I woke up the next morning to find a giant framed photo of her and Santa watching me sleep. She was like that.
Growing up with Bernice was like living every day in a candy store. She believed in treats, in fairy tales, in all that was enchanting.
She often woke us up at midnight on our birthday with a cupcake and a song.
She spontaneously mesmerized our entire third grade class with her rendition of Thriller when she stopped by to drop off a jacket I’d left at home.
When we had crazy hair day at school, she crimped and dyed our hair with Kool-Aid. For crazy lunch day, she made me a peanut butter, apple, and bologna sandwich, the perfect blend of delicious and disgusting. Ben got a fried green tomato and apple mix. All the kids thought we were the coolest.
We lost part of her when she was promoted to partner at work; her co-workers received so many hours of her love and attention there was little left for us when she got home, tired and full of fury. I resented them, the unknown associates who got her cookies and her smiles. I battled to win her assiduity, but there was no going back.
When she left us, it rained for three days and three nights on end, the sorrow of the heavens in one monstrous upheaval of misery, the firmaments dislodging the thousand tears I could not.
I went to visit Santa alone the year she left; the photo shows bright pink cheeks and lipstick outside my lips. I’d found her old makeup at the back of the bathroom cabinet, dusty and cakey. I didn’t believe in Santa anymore, but I hoped she’d be there waiting for me, that some osmosis would draw her back to the place where anything could happen. I went every day for a week and when she didn’t show, I walked home and threw away all her makeup. I hadn’t had much use for the stuff since.
For all those years she’d made the ordinary extraordinary, and when she left, whole pieces of me exited too. I was transported from the land of whimsy to the land of acrimony, almost overnight.
I hated her for it. I hated her because I loved her and sometimes the line betwixt is so fine the tiniest wind will blow one over the edge. And the currents of her escape carved a wake so vast it left me capsized. I hadn’t quite walked sturdy on my own two feet since.
When I let myself back in the room, Bernice and Ben were leaning toward a “no” for the mid-year Christmas celebration.
“Since we can’t have Christmas cookies and they’re half the fun.” Ben pulled his hoodie over his hair.
“Benjamin, are you pouting?”
“No.”
“Right then. No cookies, no party.” Bernice clapped her hands and with a resounding tinkle, it was decided.
I ignored them all and went to bed without a word.
The next morning, I convinced Dad to relinquish control of the wheel for our late-late morning start. Thanks to the flat tire, the countless bathroom breaks, the stops to eat, the so-called retreat, and Bernice’s multiple requests, we were already on day five. It could have been a lifetime.
Four days to drive 200 miles, people, I lectured them in my head. But with me behind the wheel, we should be there by dinner. All three men piled into the back and were sleeping within minutes.
“Reese, I can only sit in this vehicle for ten more minutes today,” Bernice said and from the corner of my eye, I could tell she was staring at me.
I turned up the radio.
“Wowee. Mama needs a break. Make that a double break, with a side of double wine. I’d share my bottle with you, but then we’d need someone else to drive. I vote for anyone except Carl,” she cackled from the passenger seat, but I didn’t respond.
Apparently she didn’t need me to reply.
“Well, then. I am going to keep the map on the dashboard in case you want me in a pinch, Reese baby, but I need these vents pointed at me so I can sleep in peace.”
Everyone was asleep, and as I watched the road ahead, I became inspired. I checked the passing signs to make sure I was correct and changed lanes to take the connecting highway.
Two hours later, Bernice was the first to wake. “Reese, where are we? I don’t see any signs for Rushmore. You promised we’d be there pronto. What’s happening? I demand answers.” She checked her appearance in the mirror.
“Of course you do, Bernice.” I looked over my left shoulder and changed lanes.
“Watch that tone with your mother,” Dad called from the back. “But do you need help with your directions?”
“I’m no expert on U.S. National Parks or geography, but I know something isn’t right,” Bernice said and Rocky barked in agreement as she grabbed the map.
“It’s fine, guys. I’m only changing the itinerary.” I kept my eyes forward and held in a grin.
Bernice
“We are 157 miles off the route, Reese! Take this exit. Okay, fine, take the next one and we’ll only be five more minutes behind schedule. One sec, I’m rerouting.” Benjamin brandished his phone near our mutinous driver’s face, shouting directions patiently, then impatiently. Reese ignored his commands, one after another.
“It’s about the journey, right, Dad?”
And then it was pandemonium, pure un-calculated chaos. Still Reese kept her lips sealed and wouldn’t divulge her master plan.
“This is your doing, Benjamin.” I shook my head at him.
“In what universe, Mom?” I’d never seen him look so frustrated. “Take this exit, Reese, or there’s not another one for miles.”
“Well, you are always encouraging Reese in her independence. But I can see where this could be a result of your DNA, Carl.” Carl laughed until he cried and only shook his head.
“Or you, Mr. Blake. Flying to Omaha on a whim, as if the world can be built upon the spontaneous. Reese, where are you taking us?” Despite her sass, my baby looked so pretty behind the wheel, cheeks flushed, head held high.
Finally Carl said, “Enough. This trip is about the journey; not the destination.”
If I’d rolled my eyes at Carl declaring “it’s about the journey” once, then I’d rolled my eyes at him a thousand times. But sometimes it’s not about the journey. Sometimes we need to get to the darn place. As it turned out, the darn place Reese wanted to get to was the Grand Canyon.
“The Grand Canyon, people, is north or south of Mt. Rushmore, not the way we’re going. Any fool with two cells in their brain knows that.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I need to pee.”
“Mom, Reese, the Grand Canyon is southwest of Mt. Rushmore.”
“That’s what I said.” I taught that boy how to use a map, basically how to do everything he knows.
“Reese won a prize for geometry in the eighth grade, not geography, but she still thinks the fields of study are related,” Benjamin whispered to Blake behind us. “I’m not sure when she thought the Grand Canyon cheekily moved north to Canada.”
“Geography, geometry. You’re not the only brainiac in the family, Ben. Besides, no one else thought to seize the day and take a pit stop by the Grand Canyon since we’re so close anyway.”
“So close.” I fanned myself. “Bless your heart, sweetie, I’m going to buy you a globe.”
“You already did,” she said, and I was shocked she remembered, but before I could say anything, she continued, “Blake lives in Ireland; he hasn’t been this close to the Grand Canyon in at least a decade. Come on, people! Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I suppose Chicago will still be there next week,” Blake said. “But Ernie says he’s hungry, Reese.”
“We’re all hungry,” Benjamin added.
“If I pull over, will you still let us go to the Grand Canyon?” Reese asked.
“No,” Benjamin and I spoke forcefully together.
“Exactly.” She sped up.
While she was distracted, I grabbed Reese’s notebook to add some notes.
Do not forget… To tell my mother I love her today.
Do not forget… I should NEVER wear orange. This is a BAD IDEA, Reese. DON’T do it.
Do not forget… That my mother loves me to
o.
Do not forget… That I am horrible with directions.
I closed the book with a sigh. Bless. I had done my duty, I was plumb wore out and closed my eyes.
My phone buzzed. Benjamin.
Mom, do you care about the journey or are you hungry? Maybe it would be good for you to get out and stretch your legs. You know, find a clean hotel to rest. Text me back.
Good plan, son. Ernie’s good for a few things, but comfort isn’t one. I will wait for your move. Wink at me when you’re ready. I added a cute smiley face and hit Send.
The wink didn’t come, but the gas did. It was lethal. I fanned myself and Rocky and thought about daisies.
“Who did that?” Benjamin spoke indignantly toward the group at large. “This rudeness is downright distasteful.” I looked at Blake suspiciously, and Benjamin gave me a wink. I slapped Blake’s knee and turned around with a snort.
“Though no one would expect anything less from an Irishman,” I muttered and hoped he heard me.
Reese looked at Benjamin in the rearview mirror with disgust, and I watched him shoot her a shiny look of innocence.
“Blake, are you an ale man or do you prefer a nice lager?” I thought Benjamin was planning an uprising, not their next beer tour. I rolled my eyes.
“Reese, why haven’t we had much Italian food while we’ve been at home? I have been craving manicotti all week.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“But also, a big spinach salad sounds delightful. Oh, or freshly-seared salmon.”
In less than an hour, Benjamin had caused enough anarchy in the confines of our vehicle I was surprised Mr. “It’s About the Journey” Carl didn’t climb into Reese’s lap to pull Ernie over himself.
Finally Carl spoke firmly, “Reese, we will let you take us to the Grand Canyon—Mt. Rushmore can wait—but you need to pull over now.”
Reese pulled over at the next exit without a fight.
“And that, my beloved sister, is how you stage a mutiny,” Benjamin said as we drove along the strip of restaurants.
“Whatever, Ben. You’re not the one who just get a whole stop added to the trip.” She turned off Ernie’s engine and threw a peace sign over her shoulder as she hopped out. I gave a nod to no one in particular and heaved myself out of the seat. She did make me proud.
Reese
I may or may not have miscalculated the distance to the Grand Canyon, and the morning after my hijack we were still 1,000 miles away. As Ben drove, I pulled out my notebook and added some notes for Charlie.
Do not forget… the feeling of this road trip.
It is summer break, Fridays in high school, taking my first car for a spin.
It tastes like coconut popsicles, a root beer float, green apple Jolly Ranchers, strawberry bubblegum, a Jones Bros. vanilla bean macaron.
It smells like sunrise, rain, like stale and new, old and green.
It looks like bright spectrums and sunset, a blank page in a journal, a brand new map.
It sounds like laughter and fights, tears and silence, Taylor Swift, Johnny Cash, and Bob Dylan.
It feels like Family.
Do not forget the way Blake looks at me, like I hung the moon.
Do not forget the sensation of his hand brushing the back of mine in passing—rough and silky and a thousand tingles in between.
Do not forget, do not forget.
I swear, I won’t.
He is kissing me, kissing me and I trace kisses down the side of his cheek to nuzzle into the warmth of his neck. I soak in the danger and safety of him. I move my hand up and down his arm and he—
The snores startled me awake, and I looked around Ernie in confusion. Ben drove and Bernice prattled on about nothing beside him. Dad dozed in and out of sleep in the middle section which meant the shoulder I slept upon belonged to Blake. I turned.
With his mouth gaping, his snores were as obnoxious as a freight train. The haze of romance I’d so palpably experienced between us evaporated into jagged pieces with each objectionable bellow he sent in my direction.
Confused, I sent Charlie a text before I changed my mind.
Blake stirred beside me, and I watched a smile spread across his face. Those snores must be doing something for him. His breath was ripe. I gave him a rough shove and scooted to the opposite window to feign sleep.
After the next stop for gas and lunch, Bernice nabbed the driver’s seat, and I maneuvered my way up to the front passenger seat before anyone else could claim it.
“People, we have thirteen hours between us and the Grand Canyon. Let’s make it happen,” Ben called from the back.
“Benjamin, baby, Mama’s got you,” Bernice said as she looked between the rearview and side mirrors and pulled onto the road. A small laugh escaped my lips as I peeked at the speedometer, but I said nothing. I was learning to stay silent. Through the years I’d watched her checking for cops as she zoomed about. She’d never once been in an accident, but her legendary lead foot had gotten her pulled over for speeding on numerous incidents. In true Bernice fashion, she talked her way out of every single ticket.
She attributed her reigning success to the flirting, of course. She was a terrible flirt, and I honestly think she wore the officers out with the sheer deluge of her words.
“So, Blake, you’re a writer.” Bernice switched lanes without looking.
“That’s the word on the street.” He leaned forward from the row behind us.
“Are you going to write under a pen name? You look more like a Wilfrid Xavier, something more dignified.”
“Thanks…I think.”
“What are you writing? A red-hot romance I’ll need to read with an icy margarita?” She sped up.
Blake’s eyes bulged. “I’m more of a creative non-fiction guy.” He’d once told me it was the genre of serious, legitimate writers.
“Creative non…what?”
“I’ve been trying my hand at a story about my mom’s family, but I’ve been stuck, which is why I’m heading to Chicago. I’m hoping being at the scene of the crime, if you will, will act as a sort of reset button for my writing.”
“Maybe I’ll write a book too. One about myself. What do they call it? A biography?”
“An autobiography.”
“That’s what I said, an autobiography.”
“No, Bernice. Ernie says there are already too many writers on board.” I was surprised at the firmness in my words. I don’t know why her jumping on the writing bandwagon annoyed me, but it did.
“Fine, well I could at least write the foreword for your book, Blake. Let me check my schedule,” she simpered, and I stifled a snicker.
Blake and I made eye contact in the visor mirror and smiled at each other for weighted minutes. He broke our trance first and pulled his Cubs cap low over his eyes until I could only see his smile. It stayed there for a long, long time.
I never thought we would be those people, the ones yelling at each other in the parking lot in Page, Arizona at 3 a.m., but so much that summer was unexpected.
I wondered, if we dissected it later, if either of us would even be able to remember how it began.
By pre-arrangement, Blake and I had snuck away to the State 48 Tavern once everyone was asleep. After they called last drink, we ambled through the blackened streets, talking about our school days, tests we’d cheated on, the worst kisses we’d ever had.
And when we kissed, standing under a cold row of streetlights, the future flickering around us and the distant hum of cars, I forgot everything else. One leisurely kiss that left me breathless, longing for more. He wasn’t wearing his cap and his thick clean hair curled around his ears; I reached and touched the half crescent on the edge of his neck.
Walking with Blake was happiness, like anything could happen. And safe—being with Blake was perfectly comforting.
In the cool of early morning, under the moon, he clasped my face between his rough hands and gave me one soft kiss after another. I broke away first. “
Race you to the lodge!”
We sat on a stone wall outside and played “Would You Rather” under the stars and made promises we’d never let the other pass into obscurity. Life was too short, we said. It seemed so easy then. We kissed some more.
“Reese, can we talk about us?”
“Shh,” I murmured and kissed the curl right under his ear. Tonight was for kissing and believing none of the hard questions mattered.
Later, mid-laugh he asked, “So when do you plan to start your own photography thing or whatever it is you want to do in life?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe I said it wrong; I wasn’t trying to be harsh. I’ve watched you the last three years, Reese, and I know enough of the backstory to believe there’s something more inside you.” The supernatural powers of the night evaporated in seconds and left behind an Arctic I’d never known.
“Because I wrote you some letters?”
“Okay, I’m going to ignore that you said that. Reese, you know you have always stood in Charlie’s shadow, answering to him even though you are as good as he is, if not better in your own way.”
“You know nothing about it.”
“Reese, you want to go out on your own again. I know it. I see it in you. I believe you can do it. I believe in you.”
“Oh, you know how to be a photographer now, to run a business?”
It seems insane it spiraled so completely from there, but it did. He tried to hold me, to calm me, but I would have none of it. I let the anger take me in waves and if it didn’t exactly feel good, at least I felt something.
“Your family believes in you too.” He grabbed my chin and I twisted away.
“Don’t talk to me about my family.”
Remember Us Page 17
