Detour on Route 66 (Choices: Story Five)

by Beth Carpenter

  ***

  “Look at all this fish. It’s so fresh.” Marsha turned shining eyes toward Ben. “We have a kitchenette at the hotel. Do you remember if we have an oven?”

  “I think so, but you don’t need to cook; you’re on vacation. I imagine we can get great fish at the restaurants too.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but all this fresh stuff makes me want to go crazy buying food and cooking us up a feast.”

  “If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do. Let me check on the oven.” Ben pulled out his cell phone.

  A ponytailed man in rubber boots and apron moved from behind the counter to stand among the customers. The people formed a semicircle around the man and an air of expectation hung over the crowd.

  “We’d better step back,” Marsha warned Ben.

  “Why?” Ben looked up from his phone.

  Before Marsha could answer, the man behind the counter called, “Hey-oh.” A fish flew through the air, narrowly missing them and Marsha gasped as it landed in the hands of the man in the rubber apron. She and Ben laughed and clapped with the rest of the crowd as the man clowned with the large fish and tossed it back to the tall man behind the counter, who caught it expertly.

  The crowd joined in their “Hey-oh” calls, several tourists taking photos and video as the two fishmongers performed, tossing the fish back and forth. A third employee joined in, juggling crabs and spreading them across the ice. Finally, the man behind the counter slapped the fish down on the ice pack with the other fish and began to fill orders. Everyone applauded this unique performance art.

  “Did you know they were going to do that?” Ben asked Marsha.

  She nodded. “The Pike’s Place Fish Market is famous. It’s been featured on the Food Channel. I always wanted to see it in person.”

  They continued their walk through Pike’s Place market, holding hands so they didn’t get separated in the crowds as they wandered through the labyrinth. The morning was uncharacteristically bright, only a few clouds floating in the sky above Seattle, and everyone seemed to want to take advantage of the weather by shopping at the market. Locals picking up supplies for Independence Day parties multiplied the usual throngs. Ben and Marsha had to wait until almost two o’clock before they were able to get into Ivar’s for a bowl of their famous clam chowder.

  “You were right. It was worth the wait,” Marsha said, as she licked her spoon to get the last drop of chowder.

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  “Have you been to Seattle before?”

  Ben nodded. “I’ve been several times to visit my friend, Alan. We were roommates at Harvard. I left a message for him earlier. I hope we’ll be able to see him and his wife while we’re here. I think you’ll like them.”

  “I’m sure I will. Has he been here a long time?”

  “More than twenty years now. Jill grew up in Bellevue, so she was thrilled when he got the position at Microsoft.

  After lunch, they continued to drift through the market enjoying the variety of shops. As they moved through random twists and turns deeper in the bowels of the market, the stores got smaller and more eclectic. Marsha admired the incredible art quilts for sale at a small shop tucked into an odd alcove under some stairs. Ben enjoyed exploring a shop specializing in antique toys. He showed Marsha a cast-iron mechanical bank featuring a clown and a poodle.

  “When you put in a coin, it causes the dog to jump through the hoop.”

  “Very cute. How does it work?”

  “When you put in a coin, it pushes a lever, which sets a spring, which pushes a gear that moves the arm with the dog forward through the hoop.” Ben demonstrated with a nickel. “I’m getting this for my brother for Christmas. Engineers love these mechanical toys.” As they left the store, his phone rang. He picked up. “Hi, Alan.”

  Marsha left him to talk and wandered across the hall to look in the window of a shop selling, oddly, Alaska crafts. Actually, it wasn’t so odd when she thought about it. Alaskan cruises started and ended in Seattle almost every day, and the ship passengers probably spent a few days in Seattle as well. She was considering going in to inspect the life-size puffin carving more closely when Ben caught up with her.

  “That was Alan. He and his wife are having a dinner party tomorrow night in the Space Needle and they want us to join them.”

  “That sounds fun.”

  “Yes. Did you happen to pack a cocktail dress?”

  Marsha shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t think about needing anything that dressy.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t pack a suit either. I guess we’ll just have to go shopping tomorrow. We can go to Nordstrom. Their flagship store is here.”

  Marsha winced. “Do they have a Nordstrom Rack here? I’m sure they must.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s their clearance store. I’ve shopped at the one in Scottsdale several times. It’s a great place for bargains.”

  “You don’t need to worry about bargains, darlin’. I said I’d pay the expenses for this trip.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve been so generous, Ben, but somehow letting you buy me clothes feels odd. Besides, I like finding bargains. Tomorrow you can drop me off at the Rack while you go shop at the main store, and we’ll see who gets the prize for best outfit.”

  “You’re on.” Ben’s eyes twinkled. “Say, I think I saw a Salvation Army store on the drive in. Do you want to try there, too?”

  Marsha grinned. “You think you’re kidding. You have no idea what a devoted bargain hunter I can be. Did you ever decide what’s in the kitchen at the hotel?”

  “We have a refrigerator, stove, and microwave but no oven. Basic kitchen equipment is supposed to be provided.”

  Marsha cocked her head. “No oven. I guess I can’t make strawberry shortcake, but I can work around that. Okay, let’s go back to the food shops and pick out our dinner.”

  As they climbed the stairs, Ben said, “You were going to make strawberry shortcake? That’s my favorite dessert. Maybe I should check around for hotels with ovens.”

  Marsha laughed. “I’ll make you shortcake some other time. I promise.”

  It was fun shopping for food one shop at a time instead of at a supermarket. They got small samplings of fish, clams, and shrimp from the fishmongers who were no longer throwing fish around. Chicken and sausage came from a butcher shop. Marsha went wild in the farmer’s market, choosing ripe red Roma tomatoes, a plump head of garlic, and a fresh green bunch of parsley. The baby spinach was so fresh she could almost feel the dew. She held the basket of ripe strawberries up to her nose and closed her eyes as she inhaled the fragrance, and then she repeated the process for the raspberries. She rounded out her selections with voluptuous Spanish onions, peas, carrots, pine nuts and fresh oregano. Ben just stood by, holding the shopping bag and laughing as she rhapsodized over vegetables. While they were waiting in line to pay, she threw in a pound of shiny red and yellow Rainier cherries.

  Ben found a store that let him mix and match a six-pack of local microbrews. A gourmet store that smelled like heaven provided rice, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a vial with a few threads of precious saffron. Finally, Marsha bought cream and butter from a dairy store, and crusty fresh bread and a few butter cookies from a bakery. She turned to Ben. “All done. Let’s go home.”

  He smiled at her. “That was an awful lot of shopping for one meal.”

  “Wait until you taste it and tell me if it was worth the effort.”

  “Okay, but there’s one more stop before we go.” Ben led her to the floral section and chose a huge mixed bouquet.

  Delighted, Marsha hugged the flowers to herself as they walked to the taxi rank. “That was such a fun day, Ben. Thank you.”

  Ben sneaked a few cherries from the bowl on the coffee table as Marsha began preparing dinner. She hummed as she chopped, sliced, and minced. He watched her expertly heat the olive oil and sauté the onions. She seasoned the chicken and browned it
with the sausage next, washing and slicing the strawberries while the meats cooked.

  She continued adding ingredients to the skillet, deftly stirring and turning, while assembling a salad. Finally, she stirred in the rice, covered the skillet, and turned the gas down low.

  “Sunshine, I could live off the smells from that dinner. If you’re not careful, the neighbors will be knocking on the door, begging for samples.”

  Marsha just smiled as she set the table, setting a pitcher of flowers in the center. She added a bowl of spinach salad with raspberry vinaigrette and a basket of warm bread slices. Ben poured them each a glass of ale, and she brought plates of steaming paella to the table, the fragrant yellow rice studded with bits of seafood, meat, and vegetables.

  “This looks wonderful, Marsha.” Ben tried a bite. “And it tastes even better. I had no idea you had such culinary talents.”

  Marsha laughed. “You know I teach cooking classes.”

  “Yes, but I never envisioned anything like this,” Ben admitted. “I thought you taught rank beginners how to boil eggs and make tuna casseroles. I didn’t realize you were a chef.”

  “I’m not. I’m a competent cook, and I’ve done a few weekend courses, but not full chef training. Mostly I’m self-taught.”

  “This paella is the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve tasted paella in some high-dollar restaurants.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  Dessert was a parfait of sliced strawberries and raspberries, whipped cream, and crumbled butter cookies, all layered in a juice glass.

  “This is almost as good as shortcake. You’re right, Marsha, it was worth shopping all afternoon for such a meal. Thank you.”

  After dinner, Ben washed the dishes and Marsha dried and put away. While Marsha fed Lindy, Ben picked up the remote and checked the movie listings. “Say, how about an old movie? Bridge on the River Kwai is on, or there’s Casablanca.”

  “I love Casablanca.”

  They settled on the couch to watch the movie, Marsha comfortably snuggled against Ben with his arm around her shoulders. They put their feet up on the ottoman and watched the tale unfold, as lovers Rick and Ilsa struggled between love and duty. As Bogie spoke his famous closing lines, Marsha hiccupped a tiny sob. Ben smiled at her, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “You knew it was coming.”

  “Yes, but it’s always so sad. I wish they could have been together.”

  “But they’ll always have Paris.”

  She smiled up at him. “Yes, they’ll always have Paris.”

  Ben stood and stretched. “I believe I’ll stretch my legs before I turn in.” Lindy came charging out of her crate, stubby tail wagging so hard her whole body shook. As Ben reached for her leash, she wiggled so much he had to struggle to clip the leash to her collar.

  Marsha laughed. This had become a nightly ritual. Their first night on the road, she had taken Lindy out for a final potty break before bed. A few minutes later, Ben had joined them, a worried look on his face. “What are you doing out here alone in the dark?”

  “Lindy needs to go out before bedtime.”

  Every night afterward, around ten o’clock, Ben would stand and stretch, or knock on her door, and mention a walk. She knew his nightly need to stretch his legs was entirely due to his concern that she wasn’t safe alone after dark, but he was too tactful to say so. Instead, he insisted he slept better after a short walk and it was no trouble to take Lindy with him. Sometimes Marsha went along, but tonight she felt cozy in the room.

  Ben bent to kiss the top of her head before leaving. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “Have fun.”

  Marsha clicked off the television and crossed the living room to look out the sliding doors to the balcony. The moon was up, reflecting off the still water of Union Lake. After a few minutes, she could see Ben and Lindy under the lights at the edge of the parking lot as she sniffed out the perfect spot to take care of business. Marsha felt a surge of affection for them both.

  This had been an incredible trip. Back in April, she had been dragging herself through life. Easter had come and gone, but the feeling of hope and renewal that it usually brought to Marsha was missing. Ever since Eric had died, her life seemed to have lost its color, like a photograph left in the sun. She was struggling to live her life alone. Then Ben dropped in, taking a short detour from his Route 66 road trip.

  It was only a weekend, just the two of them having fun in Sedona, but somehow it was so enjoyable they wanted more. Ben convinced her to join him for a week to finish out his trip, to see the sights between Flagstaff and Los Angeles. Then the California State Route 1 along the coast beckoned and Ben begged her to come along. Afterward, they continued to drive up the coast, looking up attractions on the internet, sampling local foods, going to plays and concerts.

  She had only packed for a week, but it didn’t matter. They occasionally stopped at Laundromats, where Ben inevitably found someone to talk to. Once, she had come back from walking Lindy to find him deep in conversation with a heavily tattooed young woman with so many piercings she resembled a colander. After moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer, Marsha had approached them, wondering what they could be discussing so avidly.

  “What is the one called that’s kind of yellow-orange on the bottom and pink on the edges?” Ben was asking.

  “That’s a Peace rose. My grandmother has one of those, too.”

  “So does my mother. She loves that one, but her favorite is the Oklahoma rose, a deep rich red, and it smells good.”

  “Oh, yeah. I like that one.”

  Ben had the amazing ability to find common ground with everyone they met. They had talked with people all up and down the coast, and time had flown. Now here they were in Seattle, soon to celebrate the Fourth of July.

  She was amazed at how effortlessly they had adapted to one another. More than once, she had witnessed lifelong friends who were no longer on speaking terms after a long trip together, and yet she and Ben, strangers with entirely different lifestyles, somehow managed to travel together in easy harmony.

  Maybe it was because they were retired and under no time constraints. If she wanted to spend all morning touring a mission church and he wanted to visit the California Oil Museum, there was always time for both. If not, they could stay an extra day. Ben was interested in everything and was perfectly willing to let her poke around crafts fairs and quilt shops to her heart’s content.

  Apparently, they were under no constraints when it came to money, either. Ben paid their expenses, easily and cheerfully. He had kept his promise and always checked them into separate hotel rooms. They usually stayed in nice, but not extravagant hotels, but Ben’s weakness for anything historical or quirky meant quite a few stops in sixties motor lodges and old inns. As long as they were reasonably clean and took dogs, Marsha didn’t mind. In fact, she enjoyed the warped floors and the Coca Cola bottle opener in the bathrooms as much as he did. Every night when he brought Lindy back, he would kiss Marsha goodnight and return to his own room. At first, the kiss took place in the hallway outside her room, but after too many “Get a room” catcalls, they had relocated to just inside her doorway.

  Here in Seattle, they were staying in a two-bedroom suite. Marsha wondered where tonight’s goodnight kiss would happen. She smiled as she thought about it. Their kisses were getting longer and deeper, but she made sure they didn’t go too far. Sooner or later, this trip would come to an end. Ben would return to Dallas and she would return to Sedona. The magic would be behind them, and they would resume their real lives. She could only hope the joy of life that Ben had reawakened in her soul would survive once reality set in.

  She heard the sound of the doorknob rattling. Lindy rushed in toward her travel crate, anticipating her nightly dog biscuit. Marsha fondled her ears and said goodnight, giving her the treat before closing the kennel door. When she turned, Ben was standing in the living room watching her with an odd expression on his face. It wasn’t friendsh
ip, it wasn’t lust; it was something in between, something sweeter, more …wistful. Then it was gone as he crossed to her, taking both her hands in his.

  “Thank you for cooking dinner tonight.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for the day at the market.”

  He used a finger to stroke her cheek before bending to kiss her. She slipped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss, closing her eyes and giving a little murmur of contentment. His hands slid down her back to rest on her waist. Then he straightened and pulled her against his chest, wordlessly stroking her hair for a few minutes before he exhaled and kissed the top of her head.

  “Goodnight, sunshine.”

  ***

  She was cold, shivering. He was there, across the bed, and she just needed to roll over to be able to spoon her body against his and share his warmth, to be able to wrap her arms around him and hold him close to her heart. But she couldn’t move. The blankets were holding her down, restraining her, keeping her from the man she loved. She tried to struggle against them, to break free of the cold blankets and find real warmth, but they held her. The more she struggled, the tighter they held, until she couldn’t move at all except to shiver. She cried out in frustration, waking herself.

  She looked at the clock. Three twenty-seven. She pulled the duvet up to her neck and waited for her goose bumps to subside. She wasn’t sure if being cold triggered the dream, or if the dream just made her cold. The nightmare was familiar; she had been having versions of it ever since she lost Eric almost two years ago.

  Sometimes the blankets held her, sometimes she was locked outside in the snow, looking in through the sliding glass door, and sometimes she was on a windy bluff overlooking a raging river, watching him on the far bank. Always, she was freezing cold, and always Eric was there on the other side, unreachable. His back was turned; he didn’t even know she was there, struggling to get to him.

  Then she realized there was something different about the dream tonight. The man in this dream wasn’t Eric. It was Ben she was struggling for, Ben she couldn’t reach.

  Wow. A shrink would have a field day with that dream, but she was too tired to figure it out tonight. She rolled over, tucked the covers more tightly around herself, and went back to sleep.

  Other Titles by Beth Carpenter

  At the Turning Point

  Last Flight from Flagstaff

  Family Planning

  Choices (all three stories above in one volume)

  Shades of Sedona

  About the Author

  Beth Carpenter loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her at bethcarpenter2012@gmail.com, or check out her website BethCarpenterBooks.blogspot.com. If you would like to be notified whenever Beth publishes a new story, please email her with the words “new books” in the subject line. Your email will never be shared or used for any other purpose than to alert you that a new book is coming out.