work, I refused to give up my Rolodex, in spite of all the contacts being accessible on my phone.
Even with the Internet to help out, what was there to search for? On television, they might be able to analyze the dirt particles on the ragdoll the kidnapper had left behind and pinpoint its origins. Or determine the handwriting on the crazy note could only have come from a German monk with a limp and an eyepatch.
But this wasn’t television. And my friends Darius and Kam were out there somewhere searching for anything or anyone that might help us figure it all out. Darius loved my mother. He wouldn’t give up.
The last time Kam called me to check in, they’d been in Georgia, following a dead end. A swamp bogey thought he saw a woman with my mom’s description working in a diner outside Atlanta. He was wrong of course. That was a week ago.
I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. “Let’s go.”
Riley started the car and pulled out without a word. As we passed the tree, Iris’s tree, I forced a happy smile for Molly’s kids and waved.
Aaron must have sensed that I missed Iris. He balled up his tiny hands and gave me a double thumbs-up, exactly the way Iris used to do. Aaron’s gesture gave me a feeling of peace and comfort. Iris would always be with us in one form or another, as long as we remembered him together.
I returned the gesture, and my smile became genuine. We pulled out to the street, and tension in my shoulders I didn’t know I had, released. We were on a road trip.
A million adventures awaited us.
* * *
My new-trip euphoria lasted all of an hour and a half. Once I realized, upon scrutinizing the map and Maurice’s travel plans, that the drive from Bolinas, California, to Lebanon, Kansas, was approximately two long days of nothing, my enthusiasm deflated. Plus, I’m a California girl. The farther we drove from the coast, the harder it grew to catch my breath.
The response was psychological, of course. The minute I stopped thinking about the distance to the ocean, I was fine. Still. We were driving to the geographic center of the contiguous United States. That’s as far away from the coast as you can get, mathematically. But it’s also why headquarters was built there. The center was where ley lines crossed and gave it some sort of extra oomph. Bernice explained it once, but it didn’t mean much to me at the time, so I sort of glossed over the listening part.
Somewhere on the other side of Reno, we took our first break for gas, snacks, bathrooms and stretching. We chose one of those big truck-stop-type places with a food court, convenience store and gift shop.
“Four hours down,” Riley said, grinning and rolling his shoulders. “Only about twenty more to go!”
I tried not to groan. I’d looked at the map. I knew there was a whole lot of nothing between here and Kansas. Rocks, dirt, and for a variety, salt, once we got to Utah. The plan was to stop for the night in Salt Lake City, then make the rest of the trip on the second day. We could do it, if we didn’t die of boredom. And since I’d be driving the next leg of the journey, I got control of the radio. I switched it to play Broadway musicals to punish Riley for the last stint we’d done where he made me listen to the All Elvis station. Things were looking up.
I leaned against the car door and watched while Riley filled the tank. “That’s hot.”
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What’s hot?”
“You being all macho, filling my gas tank. You going to check my oil and wash my windows for me, too?”
His gray eyes sparkled. “I was planning to do that in Salt Lake City in the hotel. They kind of frown on that sort of thing in public places.”
I pursed my lips in mock disapproval. “Dirty boy. I’m going to check out the gift shop and see if I can find a souvenir.”
“To commemorate having made it four hours from home?”
“The farthest I’ve been from my house since all this started is across the bridge to
Even with the Internet to help out, what was there to search for? On television, they might be able to analyze the dirt particles on the ragdoll the kidnapper had left behind and pinpoint its origins. Or determine the handwriting on the crazy note could only have come from a German monk with a limp and an eyepatch.
But this wasn’t television. And my friends Darius and Kam were out there somewhere searching for anything or anyone that might help us figure it all out. Darius loved my mother. He wouldn’t give up.
The last time Kam called me to check in, they’d been in Georgia, following a dead end. A swamp bogey thought he saw a woman with my mom’s description working in a diner outside Atlanta. He was wrong of course. That was a week ago.
I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. “Let’s go.”
Riley started the car and pulled out without a word. As we passed the tree, Iris’s tree, I forced a happy smile for Molly’s kids and waved.
Aaron must have sensed that I missed Iris. He balled up his tiny hands and gave me a double thumbs-up, exactly the way Iris used to do. Aaron’s gesture gave me a feeling of peace and comfort. Iris would always be with us in one form or another, as long as we remembered him together.
I returned the gesture, and my smile became genuine. We pulled out to the street, and tension in my shoulders I didn’t know I had, released. We were on a road trip.
A million adventures awaited us.
* * *
My new-trip euphoria lasted all of an hour and a half. Once I realized, upon scrutinizing the map and Maurice’s travel plans, that the drive from Bolinas, California, to Lebanon, Kansas, was approximately two long days of nothing, my enthusiasm deflated. Plus, I’m a California girl. The farther we drove from the coast, the harder it grew to catch my breath.
The response was psychological, of course. The minute I stopped thinking about the distance to the ocean, I was fine. Still. We were driving to the geographic center of the contiguous United States. That’s as far away from the coast as you can get, mathematically. But it’s also why headquarters was built there. The center was where ley lines crossed and gave it some sort of extra oomph. Bernice explained it once, but it didn’t mean much to me at the time, so I sort of glossed over the listening part.
Somewhere on the other side of Reno, we took our first break for gas, snacks, bathrooms and stretching. We chose one of those big truck-stop-type places with a food court, convenience store and gift shop.
“Four hours down,” Riley said, grinning and rolling his shoulders. “Only about twenty more to go!”
I tried not to groan. I’d looked at the map. I knew there was a whole lot of nothing between here and Kansas. Rocks, dirt, and for a variety, salt, once we got to Utah. The plan was to stop for the night in Salt Lake City, then make the rest of the trip on the second day. We could do it, if we didn’t die of boredom. And since I’d be driving the next leg of the journey, I got control of the radio. I switched it to play Broadway musicals to punish Riley for the last stint we’d done where he made me listen to the All Elvis station. Things were looking up.
I leaned against the car door and watched while Riley filled the tank. “That’s hot.”
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What’s hot?”
“You being all macho, filling my gas tank. You going to check my oil and wash my windows for me, too?”
His gray eyes sparkled. “I was planning to do that in Salt Lake City in the hotel. They kind of frown on that sort of thing in public places.”
I pursed my lips in mock disapproval. “Dirty boy. I’m going to check out the gift shop and see if I can find a souvenir.”
“To commemorate having made it four hours from home?”
“The farthest I’ve been from my house since all this started is across the bridge to
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