by Lari Smythe
Part of me wanted to ditch, to just go for it—run away—but I couldn't do that to Mom. She'd been through enough, losing Dad and all. Try as I might, I couldn't find a way to start. There just wasn't an easy way. Mom got me a soda and then nuked a cup of old coffee in the microwave. She finally sat down across from me and wrapped her hands around the hot cup.
"Sorry, I should have gotten the soda." Mom had trouble with arthritis in her hands and the cold soda hadn't helped.
"It's alright." She hesitated a moment, giving me a chance to start, but when I didn't she opened the door. "You're worried about her."
"Yeah, but it's more than that."
The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. "She was a nice—"
"No!" I slammed my hands on the table. "I'm tired of hearing Izzy talked about in the past tense."
"I'm sorry. You knew her for such a short time, I didn't realize—" She broke off. "Have you talked to her parents?"
"Yeah, and she didn't come home that night."
"By that night, you don't mean Saturday do you?"
"Yes Mom, she's been missing since Saturday."
"But I thought you said you drove her home."
"I did—well most of the way—she wanted to get out and walk—"
"Jason!" She gasped in disbelief. "I taught you better than that. How could you even think of letting her walk—"
"She didn't get raped, or mugged, or anything like that."
"You say you care about her, but you act so indifferent."
"Mom, she's not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can trust me on that."
She took a sip of coffee to settle herself. "Alright, I asked you to do the same when we moved here—I can do that—but then, what happened?"
"She ran away, because of me. I told her I loved her and then she didn't talk the whole way home—and she got out on the side of the road and now she's gone." I took a drink of soda to keep from crying again.
Mom thought for a minute. "Did she say how she felt?"
"She said she loved me too."
"You were safe?"
"Mom! We didn't—it wasn't like that."
She looked relieved. "I don't know what you can do, but you've obviously got something in mind." She tipped her cup toward me before taking another sip. "So, what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
I took a breath and just blurted it out. "I have to go find her." I expected panic, tears, or a quick 'absolutely not', but she didn't react. Still, I started with the excuses. "A normal kid would have just run off—not told you—but I couldn't do that—I love you too much for that Mom."
She smiled, seeming to appreciate the sentiment, but I could see the panic in her eyes like when she found out about Dad. "I don't think a normal kid would do any of that." She paused, obviously having difficulty maintaining her composure. "But you're not a normal kid, are you? I still don't see how it's possible. Where in the world would you start? There's school, church, I don't see how you could manage?"
"I do know where to start, Washington."
"As in D.C. I hope?" She caught the shake of my head. "Jason, that's clear across the country. It would take days just to get—"
"I know, Mom."
She shook her head and continued listing the reasons it was impossible. "You're not even eighteen. You'd miss God knows how much school. Your Jeep, what about your Jeep? Doesn't it have high mileage? I don't think it could make it. Then there's the money—gas alone would probably cost hundreds of dollars." Finally she ran out of steam.
"I'll be eighteen in a couple of months. The Jeep is fine. I can go to summer school. I have some money put away, and I have to do this Mom."
"Absolutely not—" She caught herself. "You're serious? I couldn't let you go alone, I'd have to see if I could find someone to watch the house—"
"No, Mom. I have to do this alone. 'Man up' like the coach said."
"Your coach put you up to this?" She gasped. "I have half a notion to march down there and tell him a thing or two about responsibility. I mean really!"
"No, Mom. Coach didn't tell me to do this, he just said that sometimes you reach a crossroads and you have to decide what you want and not look back. That sound familiar?"
"It's not fair to drag your father into it," she huffed.
"You told me that, Mom, just before we moved here."
She shook her head, anxiously, and then let it rest on her hands. We both knew she could pull the parental authority thing, but we both also knew I'd probably go anyway. Even if she sent the police after me, I'd keep trying. She wanted to protect me, that's what mothers do, but she also wanted what was best for me, and although I was sure she didn't agree, she knew it was important to me. Finally she looked up. "You're going to give me an ulcer you know—I can't believe I'm even considering this—and I haven't agreed." She shook her head. "I'm going to have to sleep on it. I'm just too tired to make a rational decision."
"Thanks, Mom. I knew you'd understand." I'm not sure I really wanted a rational decision.
"I haven't said yes," she reminded me. "I want to see the whole itinerary, directions, maps, how far you expect to go each day, and then what you plan on doing once you get there." She continued to shake her head as though she were arguing with herself. "I still can't believe I'm even considering—"
"You won't be sorry, I promise."
She pushed back from the table. "We'll talk in the morning." She put her cup in the sink and started for the stairs, still shaking her head.
"Mom, don't you have an old photo album from Port Angeles?"
"Yes, I think I saw it in one of the boxes just the other day."
"Can we look through it tomorrow?"
"I'll bring it down in the morning. You get a good night sleep, and Jason, I know you think you're in love, but young love can be very fleeting. Make sure she's worth it."
"She is."
She half smiled. "So sure," she said, patting my cheek.
"That's the way it's supposed to be, right? Night, Mom."
I spent most of the night on the Internet planning the trip. It was 2,880 miles from Boonsboro to Forks—the most likely place to start. If I could make 800 miles a day, at say 60 mph that would be like just over 13 hours a day. That would leave plenty of time for sleep. The Jeep got around 25 miles per gallon, but since I was going to be out on the open road, I figured 28 was a better estimate. That translated into about $300 for gas. Then there was food, hotel rooms—some dive would do—so I figured around $2,500 just to be on the safe side.
It was almost three in the morning when I finished, and I knew I needed to get some sleep before I started. I lay back on my bed and ran through the trip again. Three and a half days to get there. I'd probably stop at Port Angeles first, since that was familiar territory, or at least I hoped I'd remember it—I was like ten when we left—but then what? I thought back to the girl I played hide and seek with, the one I had a secret crush on, the one that looked a lot like Izzy. It was completely ridiculous, that is until the whole vampire thing. Izzy was seventeen, so if they were one and the same, whatever happened to her had to have happened around five or six years afterwards. It seemed totally impossible that Izzy could be that girl, but a few weeks ago vampires were impossible.
