A Song for the Road by Kathleen Basi (classic literature books txt) 📕

her a plane ticket to Albuquerque. Mom understood. Or at least she claimed to. Perhaps Jo knew better. She and Mom had always been close. When Jo lived at home, they’d go shopping together or get nail treatments at the beauty school. Miriam would beg to tag along, but Dad always said she was too little. Once Jo left for college, Miriam thought she’d get her chance, but Jo called to talk to Mom every day, so maybe Mom never felt the need.

Miriam scrolled through the pictures. Dicey had a good eye. She chose one and uploaded it, then packed up the cello and headed for the car. The burn in her calves as she hauled the instrument up the hill felt … good. She felt good. That bubbling sensation beneath her locket surprised her. She’d forgotten music could make her feel this way: alive, humming with potential. If she could make music at one stop on this Great American Road Trip, why not at all of them?

Maybe she really could find redemption out here.

The women got back in the car. “I’m totally sharing this with all my friends,” Dicey said.

“Do I even want to know how many friends you have?”

“A bunch.” Dicey shrugged, a smug twist to her lips. “So now what?”

Miriam smiled and pulled out Blaise’s wheat penny. “Here goes nothing,” she said, and flipped the coin.

Part 3

Cincinnati, Ohio

I spent a lot of years trying to outrun or outsmart vulnerability by making things certain and definite, black and white, good and bad. My inability to lean into the discomfort of vulnerability limited the fullness of those important experiences that are wrought with uncertainty: Love, belonging, trust, joy, and creativity to name a few.

—Brené Brown

Talia’s intro

So, one stop down! Wouldn’t you like to know how many are left? Guess what? I can’t even tell you because we’re figuring this out and recording videos as we go too. How fun is that? Almost makes me want to go on the trip with you.

Wait a minute. What am I saying?

Anyway.

So … drum roll … your next stop is … Cincinnati, Ohio! It’s a date night! There’s all kinds of stuff to do there. You can take a steamboat ride, you can rent bikes, you can walk a labyrinth, see a baseball game. Maybe there’ll even be a concert. Who knows? Anyway. You’re welcome. Have fun, kids. Don’t call us. We really don’t wanna know.

 10

Friday, April 29

Eastern Ohio

DICEY SLEPT MORE THAN anyone Miriam had ever met, including her teenage son. She slept through five counties and over an hour of All Things Considered, after which Miriam went looking for a pop station because listening to presidential politics was doing nothing for her existential crisis.

As she drove westward, humming, the sun disappeared into a cloud bank. The afternoon darkened, making it feel later than it really was. Dicey woke up coughing in Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a fast-food napkin, covering her mouth until the hacking finally stopped.

“You okay?” Miriam asked.

“Fine. Except this isn’t the interstate.” Dicey folded the napkin and tucked it away.

“Yeah. Construction zone, followed by an accident. Google rerouted us. Unfortunately, it also bypassed Charleston.”

“Oh.”

“I figured I might as well take you as far as Cincinnati. You can catch a bus there too.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“Sure. I’m glad for the company.” On the radio, Taylor Swift was whining about her boyfriend. Miriam started singing softly again; Dicey pulled down the corners of her mouth to hide a smile. “You listen to TSwift. Really?”

“What can I say? It helps me get my teenage angst out.”

“Ugh. That’s totally a Tweet.” Dicey tapped out a post, speaking it out loud: So now I know what church choir directors listen to. TSwift. Explains a lot, I think.

“Lovely.” Miriam shook her head. “So keep me company. Tell me about yourself.”

Dicey shrugged. “What’s to tell? Pregnant, no degree, no future.”

Miriam pried her jaw open. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“Suit yourself.”

She gripped the steering wheel hard. “My daughter would have turned eighteen in February. Don’t tell me you have no future. You’re alive.”

Dicey slumped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was supposed to be a joke. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

Miriam eased up on the steering wheel. “Thanks for that.”

Dicey coughed again, drank from her water bottle, and screwed the cap back on. “My mama’s amazing,” she said, and the sardonic note in her voice was gone, replaced by sincerity. “She raised five Black boys in south L.A., and every one of them got himself a college degree.”

“Wow.”

“And my dad came around just often enough to keep from having to pay child support. Till I was about five, anyway. Then Mama told him he better hang around for good or else don’t bother coming back at all. Soon enough, she was sorry she ever did. He was an ugly drunk. Breaking things, calling names. All that yelling. The first time he laid a hand on her, though, she packed us all up and moved up to the Bay Area. We haven’t seen him since.”

“Wow,” Miriam said again. It seemed a ridiculously inadequate response. She knew all about men who weren’t father material, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say so.

Dicey twirled a string of beads hanging off her backpack. “When I was five, Mom went to get her nursing degree so she could …”

Miriam waited a beat before venturing, “Have a career of her own?”

Dicey gave a noncommittal shrug.

A ring tone interrupted the radio. The dashboard screen flashed Incoming call from: Becky Lindon.

Miriam answered. “Becky! What’s up?”

Her friend’s voice filled the speakers. “Finally!”

“I didn’t have a cell signal.”

“Yes, I saw your post. Well, I’m glad to hear you sounding so … chipper.”

“It’s been interesting.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Um …” Miriam glanced over at Dicey, who was pretending not to listen. “Not right now.”

“All right. So, you know about … um …?”

“Ella Evil? Yes, I know about it.”

“Well …” Becky sounded disconcerted. “That wasn’t what I meant, but since you