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

It wasn’t that Mom and Dad ever forbade her from pursuing music. It was just that little hesitation every time she talked about it. The deep consideration before they agreed to let her enter a competition, whereas approval for any academic event seemed automatic.

Miriam tried to find something else. She really did. But nothing set her on fire the way music did. Kept her up nights with anticipation and the glow of creation.

And the deeper she went into music, the more the low-grade patina of unspoken disappointment seemed to color her relationship with her parents. By the time she realized that said more about their own unhappiness than anything they felt about her, she no longer felt safe opening her heart to them.

Which didn’t mean they never talked. One of the surprises of adulthood was that families could be perfectly cordial while withholding what mattered most. For years, the long drive to Detroit after Christmas was a ritual of family life, like Sunday afternoon phone calls. But since Teo and Talia’s voices had begun reminding her of the ways she’d failed them, Miriam had managed to limit most contact with her family to e-mail, where a degree of distance made avoiding the hard topics easier.

Now, standing on the steps of Monks Mound, her secret exposed to the universe, Miriam held her vibrating phone and wondered if she was poised to blow the lid off the fragile equilibrium she’d clung to for so long.

She breathed deep and swiped “Answer.” “Hi, Mom.” The words came out bright and brittle.

“Mira! Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Jo said you’d been arrested?”

“I hope she also said I was released, and it was all a big misunderstanding.”

“Yes, yes, but are you all right? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“I’m fine, Mom.” Miriam suppressed a sigh. As vehement as Jo had been about keeping their mother calm, she seemed to have done a pretty good job of winding her up instead. “I don’t know what Jo told you, but I was never in any danger. No charges, no nothing.”

“Well, thank God for that. But you never know. I hope this doesn’t cause you problems down the line. Did you check to make sure it’s not on your record?”

Miriam tried to swallow her impatience. Probably it wasn’t Jo’s fault. Mom always gravitated toward alarmism. Most likely, her attention had shut down at the word “arrested.” Miriam supposed if she’d ever heard Blaise or Talia had been arrested, her attention might have gotten stuck there too.

Exhaustion caught up with her all at once. “Everything’s fine, Mom,” she said, sliding to a seat on the stairs. “I promise. I’m already two states down the road.”

“Where are you?”

“Near St. Louis.” She leaned her head against the railing and gazed across the huge lawn that had once been a busy plaza. At the far end, two smaller mounds stood side by side. One for each of her children. “I’m sitting on a Native American mound, actually.”

“Is that legal?” Her mother sounded shocked.

“It’s a park, Mom!”

“I wish you’d called me. I could have flown out and driven with you. I could still come out and meet you. It would be safer than traveling by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself. I’m traveling with a young woman now. Her name is Dicey.”

“Yes, Jo said you’d picked up a hitchhiker. That’s at least as dangerous. And what kind of name is that, anyway—‘Dicey’?”

“The name her parents gave her, I presume. Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about. She’s hardly in any condition to beat me up and rob me. She’s pregnant.”

“She’s pregnant? That’s even worse. Do you really want to be responsible for her health and safety?”

The phone case bit into Miriam’s hand. She forced herself to relax. “What do you want me to do, drop her off on the side of the road and say, ‘Good luck’? At eight months pregnant? That’s a real Christian attitude.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Buy her a bus ticket to wherever she’s going.”

“Look, Mom. We’re headed in the same direction. Why not carpool? At least this way, if something happens, she’s with someone who cares about her.”

A moment of silence, while it registered to both women what Miriam had just admitted.

I am not replacing my daughter. I’m not.

Her mother spoke again, her voice lower, more gentle. “But there’s no one to look after you.”

Miriam bowed her head. For a moment, she let herself sink back through layers of memory, to a time when a hug from her mother had been the safest feeling in the world. Daughters grew and changed, and they found embraces stifling instead of comforting. Did that pendulum swing only once, from dependence to resentment? Or did it eventually reach equilibrium?

She would never know. At least, not from the perspective of a mother.

All the more reason to mend fences with her own mother. Miriam rubbed her forehead. “Listen, Mom, I know you don’t approve of all this, but … I’m a mess right now. I need this. Once I get done with this trip, let’s talk. Okay? I just need … I need to focus on me right now.”

For a moment, Miriam heard only the low hiss of static on the connection. Then her mother cleared her throat. “All right, Mira. Just don’t forget you still have a family.”

When they’d said their goodbyes, Miriam laid her phone beside her on the steps. At the base of Monks Mound, Dicey, now a tiny figure far below, walked slowly toward the parking lot. Miriam watched her and wondered if there really was such a thing as a second chance for mothers.

Part 5

Near Des Moines, Iowa

Life is about surviving loss.

—Mary Steenburgen

Blaise’s intro to the High Trestle Trail Bridge

The High Trestle Trail Bridge goes across the Des Moines River Valley. It’s one of the longest trail bridges in the world—almost half a mile. It’s part of a biking trail that connects two towns called Ankeny