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

“Oh, you can. She’ll let you pay tomorrow morning if you want to set up, but …” The woman was still eyeing Dicey.

“What about bathrooms?” asked Miriam, looking around.

“It’s primitive camping,” the man said.

“Shit,” said Dicey, coming up for air at last. “I need to pee. Bad.”

Maybe it was a divine prompting to go find a clinic tonight. Miriam gave her a sidelong look. “I don’t think we can stay here, Dicey.”

Dicey set a stubborn face. “I want to see UFOs. I’m staying.”

“There’s no water, honey.”

“We have a couple bottles left. It won’t be any worse than the night of the storm.”

“And you’re okay with just peeing anywhere?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said the woman, taking Dicey by the elbow. “Come use the toilet in our camper. We’re staying too. We’re going to sit up on the viewing platform until it gets too cold. Care to join us? Only … is that contagious? We’re on our way to see our grandkids.”

Dicey snorted, which led to another, shorter bout of coughing. “Not contagious, no worries.”

No worries? Miriam was feeling nothing but worry.

The chatty couple, it turned out, hailed from Wisconsin and were on their way back north after spending the winter in the southwest. “You should take a look around the garden there,” said the woman, when they’d all returned to the base of the platform. “Supposedly there are two ‘vortexes’ in there.”

“What’s a vortex?” asked Miriam.

“Like a portal to another dimension,” said the man.

“Or a convergence of spiritual energy.” The woman rolled her eyes. “We’re not really believers, but we’ve been driving past for years, and I finally told him we should stop before we get too old to climb the stairs. And we figured if we were doing it, we ought to do it right.”

“Miriam, come here!” said Dicey, from the middle of the rock garden.

Miriam joined her. There was a rapt expression on Dicey’s face as she surveyed the ground, but Miriam couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for the scattered array of junk people had left by way of an offering to … whatever. Hubcaps, pens, credit cards. Headless Barbies. “Wow,” she said. “That’s a lot of … stuff.”

“This is the coolest thing we’ve done yet.” Dicey’s breaths buzzed softly, but the long nap seemed to have done her good. At any rate, her eyes were bright, and her cheeks had some color. “I want to be buried in a place like this.”

“That’s a bit morbid.”

Dicey scowled. “You can’t feel it, can you?”

“Feel what?”

“The energy in this place.” Dicey spread her arms. “It’s amazing.” She sighed at Miriam’s lack of enthusiasm and held out her pink spangled phone. “All right, whatever. Take a picture for me.”

She had another one of her pink-and-brown lettered signs. Miriam framed the photo and then paused, looking between the image on the screen and its real-life counterpart: Anytime you need me, look in the mirror.

“Your daughter’s going to love this book,” she said.

“I hope so.” Dicey retrieved her phone and wandered off. Miriam opted to stay put and look beyond the garden. This great, vast emptiness was precisely the kind of desert designed for spiritual renewal. John the Baptist would have felt right at home here.

Miriam, not so much. The quiet settled around her, but worry pushed back against any sense of spiritual awareness. She focused again on Dicey, wandering the pathways lined with trinkets, and gnawed at the edge of her lip. What could possibly cause such chronic, productive coughing and not be contagious? More importantly, how was she ever going to convince Dicey to go see a doctor?

One thing at a time, she told herself.

She left Dicey to the enjoyment of the so-called garden and went to retrieve the sleeping bags from the trunk of the car. She could already tell that at this elevation it would be too cold to sit outside in just their jackets. It was going to be another long night.

Miriam made as comfortable a nest as she could on the wire mesh deck while chatting with the Wisconsinites. They swapped travel stories in the falling darkness, hoping for an unexplained light or two to keep them company.

Although the older couple said they meant to sleep in their RV, they seemed in no hurry to descend. Slowly, quiet fell. The man snored; Dicey buzzed. Miriam thought she was asleep, but then she murmured, “There are so many.”

“Stars?”

Dicey nodded. “It gives you a sense of how small we really are.”

“Mm.”

Dicey snuggled up against her. “Have a favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to be Baby Girl’s godmother.”

The shock went through her body, freezing her in place. “What?”

“I mean it.”

“I—” She swallowed the thickness in her throat. “Dicey, I don’t know what to say.”

“‘Yes’ would be appropriate.” Dicey sounded amused.

“I’d be honored. I just … are you sure you want me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? And don’t give me any crap about not loving your family.”

Miriam closed her mouth.

Dicey sat up to look at her head-on by the faint, silvery glow of the stars. “That’s what I figured.” She scowled at Miriam. “I want you to be Baby Girl’s godmother because you’re an awesome human being. But there’s a condition. I don’t want to hear you say anything about not loving your family, ever again. I’ve heard how you talk about them. You loved them just fine.”

It took Miriam an unreasonably long time to clear the thickness in her throat. “Okay.”

“Good.” Dicey leaned against her again. Slowly, her buzzing breaths lengthened. Miriam pressed her cheek against Dicey’s head as the younger woman’s weight settled into sleep. She’d always loved the quiet in the middle of the night. The peace of it, the knowledge that everyone under her care was safe and at rest. The journey had bonded the women, but Dicey’s request tied them together in a lasting way. It was surprisingly emotional.

Out in the scraggly brush, crickets creaked. The wind whispered low, whisking away the day’s heat. Dicey’s body provided welcome warmth.

Miriam stared up at the sky, her brain