I could find answers, and the thought scares me so much I have to brace myself on the sink for a moment before I remember how gross it is, and then I wash my hands a few times for good measure, just in case.
The cashier eyes me warily as I walk the aisles looking for snacks for the road. I wonder if Cline still eats King Size Snickers and chases it with a Dr. Pepper like he used to back in school. As far as Elliot goes, I realize I don’t know what kind of snacks he likes, but some Reese’s Pieces might make him laugh. So I gather an armful of items and carry them to the register, a small smile on my lips as the cashier takes in all the sugar and beef sticks I’ve accrued.
“Road trip,” I state.
His thick cheeks puff out as he rings up each item one by one. “Good choices.”
Just the one affirmation that perhaps I’ve done something right makes me feel a little lighter as I walk back toward the pump.
“Are you in love with her or something? Because I’ve never seen you act like this before.”
I know Elliot’s trying to be quiet, but I’m close enough to hear him ask the question.
“No.” Cline is adamant, and I go still, standing behind the partition, waiting to hear the rest of the conversation. “I don’t love her. I don’t even like her. As a person or as anything. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She will ruin your entire life, dude. One minute we were best friends, and the next minute I could have been a tree in her yard for all she cared. She acted like none of us existed anymore. Her friends. Even her family. She has a track record—that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Elliot puts the gas cap back on and closes the lid. I can see his hands from where I am hiding, and they disappear as he shoves them into his pockets and leans back against the car. I pull my body closer to the partition to listen.
“Let me just remind you that she threw a rock at your bedroom window that day, asking for you to come to her party, not me. I just happened to be there. She came looking for you. Maybe you’ll get over yourself soon and find out why she was trying to find you instead of being such an asshole all the time.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Dr. Stark is staring at me from her chair, her pencil poised over her notebook as she waits for me to answer. She’s asked what the next step toward forgiveness is.
“Asking,” I reply.
Eyes open now, I make a big deal about shaking the bag and causing as much noise as I can, like I’ve just come around the corner. I dip my hand into the bag, and without even looking him in the eye, I press the candy bar and soda into Cline’s chest and continue walking around the car to get back inside.
The six-hour drive ends up being closer to seven, because Audrey’s bladder is the size of a peanut. Maybe a cashew. Also, at some point, once we crossed the border into Alabama, I had to pull the car over and get out just to distance myself from their constant bickering. As I stood and watched traffic go by, I made the decision to render Cline’s character mute in my game. Maybe sew his lips shut myself. Perhaps I’d just erase the mouth all together.
That thought is the only thing that gets me through the remainder of the drive to my house. We pull up in front of my little one-story home, and I take a second to look at it with fresh eyes. I try to see it like Audrey might. It’s small, sure. But the lawn is well kept and my mother’s flower garden is in full bloom. She keeps hanging plants along the front porch, and she’s just had the front door repainted crimson red. It may not be the most glorious place, but it’s ours.
The smell of chicken fried steak hits me as soon as I open the door, and I almost fall to my knees. I’m ravenous, and there is nothing better than my mom’s cooking. Except maybe my grandma’s, but she’s been dead for a couple years now.
“Ma! We’re here!” Without even thinking about it, I head down the hallway toward the kitchen, kiss two fingers and press them to my father’s picture as I pass. “Are you in here?”
She’s standing over a pot at the stove, her hair pulled up into a clip, the steam from the pot making her curly hair even curlier around her ears. There’s music on, and she’s doing this thing with her feet that I’m sure at one time she thought was dancing but now it just looks like an unsure shuffle. I crouch down low and sneak up behind her, then grab her ankles and yell as loud as I can.
Her scream is even louder, and I swear she jumps a foot into the air, her arms flailing out, and the wooden spoon in her hand goes flying across the kitchen before it makes contact with the wall and bounces to the floor. Roseanne Clark, all five foot nothing of her, pins me with her icy blue eyes, her hands to her chest and breathing ragged.
“Hey, Ma.” I go in for a hug but she slaps my chest instead. Then she pulls me in for a hug and pushes me away to slap me again.