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

that police officer coming up her front walk last April. There was something out there again, a sense of connection and understanding and wonder at the world and all that existed within it. A sense of being part of something much larger than herself.

Be still, the melody whispered in her mind. Be still and know.

How long Miriam stood soaking in the rising sun, she couldn’t say. But when she finally moved, she had a purpose again. She was going to find Dicey, whatever it took. Because Dicey had broken her open, and allowed her to touch the best that lay within her once more.

Sunday morning text message conversation:

Miriam: Dicey’s been sent to the hospital in ABQ.

Becky: WHAT???????????? Details!

Miriam: Later. Just pray. Anybody in ABQ have a friend with a spare room?

Becky: Your mom?

Miriam: Not sure I can deal with that much togetherness.

Becky:

Becky: CALL YOUR MOTHER

Texts between Miriam Tedesco and Josephine Lewis-Thurston:

Miriam: Well, I’m going to see mom.

Jo: About damn time.

Part 9

Albuquerque, New Mexico

There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love.

—Martin Luther King Jr.

Miriam’s e-mail to her choir members:

Hi, everybody,

First of all, I want to thank you for all your messages on Facebook. I don’t think I’ve ever fully appreciated, until this trip, just how blessed I am to have you all in my life.

I had to stop and nap on the road to Albuquerque … didn’t sleep much last night. Dicey got very sick, and the hospital in Alamosa transferred her on to ABQ. I can’t give you all the details because, frankly, I don’t have them, but it looks a lot more serious than I had guessed. So please pray for her.

And for me, because there’s something else I have to do there, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

Thanks all,

Miriam

 40

Sunday, May 8

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Noon

MIRIAM’S ENTIRE CHILDHOOD IN Detroit, she’d known what to expect when she came home from school: the smell of savory spices on the stove, so strong, even the walls of the house couldn’t contain them. That, and the sound of a vacuum cleaner.

It was disorienting to step out of the car in front of a row of identical zero-entry duplexes in Albuquerque and experience exactly the same thing.

Miriam rang the doorbell. The vacuum shut off, and momentarily the door opened. “Mira,” said Sallie Lewis, opening her arms. “At last.”

Embraces had never been part of earlier homecomings; it added to the foreignness of this one—her first time visiting Mom’s new home. How small her mother had become, her frame shrinking, her skin loosening on her bones. Had this happened recently, or had Miriam just been too wrapped up in herself to notice?

Sallie released her, patting both her arms and stepping back to wave her inside. “All right, come on in,” she said. “Judging by the looks of that car, you’ve had a rough ride. I’ll get it cleaned out, but Becky’s not going to be happy.”

Miriam looked behind her. “I’m just grateful it still runs.” At this point, it was hard to get too worked up about a car. Becky would feel the same. She hoped.

Her mother bustled ahead of her, deeper into the condo. “Are you hungry? Do you need a shower?”

“Right now I just want to sleep. I’ve got to try to find Dicey, and I can’t even think, I’m so tired.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “All right. Sleep first, then eat.”

But the smell of pierogi and sausage—Grandma Novak’s super-secret recipe that Miriam knew how to make but had never mastered to her satisfaction—grew stronger every step closer to the kitchen, and Miriam discovered she did have an appetite after all. While she ate, Sallie called Jo. “Yes, she’s here. No, we haven’t talked about it yet. Yes, I’ll make sure we do.”

Even before Miriam popped the last pastry in her mouth, the starchy food had rerouted all the blood from her brain to her stomach. “Nap,” she said, pointing. “Down the hall?”

Her mother, still on the phone, nodded. “On the left,” she mouthed.

Miriam padded down the hallway and turned into the open doorway of the guest room to find herself facing a shrine to her siblings’ achievements. She could barely see the color of the walls. There were team photos, framed newspaper clippings, and academic awards; Jo’s chess trophies, Brad’s academic bowl medals, and countless mementos of victories in track, basketball, and softball.

As if she’d needed any more proof of her second-class status in her own family.

Miriam mummified herself under the covers. The room pressed in on her, her heart and throat pushing back, swelling until they ached. How could she feel so hurt when she was the one who had withdrawn from her family?

Her brain was slowing down, sleep washing toward her, heavy and irresistible. On the cusp of dropping off, her subconscious served up a memory she wished mightily she didn’t have: the slam of the frying pan and her mother screaming the word divorce.

 41

Twenty-one years earlier

Detroit, Michigan

BY THE TIME MIRIAM looked at the clock that May morning, she was already running late. She’d awakened hours too early, but, wound up with anticipation of meeting with a bride and groom—the first ever to consider hiring her—she couldn’t get back to sleep. She pulled out Jane Austen to settle her nerves, and the call of Lizzy and Mr. Darcy proved too strong. By the time the two were safely united, Miriam’s parents were moving around in the kitchen, as they always did on Saturday mornings, the floor creaking as Dad read the paper and Mom made pancakes and bacon.

Did Darcy and Elizabeth do such boring, companionable things in the mornings? No way. They were probably all over each other.

Did Mom and Dad have sex anymore?

Now there was an image to give a girl the heebie-jeebies.

Miriam focused on choosing the right outfit. It felt like her entire life was riding on this wedding meeting. Mostly because her parents would take failure as further proof that classical music constituted a one-way trip