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

“I thought I’d go out and play some of Teo’s favorite music. Badly.”

Dicey grinned. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Well, let’s get going. You’ll see soon enough.”

Dicey hauled herself to her feet, and they started down the paved trail, only to stop at a sign: “High Trestle Trail Bridge: 2.5 miles.”

Miriam turned to her companion. Could she safely walk five miles round trip? “Um …”

“Come on, we’re wasting daylight.” Dicey grabbed her elbow and propelled her forward.

Miriam’s phone dinged as they began walking. She palmed it and rolled her eyes to see Gus’s name. “This is the second time today.”

“For what?”

“Gus,” she said.

“Really?” Dicey looked thoughtful. “What’s he want?”

Miriam clicked the attachment and found herself looking at a program. Cleaning my desk and found the program from the festival concert. Do you have a copy? Would you like one? she read. She sighed. “Really, I think what he’s doing is reminding me that he wants that sonata finished.”

“That’s kinda pushy.”

“Yeah, well. Gus has never been what you’d call ‘subtle.’ He’s wearing me out.”

“Secrets are hard to carry,” Dicey observed.

This from the girl who turned every conversation away from herself.

Miriam took the high road, tapping out a short reply: Sure, thanks.

She slid the guitar case around her front and slipped her phone into the zippered pocket. “So—that recording you were making, back there? It’s for your daughter?”

“Just thinking out loud,” Dicey said. “You had a conversation this morning too. Who were you talking to?”

Miriam shook her head, chuckling at the two of them, dancing around subjects they didn’t want to discuss. She decided to break the dysfunctional cycle. “My brother.”

“Oh? Why was he calling?”

“Today’s my wedding anniversary.”

Dicey’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Miriam.” She hesitated. “What did he say about it?”

How to distill that conversation into one topic? “He said I’ll be happy again someday. And that I should let myself be.”

“Huh.” Dicey eyed her appraisingly. “That’s surprisingly empathetic, for a guy.”

Laughter underscored the heavy, compressed ache around her heart. “How did you get so jaded?”

“I’ve only ever known one good man in my life—my stepdad.” Dicey spread her hands. “Though it seems like your Teo was a good one, I have to admit. And it sounds like your brother’s not completely without hope.” Dicey winced and pressed her hand to her abdomen. “Baby girl’s feisty today.”

Miriam slowed. “I’m pushing you too hard. Should we go back?”

“No way. I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. It’s just that sometimes I forget for a little while. It’s just nice to pretend nothing’s changed. But then sometimes …”

“Then it hits you all at once, and you can’t breathe. You just want it to go away.”

“Mostly I just get pissed off.” Dicey was already out of breath. “I want to go do something really stupid, like bungee jump or skydive or, I don’t know, get trashed. Just to give this pregnancy the finger, you know?”

Miriam nodded, laughing. “I know exactly.”

Out of nowhere, Dicey started coughing so hard, she had to stop and bend over. Miriam wrapped her arms around the younger woman, helping her to the ground and holding her while her body heaved.

The tight ache of anxiety that seemed her constant companion these days seemed less burdensome suddenly. It had turned outward.

Tenderness. That’s what it was. Talia had contracted food poisoning a few weeks before her final Christmas. Taking care of her, Miriam had felt this same beautiful ache. So often, life with Talia had been a battle. For that fleeting thirty-six hours, Talia had belonged to her again. She was needed—and, more importantly, wanted.

Dicey’s coughing fit lasted a long time. When it finally slowed, Miriam pulled a bottle out of the bag and handed it over. Dicey drank, coughed again, and drank some more. She was sweating.

A bicycle bell dinged; Miriam scrambled to clear the path so the group could pass by. Then she braced herself and helped Dicey to her feet. “I think we need to turn around, honey,” she said.

“No!” Dicey pulled a pill bottle out of her backpack and tossed back a tablet. “I just can’t talk anymore. Not while I’m walking.”

Miriam regarded her with a focus she hadn’t felt in a long time, her own troubles distant and insignificant. “Dicey,” she said, “what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“But I am worried. I care about you.”

“Then help me up and let’s get going.”

But as soon as she started walking, Dicey clutched her abdomen again. “Damn, that hurts,” she said through gritted teeth. “That’s been happening more often. Like some muscle’s about to snap.”

“Oh, I know what that is. Round ligament pain.” Miriam took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Mom’s warnings about traveling with a pregnant woman sounded more justified today than she’d given them credit for.

“The fact that you knew what it is from that pathetic description does not comfort me. Is it that common?”

“Well, it certainly happened to me a lot.” Miriam shook her head. “Look, it’s not worth this. Let’s just head back.”

“No!” Dicey took several deep breaths. Frustration flitted across her face and then gave way to resignation. “I’ll go back. But you need to do this.”

For Dicey to admit weakness, she must be feeling wretched. Miriam gripped her elbow. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Give me the keys. I’ll go sit in the car. It’ll be fine. You need this time. Take it.”

Miriam bit her lip. She did want this. Very much. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ve got your phone number if I need you. I could use a nap anyway, and there are plenty of snacks. Go on. And don’t you rush yourself either! Do this thing properly.”

Miriam raised her hands, laughing. “All right, all right,” she said, and started down the trail toward the bridge. A hundred yards down the path, she peeked over her shoulder.

Dicey was watching. “Go!” she yelled.

Miriam laughed and faced forward.

The trail unfolded beneath Miriam’s feet. It was uncannily quiet, with only the crickets and native grasses and trees