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

himself. But the one time he’d gotten into a fight at school, it had been because someone said something about Talia. He’d never admitted exactly what—not to Miriam, at least. Just spent the weeklong suspension keeping up with schoolwork and practicing piano while Talia spent every evening doing her homework in his room.

Yes, she could believe that Talia had been more protective of Blaise, and Blaise’s deepest secrets.

Her phone, left unused, faded to black. Which left her right back where she’d started: in the dark.

 20

Sunday, May 1

Cahokia Mounds

Near St. Louis, Missouri

MIRIAM SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON the flat top of the largest hand-built earthwork in North America. The bottom of Monks Mound was as big around as the Great Pyramid in Giza. They’d climbed a hundred and fifty-four steps above the Mississippi River bottoms, between steep embankments left unmown, with scruffy grasses waving in the spring breeze on either side.

It was so quiet. Quieter than the chapel at the monastery this morning before the monks came in for Mass. Yet at one time, fifteen thousand people had lived around the foot of this mound. It was hard to imagine. Did they get snow here? Did little Mississippian boys and girls use this steep hill for sledding? Did they roll down the hills in the summer? Or was this a sacred place, off-limits to all?

No way to know now. Those people were all gone. Vanished. Like her family, taking their secrets with them to their graves.

Miriam stared off to the southwest, where the St. Louis skyline, headlined by the distinctive silver arch, shimmered, mirage-like, in the midday sun.

How many times I saw my western city—

Her phone dinged, overriding the post in process. Miriam’s bloodstream electrified to see Gus’s number. I just saw the video (three bug-eyed emojis). Are you okay? Are you still in jail?

Miriam rolled her eyes and weighed her reply—how much did she really want to get into this with Gus, of all people?—but was interrupted by another ding.

I guess if you’re in jail you won’t see this. The text ended with another bug-eye.

She opted for short and polite. Not in jail. Everything’s fine, thanks for asking.

She returned to the trip app, but she’d only written one word before she was interrupted by another ding.

I saw you were working on music in that video. How’s the sonata coming?

Of course, that was what he really cared about.

She blew out a breath, kneading her forehead. She hadn’t made one whit of progress out on the waterfront. She’d never even finished analyzing the chord structure of the existing music, let alone done any real writing.

Somehow, she didn’t think Gus wanted to hear that.

But she couldn’t lie either. She made a face and typed, Slowly.

Happy to help. Just let me know.

Wow. Pushy much? She shook her head. Will do. “Not,” she murmured as she hit “Send.”

She sat tense on the top of the mound for two minutes before she knew he wasn’t going to text again. It was like having someone looking over her shoulder.

She returned to Talia’s app to finish her post. How many times, I saw my western city dream by her river … Sara Teasdale. #GreatAmAdven.

She clicked “Post” and turned toward the sound of labored breathing. Dicey lumbered toward her, oversized T-shirt gaping over her belly as she tried to catch her breath.

“A hundred fifty-four steps times three,” Dicey gasped.

“Four hundred sixty-two. That’s enough. Why don’t you stop going up and down those steps and join me?”

Dicey shook her head. “This is the best exercise I’ve had in weeks. I’d like to get up and down them a couple more times.” She coughed hard.

“Sounds to me like you’re overdoing it.”

“Nope. I’m fine.” Dicey gestured at the phone in Miriam’s hand. “Are you still trying to deal with those comments?”

“I was just getting ready to.”

“Don’t.”

“I thought you wanted me to look at them.”

“I changed my mind. There’s starting to be more trash. When we get back on the road, you let me wade through the trolls and read you the ones you actually need to see. How does that sound?”

Miriam was touched. “You’d do that for me?”

“Sure. I gotta pay you back for giving me a ride, right?” Dicey grinned. “By the way, I’ve been thinking about your next video.”

“Just stop right there, Dicey. I’m not doing any more videos. Still photos will be just fine, and they won’t go viral.”

Dicey looked crushed. Of course she wanted Miriam to do more videos. She was an aspiring filmmaker. “But Miriam—”

“I don’t want what happened in Cincinnati happening again.”

“We can take precautions. I’ll be more careful. We don’t have to go live—”

“You’re missing the point. I came out here to honor my family. Not to plaster myself all over social media.”

Dicey’s face tightened. “They’re not mutually exclusive, you know.”

There it was: the edge that never quite left Talia’s voice in the last year of her life. Miriam had wondered if Dicey might possibly be different somehow. If she could go all the way across the country with a girl who might have been her daughter’s character clone, and not fall to bickering. Now she knew.

And she also knew she wasn’t replacing her memory of her daughter with some Stepford version of her instead.

The quiet morning was ruined. She stood up. “There’s no need for sarcasm,” she said, brushing off her legs. “I promised myself a soul-searching road trip across the country so I could mourn my family, and instead I’m traveling with a stranger, getting arrested, and going viral. Thank you, no. No more videos.”

Miriam stalked along the gravel path to the stairs that would take her back to the Mississippi river bottoms. She was halfway down the first flight by the time Dicey caught up to her and grabbed her elbow.

“Miriam!” Dicey was out of breath, but the exertion of speaking only added force to her words. “Stop. Listen.” She punched something on her phone, took two deep breaths, and read:

“‘My neighbor just shared your account with me. I lost my daughter to suicide