Read Online Casey's Home by Jessica Minier - Free Book Online Page B

Billy said. “How
much time do we need? It’s not like we’re sightseeing.”
    “What should I bring?” Ben asked.
“Is it hot in Chicago? Like here?” He had this vague picture of the place as
frigid and wind-blown, the locals dressed in parkas like Eskimos. He knew this
had to be wrong, but it was North, and he had never been further north than
Charlotte.
    Billy shrugged. “Bring your
glove,” was all he said.
    His mother told him to bring
shorts and t-shirts, but only after she’d commented on the pathetic state of
geographic instruction at Florida high schools. He packed in a delirium,
folding and refolding his clothes, then rolling them so he could cram more into
the late-Fifties marbled plastic suitcase his mother had given him for the
trip. He was vaguely embarrassed by this suitcase, with its pale green satin
interior, but they never traveled, so this was the best she had. His mother
stood in the doorway as he sat on the suitcase to latch it closed. She was
muffling laughter.
    “How long do you expect to be
gone?”
    Billy had said they would drive
straight there, check-in to a hotel, sleep, go to the game, sleep, and drive
straight back. Somehow in Ben’s mind, that had transformed itself into days and
days on the road. He reduced the volume, and finally contented himself with a
few t-shirts, a change of jeans and shorts, and some underwear and socks. His
mother made him put a jacket into the now-empty second side. He insisted on
packing his razor.
    On the morning of the trip, Ben rose
early. He wasn’t much for sleeping in, but this morning he awoke with a nervous
energy that wouldn’t dissipate. Through breakfast, his foot tapped beneath the
table, he clicked his watch against the cereal bowl, and finally, drummed the
tips of his fingers against the window next to the front door for nearly half
an hour before his mother made him stop. Fortunately, Billy was on time. He had
clearly taken the Corvette in for a wash and wax before the journey. The car
glowered in the driveway like a shadow and Ben’s mother eyed it warily,
prepared to do battle, if necessary, with the beast.
    “He’s not to drive that car,
Bill. If you two get tired, pull over.”
    “For God’s sake, LouAnn, you
think I’d let the boy drive the Stinger? I’ve done this drive a hundred times.
I never get tired.”
    “I understand that. I’m just
saying. There’s no harm in staying an extra day or two if you need to. I don’t
know why you men always insist on driving straight through.”
    Ben settled into the passenger
seat and cranked down the window. Billy had unclipped the t-top panels and
removed the rear window, and the car was hotter than a griddle, sizzling
against Ben’s skin if the seat touched any part of his bare lower thigh.
    “We’ll be fine. We’ll call if
anything comes up,” Billy soothed as he slid in beside Ben. “Goddamn women,” he
muttered. “They all worry too much.” Then he popped the car into gear and blew
a cloud of dirt and gravel out behind him, leaving two dark streaks of rubber
at the entrance to the drive.
    The road north was straight and
lined with trees; Billy floored the car until they were racing through a
private bubble of noise and wind. Ben stuck his hand out and let the air lift
it like a wave. The windshield seemed to function mostly in name only at this
point. With his hair rising in wild swirls around his scalp, Ben was in
teen-age boy heaven. He felt macho, pumped-up like a rooster; he preened in the
warm wind. Billy was casual beyond the point of cool: one hand on the wheel,
the other on the gear shift, as if at any point he might find a fifth speed and
rocket them off into space.
    Though he would have enjoyed the
drive if the entire thing had been in a tunnel, Ben had to admit that the
scenery left much to be desired. The occasional small out-cropping of houses,
set back behind thin pines, popped up to relieve the green monotony, and the
rare glimpse of water through the trees