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

so much …” She trailed off. Maybe Blaise had sensed the weight of her secret, and that was why he hadn’t come to her.

Or maybe he hadn’t come to her because there was nothing to come to her about. Trying to know the unknowable could make a person crazy.

Miriam shook her head and continued. “But Talia had a built-in bullshit monitor.”

“Also like you.”

Miriam smiled wanly. “She knew all the buttons to push. She’d always had these zingers in her back pocket, but it was like one day, they grew barbs. And they were always aimed at me. It was like she knew I was keeping something from her.”

Dicey groaned. “Miriam.”

“What?”

“Aside from the fact that you’re being completely irrational, you’re forgetting something important.”

“Which is?”

“Teo knew too. If there’s fault here, it’s on both of you.”

Miriam pondered that. “He wanted to tell them. I was too scared. I’d started doing these concerts and masterclasses, and it was stressful on the family. I couldn’t imagine adding to it.”

Dicey looked skeptical. “So you feel guilty because you didn’t tell your kids who their real dad was, and now you’re torturing yourself because you carved out some time for yourself?”

She left Miriam to think about that while she pulled open a bag of marshmallows and crouched down to roast one. The sun hadn’t yet set, but it had disappeared behind the hulking hill at their back. The glow of the fire pushed back against the gloom that gathered in the shadow of the Mississippi River bluffs.

Was Dicey right? Miriam wondered. The performance career—such as it was—had started while Teo and the kids were in Argentina. She’d rediscovered how it felt to have time for herself, practicing every day until she got her finger coordination back.

When they came home, Teo encouraged her to find an outlet, so she gave a recital at St. Greg’s, then reached out to every community concert series within a hundred miles. One of them asked her to do a masterclass for local high schoolers. She enjoyed it so much, she added it to her offerings.

She enjoyed having something of her own, something she could take pride in. But it made life so much harder. They’d felt stretched thin, those last couple of years.

Dicey’s voice interrupted her reverie. “So I guess their real dad doesn’t know either,” Dicey added.

This time, Miriam didn’t let it go. “Teo was their real dad. Teo’s the one who raised them. Changed their diapers, sang them to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, my stepdad is my real dad too. I get it. But you’re ignoring my point.” Dicey looked up at her then. “It’s too late now to tell your kids, and it’s killing you. The question is, are you going to tell Gus?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? The one that had haunted most of her adult life. “I don’t know,” Miriam said. She could barely hear herself over the crickets. “I was afraid. Of how complicated it might get. Afraid he’d ruin them. They were such good kids, and he was such a … cad.”

Dicey made a face at the old-fashioned word.

“What possible good could come of telling him now? He’s missed the chance to have a relationship with them. I just feel like …” She pressed her lips together until the pressure in her throat eased. “I screwed up everything.”

Dicey started fiddling with packages of crackers and chocolate. “Maybe you were wrong not to tell them. Maybe you were right. You may never know. But you can’t torture yourself about it for the rest of your life. You’re a good person.”

“What have I done in my life that was worthwhile,” Miriam said softly, “except make those kids?”

“Bullshit. Here. Eat this.” Dicey shoved a s’more at her.

“I haven’t eaten dinner.”

“Oh, come on. You know you’re not gonna eat that sausage. Might as well have this. It’s perfectly toasted.”

Miriam smiled and took it. Dicey was right. Perfect. “I thought you didn’t camp.”

“We have a firepit on our patio. We made s’mores all the time. Anyway.” Dicey stared out at the falling darkness as she savored her own dessert. Then she swiveled to face Miriam. “I don’t want you to run yourself down, Miriam. You deserve better. Look what you’ve done for me. That alone proves you’re a good person.”

Miriam shook her head. “Having you along keeps my mind occupied.”

“So what? You think it’s only a good deed if you get nothing out of it? You have to be miserable to be holy? How very Catholic of you.”

Miriam swallowed without bothering to finish chewing. “That’s not what Catholics believe,” she said sharply. “That’s not what I believe.”

“Good. So prove it. Tell me one good thing you’ve done that has nothing to do with Teo or your kids.”

The challenge touched a nerve. Miriam leaned on the picnic table, staring at the thick growth of old oak and elm and walnut, alive with the sound of spring insects. The hard edge of the graham cracker inched its way down her throat, scraping open parts of her she’d stopped paying attention to.

“Talia had a friend,” she said slowly. “Not exactly a friend. An acquaintance from the civic youth orchestra. A kid from a rough background. Really screwed-up situation. But she was a phenomenal violist. Her dad threw her out of the house before rehearsal that night because … never mind; it doesn’t matter why. When I came to pick up Talia, this girl was planning to sleep in the park. We brought her home with us instead. She stayed with us two weeks while I looked for a safe place for her. Eventually her dad went into rehab, and she went to live with her grandmother.” Miriam nodded slowly. “I felt like I did something good there.”

Dicey slapped her hands on her thighs. “You see? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She retrieved her backpack and suitcase and headed for the shower house, leaving Miriam to ponder a word she’d grown up with but never really understood until just now, when Dicey had