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Authors: Susan Wiggs
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bottle of Gerber apple juice, but he flings it away. Molly is actively trying not to cringe; I can tell.
“Hush,” Eileen says. “Please. Sorry about him.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Is he running a fever?”
“A little, I think. I gave him some Tylenol drops right before you stopped.” She loads in the diaper bag and her purse, then locks her car, and we all take off.
Eventually, the storm of crying subsides as the monotony of the ride lulls the baby. The stretch of road that looked so innocent on the map is narrow and curving, with a posted speed limit of forty. It’s too late to change our minds now, though. We’re committed.
We learn that Eileen and her boyfriend went to Vegas together to get work. “My mother didn’t want me to leave, but there was nothing for me in Honey moon, except maybe some crap job at a fast-food place. Vegas was our best bet, especially since I wanted to be a dancer. I was a dancer, until I got pregnant.”
“Onstage, in Vegas?” Molly turns to her in interest.
Eileen nods her head. “I was in the chorus line of a show at the Monte Carlo.”
“That’s so cool,” Molly says.
“It was. But…harder than you’d think, especially with a kid and a lousy boyfriend. My mother danced, too, but never professionally. She always wanted to work onstage and didn’t ever have the chance.”
“Then it’s great that you got the opportunity,” I tell her, trying to say something positive.
Eileen gives a brief, humorless laugh. “I doubt my mother would think so. She was scared I might succeed at something she never got to do.”
I have no idea what to say to this. I peek in the rear view mirror. Eileen is stroking the hair off Josten’s fore head. “Mama tried like hell to talk me out of going, but I went anyway,” she says. “Big mistake.”
“What, leaving home?” Molly asks.
“Leaving with him. With my boyfriend, Mick. My ex, now.”
There is no air of I-told-you-so when we stop at a modest clapboard house at the far side of a town called Honeymoon. Eileen’s mother, who doesn’t look a day over forty, gathers her into a hug that emanates relief and gratitude. She inspects the baby, now groggy and mellow from his nap, and holds him against her as if he’s a missing piece of herself. “Look at this doll baby,” she whispers, shutting her eyes and inhaling. “Just look at him.”
Through the lines of fatigue around her mouth, Eileen beams. “It’s good to be home,” she says.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the mother replies. “No idea what I did without you.” Then she turns and thanks me in a trembling voice. “Would you like tostay for supper?” she asks. “I got some sweet corn from a neigh bor. And I just made some lemonade, fresh.”
“Thanks, but we have to keep going,” I tell her. Molly surprises me by saying, “Maybe a glass of lemonade…”
The woman, whose name is Shelley, serves it in mismatched glasses and asks us about our trip.
“My mom’s dropping me off at college,” Molly says.
“Goodness, college. That’s exciting.”
The baby starts fussing himself awake and Eileen turns away to tend to him. I admire the patchwork quilt draped over the back of the sofa, and Shelley tells me it’s a family heirloom.
“I’m working on one myself,” I say. “It’s my biggest project to date.”
“I like sewing,” she says. “I made all of Eileen’s costumes for her dance routines. I don’t sew much anymore. The local fabric store folded, and the nearest superstore’s thirty miles away. They got everything you need there, but I miss the shop. All the women were friends, you know?”
I think of the shop back home. Here in themiddle of nowhere, this woman had nailed it—a community for women.
She gives us a local map that shows more detail than my Triple-A triptych. She indicates a route back to the highway that will put us a good eighty miles ahead of where we were.
Molly takes over driving again. I pick up my
“Hush,” Eileen says. “Please. Sorry about him.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Is he running a fever?”
“A little, I think. I gave him some Tylenol drops right before you stopped.” She loads in the diaper bag and her purse, then locks her car, and we all take off.
Eventually, the storm of crying subsides as the monotony of the ride lulls the baby. The stretch of road that looked so innocent on the map is narrow and curving, with a posted speed limit of forty. It’s too late to change our minds now, though. We’re committed.
We learn that Eileen and her boyfriend went to Vegas together to get work. “My mother didn’t want me to leave, but there was nothing for me in Honey moon, except maybe some crap job at a fast-food place. Vegas was our best bet, especially since I wanted to be a dancer. I was a dancer, until I got pregnant.”
“Onstage, in Vegas?” Molly turns to her in interest.
Eileen nods her head. “I was in the chorus line of a show at the Monte Carlo.”
“That’s so cool,” Molly says.
“It was. But…harder than you’d think, especially with a kid and a lousy boyfriend. My mother danced, too, but never professionally. She always wanted to work onstage and didn’t ever have the chance.”
“Then it’s great that you got the opportunity,” I tell her, trying to say something positive.
Eileen gives a brief, humorless laugh. “I doubt my mother would think so. She was scared I might succeed at something she never got to do.”
I have no idea what to say to this. I peek in the rear view mirror. Eileen is stroking the hair off Josten’s fore head. “Mama tried like hell to talk me out of going, but I went anyway,” she says. “Big mistake.”
“What, leaving home?” Molly asks.
“Leaving with him. With my boyfriend, Mick. My ex, now.”
There is no air of I-told-you-so when we stop at a modest clapboard house at the far side of a town called Honeymoon. Eileen’s mother, who doesn’t look a day over forty, gathers her into a hug that emanates relief and gratitude. She inspects the baby, now groggy and mellow from his nap, and holds him against her as if he’s a missing piece of herself. “Look at this doll baby,” she whispers, shutting her eyes and inhaling. “Just look at him.”
Through the lines of fatigue around her mouth, Eileen beams. “It’s good to be home,” she says.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the mother replies. “No idea what I did without you.” Then she turns and thanks me in a trembling voice. “Would you like tostay for supper?” she asks. “I got some sweet corn from a neigh bor. And I just made some lemonade, fresh.”
“Thanks, but we have to keep going,” I tell her. Molly surprises me by saying, “Maybe a glass of lemonade…”
The woman, whose name is Shelley, serves it in mismatched glasses and asks us about our trip.
“My mom’s dropping me off at college,” Molly says.
“Goodness, college. That’s exciting.”
The baby starts fussing himself awake and Eileen turns away to tend to him. I admire the patchwork quilt draped over the back of the sofa, and Shelley tells me it’s a family heirloom.
“I’m working on one myself,” I say. “It’s my biggest project to date.”
“I like sewing,” she says. “I made all of Eileen’s costumes for her dance routines. I don’t sew much anymore. The local fabric store folded, and the nearest superstore’s thirty miles away. They got everything you need there, but I miss the shop. All the women were friends, you know?”
I think of the shop back home. Here in themiddle of nowhere, this woman had nailed it—a community for women.
She gives us a local map that shows more detail than my Triple-A triptych. She indicates a route back to the highway that will put us a good eighty miles ahead of where we were.
Molly takes over driving again. I pick up my
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