Road Tripping

by Noelle Adams

  Finally, it ended, and she slumped to the grass, sobbing. At some point during the retching process, Ethan must have lowered himself to the ground beside her, and he must have poured water from their bottle over one of the extra white T-shirts she had in her bag. Because he was there now, pulling her head into his lap, and wiping her face with the damp shirt.

  “Oh, honey, why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” he murmured, pushing the dirty strands of hair away from her cheeks. “I wouldn’t have made you walk if I’d known you were sick.”

  “Not sick,” she choked out through her burning throat. She was shaking uncontrollably and still torn by strange, jerky sobs. “It’s awful.”

  Ethan’s face was almost contorted with concern. “What are you talking about? What’s so awful it would have made you sick?”

  “I don’t know…if it’s going to work…between us.”

  “Ashley, honey, you’re sick. Delusional maybe. Of course it’s going to work. I’m never going to let you go.”

  She had to try to pull herself together enough to explain this to Ethan “I don’t know. I just don’t know. You always have to be in control. And I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  And this time Ethan understood her because she felt him leave her. Not physically, of course. She was still lying with her head in his lap. But she felt every muscle in his body stiffen. She felt him withdrawing from her in a very real way.

  It made her cry again.

  “Ashley.” His voice was hard now. Distant. “Ashley, do you think you can walk? Or should I carry you? We’ll talk about this later. You’re in no shape to make decisions right now. I need to get you somewhere so you can recover.”

  She let him pull her to her feet, and somehow she made her feet move. She kept shaking, but she was too weak to cry anymore. Ethan’s arm was around her, supporting her, but it was purely functional. There was nothing resembling intimacy in his touch.

  In less than ten minutes, they started to approach an old farmhouse. There were no cars parked in the driveway, but some of the windows were open, and there was laundry hanging out on the clothesline.

  Without consulting her, Ethan turned in the direction of the house and half-carried her up to the front door.

  An old lady responded to his knock. She was white-haired, wrinkled, tiny, and had the brightest blue eyes Ashley had ever seen. As soon as she swung the door open and took in the sight before her, she said, “Oh, my dear Lord. You poor, poor things. Did your car break down somewhere? Those miserable contraptions, always breaking down at the worst moments. And you’ve had to walk for miles with nothing around? And the poor young lady is sick? Come inside. Do. I’ll fix you both a nice cup of tea. And I’ll see what I can do for you poor dears.”

  The poor dears gratefully followed her into the house. But Ethan said, “We don’t want to impose. Maybe we could just use your phone.”

  “Of course you may. I’m Mrs. Tate, by the way. Who do you need to call? Someone to come tow your car away?”

  Ethan eased Ashley into the chair Mrs. Tate pulled out. Then, obviously thinking fast, he said, “Our car is completely useless. All we need is a ride into the nearest town. Maybe we could call a taxi.”

  “You could,” Mrs. Tate said dubiously, puttering around the kitchen. “But the closest town that would be of any help to you is Sioux City, and that’s thirty miles away. It would cost you a fortune to call a taxi.”

  Ethan sighed, and Ashley noticed an almost helpless look on his face. After all, they had less than ten dollars between them.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Mrs. Tate said cheerfully. “My husband is out of town until tomorrow morning. But when he comes back, he’ll drive you into the city. The young lady here is in no shape to do much today anyway. So you all just spend the day with me, and we’ll get you into the city first thing in the morning.”

  “But you don’t know us,” Ethan said. “We could be criminals you were letting into your house.”

  There was an irony there that Ashley wasn’t in any shape to appreciate.

  Mrs. Tate tittered with amusement. “Don’t be silly. I knew what the both of you were as soon as I saw you, or I would never have let you into my home.” She peered into Ashley’s face. “You, dear, are clever, quick, stubborn and strong—but with a bigger heart than you know.” Ashley gaped at her, but the old woman had turned to look at Ethan. “And you, young man—oh, yes, I see you’ve had a very hard time in life—but underneath it, you are generous and sensitive and have a spirit of sacrifice.”

  Ashley couldn’t hold back a gasp, and she stared at the old woman with awe and wonder at this assessment of the two of them. She could see Ethan had something similar on his face.

  Mrs. Tate tittered again. “Now, don’t be fearing that I’m a witch. I was just born with strong intuition about people, and I’ve had eighty years to develop it. Please say that you’ll stay. You’ll be doing me a favor. I don’t like to be alone, and you could help me with a few little chores, if you insist on paying me back.”

  After some more discussion, it was finally decided that they would stay. Ethan was sitting next to Ashley during the whole conversation, but—looking at his closed-off face—she knew they had never been farther apart.

  ***

  Ashley lounged on the ancient sofa in the living room, feasting on tea and toast. Physically, she felt remarkably better. She and Ethan had bathed—Mrs. Tate had a lovely claw foot tub, but no shower in the house at all—and Mrs. Tate had given them some borrowed clothes to wear. So Ethan was dressed in Mr. Tate’s old jeans and a plaid button-up shirt, and Ashley was wearing an old-fashioned, blue cotton dress.

  All she needed was an apron to look like she belonged on an episode of Little House on the Prairie. But she was cool and comfortable, and Mrs. Tate was treating her like an invalid, not even allowing her to get up and help with the chores.

  Ethan had moved a couple of boxes and fixed two cupboards in the kitchen. She hoped it wasn’t too much for his bullet wound, but he didn’t seem to be in pain.

  Physical pain, at least.

  Ashley was finally allowed to get off the couch at lunchtime, since Mrs. Tate decided that she was well enough to do so. They ate a lunch of sandwiches and fruit salad, and the meal was uneventful, aside from a brief awkwardness at the beginning, when Ashley and Ethan reached for their plates at the same time that Mrs. Tate started to say a simple prayer of thanks for the food. She kindly overlooked their obvious surprise.

  After lunch, Mrs. Tate suggested that Ethan take a break, but he said he would rather keep working. Ashley knew why, even if Mrs. Tate didn’t. He didn’t want to be around Ashley. Didn’t want to have to think about their relationship. By working, he could postpone the inevitable.

  He noticed a wood fence that had evidently been falling down for years, and he said he’d go out and work on it.

  Mrs. Tate said he could. “Although the afternoon is the hottest part of the day, so it’s not the best time to be working outside.”

  Ethan shrugged and said he didn’t mind the heat.

  Ashley and Mrs. Tate relaxed for an hour and then started washing Ashley and Ethan’s dirty, worn clothes. It was quite a procedure, since the Tates only had one of the antiquated washing machines that had to be turned by hand.

  When they had finished with the washing, they went outside to hang the clothes up on the line to dry in the sun.

  Mrs. Tate handed Ashley one of Ethan’s T-shirts to pin up with the clips. “Your poor young man,” Mrs. Tate said. “He’s been working so hard. Look at him. As if he’s trying to work hard enough to forget how his heart is breaking.”

  After hanging up the shirt, Ashley glanced over at Ethan. He was on the other side of the yard, working tirelessly on the fence, hammering, sawing, and lifting diligently. He had taken off his shirt at some point, and even from a distance, Ashley could see his chest and arms were soaked with sweat. The bandage was still wrapped around his injury.

  He was so
focused on his work, so intent and purposeful. He’d been shot less than a week ago.

  Ashley loved him so much. Wondered how she was possibly going to let him go. How she was possibly going to live her life without him.

  “Now you’re doing it,” Mrs. Tate said, peering at Ashley’s face.

  “Doing what?” Ashley asked, a little embarrassed at being caught staring.

  “Watching him like that. The same way he watches you when you’re not looking.” Mrs. Tate smiled when Ashley turned and looked at her inquiringly. “My dear girl, I have never seen anyone gaze with his heart in his eyes as much as that young man looking at you.”

  Ashley closed her eyes as they started to burn with unshed tears.

  “It’s breathtaking, that’s what it is,” Mrs. Tate went on cheerfully, starting to pull more wet clothes out of the basket until Ashley moved to help her again. “When you aren’t paying attention, he watches you constantly. He looks at you like you are all there is in his world. Like you are the only thing that can end his torment. The only light in his darkness. His only source for salvation.”

  Ashley got a little choked up and had to turn away.

  Mrs. Tate came over and patted her gently on the back. “Now, don’t cry, dearie. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but I’m sure that it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

  “I don’t know,” Ashley told her, pinning Ethan’s khakis to the clothesline. “Some things just can’t be worked out.”

  “Well, I know very well that he loves you, and you’ll never make me believe that young man has ever cheated on you. He doesn’t even know any woman but you exists in the world.” Mrs. Tate squinted in Ethan’s direction. “Does he hurt you?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what can’t be gotten over?” Mrs. Tate asked, blatantly prying and appearing to enjoy it.

  “I…can’t trust him. He expects me to, but he’s shown me in the past that…that I can’t. He has to be in control all the time, so I’m not sure he really trusts me either.”

  “Hmmm,” Mrs. Tate murmured thoughtfully, scratching her white hair. “That’s a new one for me. Now, I don’t always know what the new trends are in empowerment, so I’ll admit to holding very traditional views. But, from what I’ve learned in my life, we find who we really are—men as well as women—by living for other people.”

  Ashley wrinkled her brow and bit back an automatic objection.

  “Now, now, don’t get defensive on me. I’m not talking about being weak or powerless. I’m not talking about being a doormat or not standing up for yourself. I’m just saying you’ll only really find yourself when you try to make other people happy—not just your man—but other people in general. Think of them first, instead of always trying to claim what should be yours.”

  Ashley sighed deeply, smiling sadly at the old lady. “That makes sense, Mrs. Tate. It really does. But I’m not sure that it applies to my situation with Ethan.”

  “Hmmm. Well, we’ll see how it turns out. Oh dear. A sock just fell into that bunch of weeds. Can you pick it up for me?”

  Ashley bent over to retrieve the sock and accidentally pulled up a weed with it as she grabbed it. She was about to toss the weed away, when she noticed it was lovely and familiar. Queen Anne’s Lace, she remembered from her childhood.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” Mrs. Tate exclaimed, hopping around like an eager bird. “What color is its heart?”

  Recalling the peculiar characteristics of the lacy, white bloom she held, Ashley edged the delicate white spray away until she saw the color at the center. “Red,” she replied, finding the deep red heart amid the white.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Tate breathed, lifting her eyes to heaven. “Oh, thank you, God. Thank you. It’s a blessing. A blessing.”

  Ashley stared at the woman dumbly, thinking maybe she’d gone mad.

  Mrs. Tate grinned at her. “You think I’m crazy, I’m sure. But you don’t know what I know. Queen Anne’s Lace, with a deep red heart, chosen unaware.” She said the words as if she were chanting a mantra or a prayer. “A blessing for life, a blessing for love, a blessing forever.”

  And Ashley finally understood. “I didn’t know Queen Anne’s Lace had that meaning in folklore. How lovely and moving it is.” She looked at the spray in her hands, held it as if it were special.

  “Oh, how glad I am you picked that. Now I’m sure you and your young man will be fine.” Mrs. Tate beamed at her. “It’s particularly powerful in romantic situations. What do you think the deep red heart symbolizes?”

  Ashley raised her eyebrows. “A red heart? Love?”

  Mrs. Tate shook her head as if Ashley had said something silly. “Now, now. Sometimes you young people are so innocent. Look at it again. Deep, red circle—almost like an opening—amid the white. Think about a woman’s body.”

  Ashley looked again. Thought about what Mrs. Tate had just said.

  She blushed when she realized the symbolism.

  “Now you see,” Mrs. Tate said encouragingly. “Here, you should wear it today. It will be your blessing.” She took the stem out of Ashley’s hand and tucked it into one of the buttonholes on the dress. “Nothing to worry about anymore.”

  Ashley smiled at the woman, but didn’t feel quite so hopeful. It was a quaint old story, but it wouldn’t help her with the reality of the situation with Ethan.

  “Now,” Mrs. Tate went on, “let’s go in the house where it’s cool.”

  Ashley picked up the laundry basket, but before she left, she turned back once more to look at Ethan. He was still working diligently on the fence, drenched in sweat under the hot summer sun.

  Mrs. Tate suddenly spoke next to her ear. “You see it too, don’t you?” she asked, in a hushed voice that took on an almost mystical quality. “He’s on the cusp. His nature is dual. He’s at the crossroad between two futures.”

  Ashley shifted her eyes to the woman’s almost visionary expression.

  “Life has scarred him, wounded him so many times,” Mrs. Tate whispered. “But he let you in. This is as vulnerable as he’ll ever be in his life. I’d hate to see him become as hard and bitter I know he has the potential to become, if he lets pain and isolation overwhelm the sweetness at his heart.”

  And Ashley was close to tears again—at the truth and knowledge in the old lady’s words. Her face crumpled as she looked back to Ethan.

  “Now, now,” Mrs. Tate continued, her voice changing back into comforting normality. “Not to worry. I know exactly what we need to do.”

  “What’s that?” Ashley inquired, turning to the woman immediately as if she could magically solve all of her problems.

  Mrs. Tate smiled broadly. “We need to make a pitcher of lemonade.”

  ***

  A half-hour later, Ashley walked down the yard to the fence, carrying two large glasses of freshly-made lemonade. She had squeezed the lemons herself.

  Ethan stopped hammering as Ashley approached. He gave her a distant look.

  Ashley gulped at the implications of his expression, but she said as cheerfully as she could. “I’m supposed to take my young man a nice glass of lemonade, since he’s been working so hard.”

  Noticing the hand towel that Ashley had draped over her arm, Ethan reached over to take it. Then he used it to wipe some of the sweat off of his face and chest.

  Only then did he take the offered glass and take a sip. “Thanks. Why are there two? Did she think I needed more than one glass?”

  Ashley felt a little awkward. “The other is for me. I think it’s Mrs. Tate’s way of encouraging us to talk.”

  Ethan stared at her blankly for a moment. “All right. We might as well get it over with now.”

  Her heart sank at his tone, since it felt like he’d completely closed up on her again. If they couldn’t talk, then they couldn’t work anything out.

  She wasn’t even sure they’d be able to work it out anyway.

  “Are you breaking up with
me?” Ethan asked bluntly.

  She opened her mouth to answer, the words catching in her throat. She didn’t want to break up. At all.

  “Because I don’t think it’s right,” he went on, his voice almost indignant. “You said we were together. You offered me everything—your heart, your body, your future—and now you’re snatching it away after only two days. It’s not right, Ashley. For either one of us.”

  His earnest tone suddenly gave Ashley a little hope—since it meant they were really going to talk about things. “I know it’s not right. And I don’t want to break up.” When his face twisted in obvious surprise, she hurried on before he could get too hopeful. “I know it’s my fault for assuming that things would suddenly be fixed, just because we got together, and I’m very sorry about that. But this is really serious to me.”

  She took a ragged breath, controlling her emotion. She saw that Ethan was watching her closely, really listening to what she was saying. She continued, “I know you love me. I know you do. But this isn’t going to work—for me—if you always make decisions without me. It makes me think you don’t trust me. And that’s a problem. And it’s a problem that I can’t completely trust you. Because decisions you’ve made have really hurt me in the past. They’ve hurt Mark. They’ve hurt my whole family. A relationship only works if we can trust each other. And I don’t know that we really do.”

  She knew that she was hurting him with every word. She could see it in his face and in his eyes. But he hadn’t closed up yet, hadn’t yet shut her out. Maybe there was still a little hope.

  Ethan stared at her. “You still think that whole thing was all my fault?”

  “What else am I supposed to think? You’ve never denied it. Mark tried to get away. You’re the one who stayed involved with the moonshiners, even after you were arrested.”

  He sighed and rubbed his face. “That’s not what happened, Ashley.”

  “What do you mean?” Her heart was hammering painfully now, for an entirely different reason.

  “I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to get in the way of your relationship with Mark, but if it’s going to take away everything…” His face twisted strangely. “I didn’t get him into it. He got me into it.”