Three For The Road

“Here’s my cousin’s phone number in Orlando and my sister’s in Gainesville. If you ever need help, anything whatsoever...”

Mary Elizabeth nodded. “I’ll call. I promise I will.” She took the slip of paper and filed that in her bag, as well.

“You have enough money?”

“Yes, and my credit cards, too. Don’t worry.”

Mrs. Pidgin took Mary Elizabeth’s smooth, slender hands in her plump, work-reddened ones. “I have only one more thing to ask.” Her voice lowered. “If things don’t work out for you, you’ve got to promise me you won’t let pride prevent you from coming back.”

Mary Elizabeth turned her head and gazed out the windshield toward the perfectly sheared shrubs gracing the perfectly manicured lawn that surrounded Charles Drum-mond’s perfectly perfect house.

“I can’t promise that,” she replied hollowly.

“I know it hurts now but—”

“Hurts? Learning you aren’t who you always thought you were doesn’t ‘hurt.’ It’s more like having your entire world turned inside out.” Or maybe, she thought, like discovering that gravity doesn’t work anymore. Your footing is gone and you’re spinning away from everything that’s familiar, out of control, with nothing to hold you safe.

Turning, she saw that the housekeeper’s red-rimmed eyes had filled again.

“But such a big step.”

Mary Elizabeth pulled her hands away and placed them tentatively on the steering wheel. There was nothing tentative about her voice, however, when she said, “I have no choice. I have to go. There’s nothing left for me here. Charlie’s in London doing graduate work, and Susan has her own family to keep her busy. We were never close, anyway. All I have, really, is you.”

Mrs. Pidgin wiped her eyes and rasped a string of curses, all directed at Charles Drummond.

“Don’t be angry with him, Mrs. P. It couldn’t have been easy for him all these years, either. Every time he looked at me, he must’ve been reminded of my mother’s infidelity. Actually, he did more for me than anyone in his position was obligated to do.”

“Ayeh,” Mrs. Pidgin affirmed bitterly. “All those insulting lectures, all that criticism... and the restrictions he imposed! It’s a wonder you didn’t choke on all he did for you.”

Mary Elizabeth shook her head. “He was instilling values, Mrs. P. Punctuality, neatness, frugality. I have no complaints. Just the opposite. I led a privileged life here. Just look at the house where I was raised. I had the best clothes, went to the best schools....”

“Only because he was afraid. If he didn’t give you those things, same as he gave your sister and brother, people might wonder why he’d singled you out. And if there’s one thing your...Charles can’t abide, it’s having folks think anything’s wrong here. He’s the proudest fool I ever met.”

“You’re right. And that’s the reason—one of the reasons—I’m leaving. I don’t want him feeling shamed or unable to hold up his head in town just because I refuse to get married.”

“Just? There’s no ‘just’ about it.”

“Right again. Getting married is hardly a trivial step.” Mary Elizabeth smiled, trying to shift the conversation onto a more cheerful path. “Besides, it’s past time for me to leave the nest. I’m practically ancient, Mrs. P.” But the brightness slid from her voice when she said, “I need my independence. I want to finally be free.”

The two women fell quiet. Outside the motor home, birds chirped noisily in the maples that bordered the property. The foliage looked played out, even a little tired. The calendar might say it was still summer, but the sky was too blue, too dry and clear. Change was in the air.

Finally, the older woman said softly, “You’ll call me when you reach your friend’s, won’t you?”

“Of course. And you won’t tell Charles where I’ve really gone until I tell you it’s safe?”

“Ayeh.” Mrs. Pidgin gazed at her a long, worried moment. “Well, I can’t think of anything else, so maybe we should get on with your packing. Is there much more?”

“Only the rocker from my room and the cat.” Mary Elizabeth rose and the woman followed. But at the door of the RV, Mary Elizabeth turned. “Before I go, I’d like you to know...” She fidgeted self-consciously with the buttons on her jacket. “I mean, what I want to say is...” She swallowed, and then simply wrapped Mrs. Pidgin in a fierce hug. The woman patted her consolingly while tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks.

“I know. I love you, too, Mary Elizabeth.”

* * *

EVEN THE PHONE BOOTH brought a smile to Pete Mitchell’s eyes. You just didn’t see those things anymore, only the open half-shells that looked like something out of Star Trek and didn’t exactly encourage a guy to linger or say anything personal.

The glass bi-fold door closed with a familiar squeak-thump, recalling hot summer nights, cheap after-shave, and dialing Sue Ellen Carlisle’s number while friends serenaded him with cat calls and whistles from the drugstore corner.

Pete lifted the receiver, noted the rotary dial and got the urge to call everybody he knew. He called his office.

Outside the booth, morning sunshine glittered over the dewy, deep green lawn in front of the Rest E-Z Motel. Old Adirondack chairs, ignorant of the fact that they had become a hot new item in backyard furniture, dozed under a stand of maples and birches.

Pete lowered himself to the booth’s small metal bench as the call went through. He tried to cross his legs, rest his right ankle over his left knee, but his long limbs kept knocking into things.

He heard a click, and then, “Mitchell Construction.”

“Brad?” he said, surprised to hear his brother’s voice.

“Pete?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey. How ya doin’, man?”

“Great. What are you doing answering the phone?”

“Oh, I thought I’d goof off, sit around and drink coffee. My boss is gone for ten days.”

Pete knew Brad was kidding, at least he hoped he did, but that didn’t stop his stomach from tightening. They were already two weeks behind on the McKenna house.

“Did the shipment of drywall come in?”

“Hey, you’re on vacation. You’re not supposed to be thinking about work. Remember?”

Pete sent a daddy longlegs flying off his boot with a flick of a finger. “So, did the drywall come in?”

His brother chuckled. “No. I just called, though—that’s what I’m doing here at the office—and it’s on its way. Should be here tomorrow.”

“Good. Get the men on it right away, as many as you can spare.”

“I will.” After a short pause Brad said, “So, did you get it?” His voice contained a smile.

As did Pete’s when he replied, “Get what?”

“The measles. Jeez Louise! You know what.”

Pete laughed. “Yeah, I got it.”

Brad whooped. “Oh, man! That’s great. So, tell me about it. Is she as sweet as the ad promised?”

“Sweeter. What a beauty, Brad. I even brought her into my motel room with me last night. Couldn’t get enough of looking at her.”

“Good price?”

“For a mint-condition ‘53 Triumph, the exact same model Brando rode in The Wild One? Yeah, it was a good price. Well, a little steep. The old man knew what he had. But she’s worth it.”

“I can’t wait to see it. Where are you now?”

“Still in New Hampshire, west side of Lake Winnipesukee, about forty miles south of where I bought the bike, although I must’ve put a hundred and forty on it yesterday up in the mountains.” He paused, his sharp builder’s eye sweeping the grounds.

“I wish you could see the motel I stayed in last night, Brad. Separate cabins, each about the size of a garden shed, painted this bright fifties aqua. It’s the genuine article, too, not some fake retro setup with an eye on the nostalgia buck. I’m calling from a phone booth outside the motel office ‘cause there aren’t any phones in the rooms.”

“And you’re having a good time?”

“The best.” He hadn’t taken a vacation like this in so long he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed being on the road, totally alone and freewheeling—how much he needed it. His construction business had thrived this past year, and he’d been working full-tilt all that time, unaware of the wear and tear on his body as well as his spirit. But already he felt better, and he’d been gone from home a mere two days.

“Only you, Pete. Only you.” Brad laughed. “So, are you still going to ride her home?”

“That’s the plan.” That had always been the plan. Pete had flown up from Tampa on a one-way ticket, with only a duffel bag and a certainty of his luck.

“What I’d like to know is,” Brad said, “what are you gonna do with one more antique motorcycle?”

“Love her, cherish her, till the road runs out for either one of us, what else?”

Brad chuckled. “That reminds me, somebody stopped by the apartment yesterday who maybe wishes you’d think about her in those terms.”

Pete was glad his brother couldn’t see his face. He suspected it had fallen to somewhere around his knees. “Sue Ellen?” he asked, trying not to hesitate. Hesitation might give his brother the impression he cared more than he did.

“Uh-huh.”

“What did she want?”

“Came by to hand-deliver her reply to our wedding invitation.”

“Cutting it close, wasn’t she?”

“Sure was. Jill had to call the country club last night with a final count.”

Pete swallowed. “So, is she coming?”

“Of course. She is Jill’s cousin, after all.”

Pete got to his feet and moved around the phone booth like an agitated tiger in a too-small cage. Two teenage girls, walking slowly in his direction and trying to pretend they weren’t checking him out, giggled.

Brad said, “I’m reluctant to give people advice, especially my older and so-much-wiser brother, but now that her divorce is finalized, this might be a good opportunity for you to explore the possibility of getting back with her. She’s a gorgeous lady, Pete, and if you ask me she’s still real interested in you.”

“No, she isn’t.”

“No? Then how come she’s been calling you three times a week? How come she’s been coming by the office?”

“She’s thinking of renovating her house, dummy.”

“A house that was built only six years ago? Come on, Pete, open your eyes.”

Brad was getting a real kick out of this. So were their sisters, Pam and Lindy. They saw it as the ultimate romance, Pete and Sue Ellen, high school sweethearts, getting back together after fifteen years of unfortunate separation.

Pete saw it as a good time to hit the road.

“Listen, kid, I’m not interested in getting back with Sue Ellen, and I don’t want any matchmaking going on at your wedding, hear?”

“Yeah, I hear.”

No, he didn’t. Pete could tell his brother was smirking.

“Look, just because you’re getting married doesn’t mean everybody around you should do the same. Hell, you’re getting as bad as your sisters.”

“It might not be a bad idea to start thinking about settling down, too, Pete. I think I saw a few gray hairs on your head the other day.”

“Yeah, well, they’re my gray hairs and I’ll thank you not to worry about them. Hell, I’m never going that route again. Once was enough for a lifetime. For several lifetimes.”

A few seconds of uneasy silence followed, then Brad said, “Not to change the subject, but when can I expect my best man to get home?” The reminder of Pete’s disastrous marriage had effectively killed the discussion. Pete felt his equanimity return.

“Do you need me sooner than Friday? Not this Friday. The one before the wedding, I mean.”

“Of course I need you. I’m getting as nervous as a turkey in November.”

Grinning, Pete picked at a small tear on the right knee of his jeans. “Well, hell, I’m hardly the guy to have around if what you’re looking for’s support. My advice would be to give up this deranged idea of marriage and come on the road with me.”

“You just haven’t met the right girl yet,” Brad replied righteously. “Wait till you do. You’ll be eating your words.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“And don’t you go sounding so sure of yourself. But to answer your question—no, I don’t need you. Just be here the day before the wedding. We have to pick up our tuxes and go to the rehearsal.”

“Sure enough. How’s the rest of the family holding up?”

“Good. Pam has decided to have the rehearsal dinner at her house.”

“That isn’t necessary. You know I offered to take everybody to The Sand Dollar.”

“You’ve done enough, Pete. Besides, she really wants to do this.”

“Well, in that case... Has Lindy’s husband made it into work this week?”

“So far.”

Pete sniffed. He didn’t like his brother-in-law a helluva lot. The guy had a serious drinking problem. But he was family, and so, when he said he needed a job, Pete gave him a job.

“How are Abby’s tonsils?”

“Pete, will you stop worrying about the family, already!”

Pete almost said he didn’t know how. He’d been at it too long. But that might come out sounding like a complaint, which it wasn’t, so he just shut up.

The two teenage girls were nearly abreast of the phone booth now, walking stiffly, eyes straight ahead. Pete slouched a little—enough to look disreputable, yet not so much that he’d slide off the bench—and sent them his sexiest half smile and a slow nod hello. Their eyes rounded and their faces turned red as thermometers about to pop. As soon as they’d passed, he sat up, laughing to himself.

“So,” Brad said, “what are you going to do with the rest of your vacation?”

Pete felt a warmth like new love melt over him. “I plan to hit the back roads, do my Jack Kerouac thing, look for America in the slow lane.”

“Man, do I envy you.”

“You should. I don’t have to shave or change my socks for the next nine days if I don’t feel like it.”

“Have fun, but do me a favor? Take a shower before crossing the town line, okay? I’m not sure even I could stand you that ripe.”

“I’ll think about it. Take care, Brad.”

“Hey, you will be here by Friday, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be there. Have I ever let you down?”

When Brad answered, his voice held more emotion than Pete had intended to elicit. “Never, big brother. Never.”

“So, okay.” Pete uncoiled from the seat. “Till then, hang tough. Jill is worth it.”

“I know.”

“I hope so.” Pete ran callused fingers over the heart-enclosed initials someone had scratched into the black paint of the phone. “Don’t let this get around, it’ll kill my image, but I’m the one with every reason to be envious.”

Brad was quiet awhile before mumbling, “Thanks, Pete.”

“For what? See you Friday.”

He hung up quickly, but continued to stand there staring at the phone. He’d added that remark about envying Brad merely to bolster his brother’s confidence and get him through the prewedding jitters. But just for a second...

In general, he was happy with his life. He liked his work, enjoyed his freedom, wasn’t looking for any more responsibility than he already had, certainly not the kind you got saddled with in marriage.

But just for a second he thought he’d felt something, like a faint pang of hunger, an intimation there could be more.

He gave his head a little shake. Well, of course he knew there could be more. He always had. That was why he’d asked Sue Ellen to marry him when they were just eighteen. As things turned out, she broke up with him before they quite made it down the aisle, but that didn’t alter his view of marriage or keep him from marrying Cindy Barstow half a year later.

Pete curled his hand into a fist and pressed it against the phone-booth wall. Cindy. The biggest mistake of his life, a classic case of marriage on the rebound. At twenty-one, though, he’d believed he was in love again.

Cindy was cute, sweet and affectionate, and she fell for Pete very hard, very fast. By their second date they were making love and she was saying, “I love you,” which was exactly what his shattered ego had needed then. Three months after that they were married.

Cindy had another endearing trait that had bolstered his self-image, a soft feminine helplessness that made him feel strong, protective and needed. Like a rescuing knight.

But it didn’t take long for her dependence on him to wear thin and for him to see how draining it was. He began to resent her. He wanted a partner, a helpmate, someone who could occasionally nurture him when he was down—not a little girl.

He soon discovered other things about her that were equally annoying. There were her constant small “tests” to prove he loved her—calls in the middle of the day, for instance, to ask him to leave work to pick up something at the market for her, usually when he was most involved in an important project. She also made unreasonable demands, like having him account for all his time. And then there was the way she said “I love you,” with that plaintive little question mark at the end, her way of asking him to reassure her he loved her, too. Constantly. On the phone, during dinner, in the middle of the night.

Only months into their marriage, he knew he’d made a mistake. Cindy was desperate for love, starving for it, and that scared the hell out of him. Although she claimed to love him, all he saw was her fierce need to be loved, a need that soon became a bottomless pit. No matter what he did to reassure her, her emotional needs remained unsated and insatiable.

How they’d lasted two years he’d never know, but finally there came a day he couldn’t take it anymore. The ante in Cindy’s games had risen to the point where, if he didn’t walk out, he felt sure that dark bottomless pit of her insecurity would swallow him up. In the end it almost did, but that was a time in his life he didn’t like to dwell on.

The only solace he derived from looking back on his marriage with Cindy lay in the fact that they’d never had a child. He’d wanted one, but not with her. Lord, not her. He couldn’t imagine a child growing up with that woman.

After that, Pete was pretty well soured on the idea of marriage. Oh, he’d had relationships with other women, some serious, most too casual even to remember. But marriage? No, never again.

Aside from being incurably gun-shy, he simply liked his freedom too much. Single, he could come and go as he pleased, see whom he wanted—or not. He could smoke smelly cigars, eat chili for breakfast, or drop a bundle on a bike that was forty years old. No one would be at home waiting to chew off his head.

So, why was he suddenly feeling twinges of envy for his brother? And why hadn’t he felt those twinges while Sue Ellen was still married? He didn’t want to marry anyone, even her. She might have been his first love, maybe even his best love, but, no, not even her. She’d hurt him too much when she broke up with him to marry that guy she’d met in college, and he still blamed her for the consequences, his marriage to Cindy.

Cindy. Sue Ellen. They were a mess from his past he’d just as soon forget. And that was exactly what he was going to do. Pete pushed away from the phone, opened the bi-fold door and stepped outside. He had nine days until the wedding, nine glorious, freewheeling days before he had to deal with Sue Ellen again and his interfering relatives. In the meantime—he smiled—it was time to get back on the road.

* * *

ALL THE WAY OUT OF TOWN Mary Elizabeth cried. Tears obscured her vision so badly that, turning a corner, she drove over the curb, nearly hitting a mailbox, and a block after that she ran a red light. By the time she reached the highway, the floor around her was littered with tissues, and the fluffy orange cat lying on the seat beside her was eyeing her with aloof disdain. But she couldn’t stop.

She was leaving behind everything she knew—her family, her friends, her job and hometown—and was going to a place that was totally unfamiliar. The climate, the architecture, the landscape, everything in Florida would be different.

But then, everything in Maine felt different now, too. Learning she wasn’t who she’d always thought she was had changed things. Charles wasn’t her father anymore. Susan and Charlie were only half sister, half brother. Aunt Julia wasn’t even her aunt. And her mother? Mary Elizabeth reached for another tissue from the box on the dash.

As had happened innumerable times that week, the moment when Charles had informed her of her true parentage replayed itself in her mind. Again she felt her initial shock, the confusion and numbing incredulity that had prevented his words from really registering for several minutes. It was sort of like watching the demolition of a high-rise building, she thought. Hearing the boom of the explosives, seeing the jolt through the structure—and then that strange moment when the building simply hangs in place, mortally wounded but still appearing sound, right before dropping story by story into a thundering cloud of devastation. That was how she felt every time she recalled the destruction of her world.

She wiped her eyes, but they filled again almost immediately. Oh, this had to stop. She couldn’t afford to dwell on her illegitimacy anymore or wallow in self-pity. Facing a solitary drive down the entire Eastern seaboard, she needed to be alert, defensive and tough, even though in all her life she’d never been any of those things. Growing up affluent in a quiet New England town, she’d never had to be.

But after several minutes of focusing on her trip, her sadness had been replaced by fear, fear of the journey, fear of the unknown. No, that wouldn’t do, either.

“How hard can it be, huh, Monet?” she asked the fat feline riding beside her. “People make this trip all the time—college kids on spring break, retired folks.” She blotted her eyes one last time and pocketed the tissue. “I have Triple A insurance, my route clearly mapped out, even the best campgrounds to stay in each night. I’ve got food, shelter, credit cards, everything I need. And,” she said with added emphasis, “it’s only three days.”

Morning sunshine warmed her left shoulder as she drove down the highway heading south. She relaxed into the warmth, flexing her stiff neck to one side and then the other. “Actually,” she said, addressing the cat again, “the drive isn’t hard at all. I-95 all the way until we reach Daytona. Just one long road. Amazing, isn’t it? Then at Daytona we’ll cut across Florida to a highway that runs down the gulf side of the state straight to Sarasota. The gentleman I talked to at Triple A told me that only New York and Washington might give us trouble, but if we avoid those cities during commuter hours, we’ll be okay. And once we reach Florida everything’s going to be more than okay. It’ll be great. I’ve got a job interview lined up already. My best friend’ll be there. The weather’ll be forever warm....”

The cat gave her a look that said he’d had enough bothersome conversation. He settled his chin on his paws, closed his yellow eyes and went to sleep.

Mary Elizabeth shrugged and turned on the radio, trying to find a classical station. When she had, she settled back.

But a few minutes later her mind had wandered again, away from the music to the countless school concerts Charles had sat through when she was a girl. He’d attended her plays and art exhibits, as well. But he’d usually grumbled beforehand, looked impatient during and been irritable after. At times she’d thought she was merely being overly sensitive, but now she knew better. Now a lot of Charles’s behavior made sense. So did his words. You’ve always been a burden, Mary Elizabeth. A burden. More than she’d ever suspected, apparently.

It must have been terribly difficult raising a child who was the taunting proof of his wife’s infidelity, a child he clearly didn’t want and had hoped Eliza would give up for adoption. And how maddening it must have been when that child, given every advantage, had continually failed to live up to the Drummond name.

Or maybe she had, she thought, but in his pain and resentment Charles had simply refused to acknowledge it.

Mary Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around the wheel. She wished she’d seen things in that light when she was younger. Instead, she’d spent her youth trying to win his approval and love, trying, always trying, but growing increasingly certain that in some mysterious way she was inferior and deserved to be treated differently from her brother and sister.