for ‘he’s in the mafia?’”

  “No, worse.” Scott’s expression slackened with amusement. “He’s the regional president of an insurance firm. My dad is ‘The Man.’” He threw up two fingers of each hand into mimed quotations, disdain evident in his voice.

  “And you never mentioned this before because...what, you’re embarrassed by him?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Not exactly.” Scott thinned his lips, considering for a long moment before he began a search through the upper cabinets. “It’s hard enough to know who your friends are. It’s just about impossible when people think you have money.”

  Angie watched him set out a pair of sapphire-blue cups, along with a bag of loose-leaf green tea. Before saying anything more she turned, hopping up to perch on the end of the countertop. “So what you’re saying is, you wanted to make sure I liked you for who you are and not because your dad is some kind of big-shot?”

  “Something like that.” Scott glanced up at her and then away.

  “That’s…kind of dignified, actually.” She broke into a congratulatory smile, admiring his discretion.

  “It wasn’t like I didn’t trust you...I just didn’t think it should be important.” Scott relaxed visibly. “I don’t even think Elsie knows about my dad. Her mom and my mom aren’t close. I haven’t seen her in person since we were little kids. I just found her email in a Christmas card one year and we started talking.”

  When the kettle began to steam he removed it from the heat and dropped the tea into the upper part of the vessel.

  Angie slid off the counter and accepted the two earthenware cups as Scott offered them out to her. “I haven’t known Elsie to ask for much personal information,” she said, following as he carried the kettle out of the kitchen. “And she’s not keen on sharing anything profound about herself, either. I think she’s afraid of getting too close to anybody.”

  How sad is it that we’re best friends and we hardly know each other?

  “Now that you mention it, I guess we mainly just talk about games and TV shows.” Scott mused aloud, stepping out into the dining room and veering left down the main hallway of the condo. He passed several doors and nudged the last one open with his foot.

  “These are pretty,” Angie remarked, admiring the ornate cups as she trailed after him. “Where did you get them?”

  “Japan,” Scott answered, matter-of-fact. “My mom and I went for two weeks over spring break. It was her trip of a lifetime, and I got to tag along.” He used his feet to push low piles of clothing out of the way as he entered the room, which Angie presumed to be his. Notebooks and papers covered a twin bed in the left corner. Hanging scrolls covered in hand-painted Japanese Kanji lined the walls, and an unimposing computer desk sat against the right wall. It was the computer he seemed to be clearing a path toward. “Here, I figured you’d want to check in with people.”

  “Oh, thanks. That’d be great.” Angie sank into the computer chair, setting the two cups down on the left side of the desk. She marveled that she’d gotten so caught up with everything, she hadn’t even thought about sending her routine newsletter to let everyone know she was still alive. “So, how was Japan?” she asked, glancing back to her host to show she didn’t plan to completely disengage from conversation.

  Scott poured tea into each cup, claiming the one closest to him before setting the kettle on a sparsely populated bookshelf in the corner. “It was great. Beautiful. If I got to go back, I’d want to stay at least a month or two,” he said, thoughtful. “I just wish my sister could have gone with us. She got married last year, and something about her husband’s religion says they have to live in a mud hut in Guatemala for a year. He’s a decent guy and all—I just don’t see why they can’t have some vacation time. Or at least a computer. She has to write me regular letters.” Frowning, he picked up a leather-bound book off of the shelf and pulled out an envelope he’d been using to mark his place.

  “I’m sorry,” Angie said in sympathy. “You’d mentioned a few times that you two were close. Is she much older than you?” She lifted up her cup and sniffed at the tea before tasting it. The liquid smelled like grass clippings and jasmine. Fortunately, its taste was mild and dominated by the floral aspect.

  “No, we’re just two years apart. She took care of me when we were kids—after my parents got divorced.” Scott turned the book over in his hands. “I got this journal while we were in Japan, so I could record all of the stuff she missed and everything I wanted to talk to her about. I’m going to send it to her when it’s full.”

  Angie smiled, endeared. “I’d love it if my little brother thought that well of me.”

  “Glad you think so.” Scott smirked at her roguishly. “You help yourself to the computer, and I’m going to catch my sister up on you.” He made his way back to the bed and flopped down without bothering to clear himself a spot.

  Angie scowled over her shoulder at him. “Do I get to screen it for accuracy?”

  “Not a chance,” Scott shot back, turning his full attention to the journal.

  She grumbled back at him in forced exasperation — her way of shrugging off what she was tempted to perceive as a veiled compliment. Opening her email, Angie caught some part of herself hoping to find a letter from Don sitting in her inbox. Having no such luck, she internally scolded herself for failing to accept reality.

  Quit being a silly little girl and just let him go.

  She realized then that the only new mail she had was from Zak, and her disappointment was partially replaced with intrigue.

  Way to freak me out. My mom calls me up at my friend’s place at like 12 am and says you haven’t called yet. I didn’t sleep too well last night... Did you underestimate the drive? I told you it was more like 8 hours...

  Anyway, I hope you liked your stay. Sorry if things didn’t turn out the way you might have expected. Uhh, and sorry I sorta left you with my sister after you lost your keys, but she’s not so hard to get along with is she? I know that was all really awkward at the end. I have no idea why my friend came along with me when my sister called me back. I guess I didn’t know what to do after that, so I just left. Whatever… Hope you’re ok.

  Found the keychain you left me. Cute. At least now I’ve got something to remember you by.

  -Zak

  Angie smiled to herself. Aww. He was actually worried about me.

  She had debated slipping the keychain under his door before she’d left. It was a favorite from her collection, featuring a sleeping housecat with a witticism about relaxation that seemed to fit him. Now she was glad she’d summoned the courage to leave it behind. Though her visit to Ottawa had ended on a clumsy note, she would always remember it with fondness.

  At least he must have cared about me a little, in his own way.

  She typed up a quick report and included Zak in the send list, tacking on a personal note promising to call him within the next day or two. She hoped by then he would have some good news about his sister and nephew.

  “Alright, I’m done.” She swiveled around in the chair to square off with Scott. “Now, what sort of libel are you fabricating about me?”

  Scott finished the sentence he was on before snapping the journal closed and setting it aside. A grin played across his face. “Just telling her how I can’t believe you tried to buy a homeless guy breakfast. It was so…tourist. Right up there with running into things while staring up at the buildings.” He laughed, polished off his tea, and walked over to collect her empty cup. While his room was an organizational disaster, he at least appeared to be conscious about keeping things sanitary. “And doesn’t that kinda go against the whole Bible code? You know, ‘God helps those who help themselves?’”

  Angie gave him the flattest expression she could manage before realizing he was serious. “Scott… that’s not in the Bible. That’s just a saying people like to use when they’re too lazy to help people.”

  Scott’s brows knit togethe
r. “Oh.” He processed the revelation a moment longer and then shrugged. “Sorry. You know, I actually tried to read it to figure out what all is in there and what isn’t. But it got pretty boring after that second chapter…er…book. You know what I mean.” He turned and strode back to his bed, rummaging through the clutter until he produced a nearly ancient King James edition. Balancing it in one upturned palm, he brought it to her. The leather binding was cream in color, with dry cracking and fracture lines along the edges. “This is the one my Grandmother gave me a couple of years ago. It was hers when she was a kid.” He spoke with obvious affection, offering it out to her.

  Angie stood up and accepted the book. Scott’s fingers grazed hers in the process, unnerving her. She glanced up, but when he didn’t look at her she decided to shake the sense it had been deliberate. “Wow.” She gently turned over the inside cover and scanned until she found the print date: 1927. “So let me guess. You made it to about…Numbers?” She glanced up at Scott again, his surprised look confirming her assessment.

  “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

  “Because that’s mostly what that book is—numbers. It’s not exactly what you’d call easy reading.” She chuckled. “You’re probably better off starting in the middle instead of trying to read it front to back like a normal book. Both testaments are important, but it might be easier to understand if you start with the New Testament.” She opened the book and leafed through until she found Matthew. She turned it around and handed it back to him. “And a study version would be really helpful. Something with footnotes to explain the customs, traditions, units of measurement—the stuff that’s hard to relate to because of that whole two-thousand-year generation and culture gap. Not to mention the language barrier—”

  “Yeah…the Old English thing made it pretty slow going,” Scott said, cradling the book in the crook of his arm. “Same reason I sucked at Shakespeare.”

  Angie smiled. “It’s a great heirloom, but I’m sure we can find you a version that’ll make it fairly painless. Are there any bookstores nearby?”

  “I think I’ve seen one. I’ll look it up,” he said, nodding. “So, does that mean you’ll keep teaching me more about this faith stuff?”

  Angie laughed, appreciating his sincere lack of piety. “I don’t really think I’m qualified to teach anybody anything. But I’m happy to talk about it anytime you want.”

  “I’m pretty sure my grandma would love you for it.” He smirked. “She’s great. I’m thinking about driving out to Wisconsin to see her at the end of the summer.” He paused, probing gaze locked onto hers. “If I can get that far on my own, I could go a couple hours more to see Elsie and her family. Then maybe me and you could hang out again, if you’re back by—”

  “Scott? Are you home?” An older female voice carried in from the front room of the condo.

  “That’d be my stepmom,” Scott said, looking vaguely annoyed at having his train of thought interrupted. He gathered the cups and kettle, then cut through his room and headed back down the hall. Angie followed him out as far as the dining table, where her attention arrested on a smiling, middle-aged woman.

  Clad in a short-sleeved gray blouse and fitted jeans, she appeared unremarkable on a physical level. The woman stood several inches shorter than Angie, built slender enough that her form was nearly devoid of curves. Her shoulder length, ash-brown hair was pulled back into a loose pony tail, and her bangs curled under just above thin eyebrows of the same hue. If she was wearing any makeup, it was too scant for Angie to detect. Her features were fine and regular, set with eyes an unmemorable shade of gray and lips encircled by the patent wrinkle lines of a long-time smoker. Her only jewelry was a gold wedding band.

  If not for the possessive manner in which the woman clutched a small Siamese cat to her chest, Angie would have been tempted to think she was the housekeeper.

  “Angeli...so glad to finally meet you.” The woman’s flowing alto voice came out with a husky finish. “I’m Martha.”

  “The food’s in the fridge,” Scott said, detouring into the kitchen.

  Martha waited until the door closed behind him before edging closer to Angie and dropping her volume to a secretive level. “Scott’s talked about you coming to visit for months. He’s been so excited to show you the city.” Her eyes glimmered with a pleasant zeal Angie was immediately drawn to. “You’re good friends with his cousin Elsie, aren’t you? I haven’t met her yet, but she sounds fascinating.”

  “Oh, she’s definitely one-of-a-kind.” Angie smiled, reminded that here she was “a friend of Scott’s cousin,” and not “that potentially psycho girl from the internet.” The change of expectation was refreshing. “You have a beautiful home,” she added, glancing around in admiration before turning her focus to the feline lounging in Martha’s arms. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Iris...my only child. Well, unless Scott lets me count him one of these days.” Martha laughed as she raked her fingernails between the cat’s ears. “I never really considered having children—or getting married, for that matter. Scott’s father was a surprise.”

  Angie reached out to graze her fingers down Iris’ sleek coat. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Here, you’re welcome to hold her,” Martha extended her arms to offer the cat to Angie, who readily accepted the warm bundle of fur. Iris, for her part, remained indifferent despite changing hands. “There now, she likes you.” Martha said. “Would you mind keeping her company for me while I cook dinner? She won’t give me a moment’s peace otherwise.”

  “You mean, while you warm up dinner?” Scott was back, and taking the opportunity to point out the prepackaged state of the food.

  “Well, I’ve never made myself out to be a master chef.” Martha countered Scott in a light tone, placing her hands on her narrow hips. Angie halfway expected the woman to stick out her tongue at him to complete the picture, but she didn’t.

  “I’ll keep her out of your way.” Angie said.

  “Thank you. It shouldn’t take me long.” Martha smiled and headed into the kitchen.

  “We normally go eat out,” Scott said, sounding irritated. “I don’t know why they wanted to do the pretend homemade-meal-around-the-dinner-table thing.”

  “So, do you have a problem with refilling your own drink, or with doing dishes afterward?” Angie allowed a snide undertone to her query, hoping to distract Scott from his familial angst.

  “It’s not like that. I hate being waited on.” Scott sounded defensive. His impassioned look told her he was gearing up for a lengthy explanation.

  The cat, which had seemed ready to fall asleep in Angie’s arms, suddenly opened her blue eyes wide and twisted her head toward the front door. Angie followed the animal’s gaze just as the door opened and a well-dressed man entered. There was no question in her mind as to who he was — the resemblance to his son was too striking.

  He was older, of course. His full, thick hair had dulled to a distinguished gray, which he wore neatly cropped. He was an inch or two taller and rounded heavily in his midsection, darker skin tone owing to a full-blooded Portuguese background. Yet, there was no mistaking the balanced cut of his brow and cheekbones, or the deliberate way he set his mouth. Their eyes were almost identical — turbulent and hazel. He shrugged off his suit coat and draped it over his left forearm.

  “Well young lady, you made it! So sorry we couldn’t bring you back ourselves—I had a meeting early this morning.” The man’s tone was expressive and warm — the voice of a businessman. “What do you think of The Big Apple so far?” he asked, with what seemed like a more subdued version of Scott’s smile.

  “It’s definitely big.” Angie said, for a lack of better commentary. “I haven’t gotten farther than the grocery store yet. I think we’re going to try to see some of the major landmarks tomorrow.” She glanced to Scott for confirmation, and he nodded.

  “The weather is perfect. It might be a good night for you to see Times Square, if you’re up for it after dinner,” Sc
ott’s father suggested.

  “That sounds great.” She smiled. “It must be amazing at night.”

  “It’s okay.” Scott twisted his mouth off to one side, looking unenthused. “It’s kind of a long walk from here.”

  “Take a taxi, then.” His father gave a low chuckle. “I’ll give you some cash for it.” He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out two bills.

  Scott held up a hand, protest written all over his face. “I wasn’t asking for money—”

  “I never said you were.” The older man held out the bills, insistent. “But in the event that our guest gets tired of walking, you shouldn’t have a problem getting a ride.” There was a calm firmness to his voice as he gave Angie a genial smile and then turned his expectant gaze to Scott.

  Feeling caught in the middle of a father-son battle of wills, Angie buried her fingers deeper into Iris’s fur and glanced between the men. It seemed like a long while, but she knew in reality it was only a few uncomfortable seconds before Scott relented. He took the bills, folded them twice, and jammed them into his pocket.

  “Well then, what’s for dinner?” The older man asked, tone pitching cheerfully. He rubbed his palms together in anticipation.

  “Stuffed pasta shells, I think.” Angie piped up, more than happy to encourage a new topic of conversation. “And some kind of chocolate torte for dessert.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Scott’s father said, starting for the kitchen door. “I might poke my head in and see if I can help speed up the process.”

  Scott stepped up to the table and pulled out a chair, motioning Angie toward it in an exaggeratedly chivalrous gesture. “Have a seat,” he said, voice thick with sarcasm. “The show’s about to start.”

  Angie weighed Scott with a skeptical look, but decided not to ask what he meant. Instead she sank down into the plush, high-backed chair and settled the cat into her lap, resolved to pay close attention to the family dynamics of the evening.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~