“And I get it! But just . . .” And his voice drifts off as both of our gazes wander into the rearview, where Ted is clumsily braiding Callie’s hair.
It’d be great if we’d passed the Walt Whitman service plaza right then, so we could think about how we contradict ourselves and contain multitudes or whatever, but this is real life, and real life doesn’t get to line up in convenient metaphors.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes. “Sorry,” I say, taking it out of my bag.
“What? Don’t be sorry. That’s silly,” Stan says.
His response makes me think of Mimi, who’s on a personal crusade to erase “sorry” from women’s vocabulary, so I smile.
I look down to see a text from Dave: Hey.
hi from the road, I type, a novel about road trips, featuring a stranger and two silent siblings, and yrs truly. who misses you.
Aw shucks.
How’re you?
How’s Callie? Are you any closer to her Secret Origins issue?
Was that a bad joke?
I thought it was a pretty good joke. I could explain it if that would help?
All of these come buzzing in one after the other, but I don’t look down, because in the mirror Ted’s still trying to braid Callie’s hair, and it’s mesmerizing, but then what’s more mesmerizing is the way Ted suddenly drops Callie’s hair and turns to stare straight ahead and to the left, right at the back of Stan’s head.
My phone buzzes again, breaking the spell, and I look down.
I thought it was a pretty gThat always makes jokes funnier, when you explain them?
dave! hi. sorry. no, no, i get it. that’s funny! we’re doing really well. stan has all this money from an inheritance from his favorite grandma, which is sad but also really nice because all our food and gas is taken care of. callie and ted are ok. they’re traveling better than I thought they would.
Amazing, texts Dave. And what about you? How are you?
I do a 360 scan of the car. Stan is dazed and looking tired behind the wheel, and now I can’t look at him without thinking about that playground story with Ted. Ted’s in the back, still staring at Stan, and Callie is next to him, looking so content yet so far away from me it makes me want to cry. I decide to answer Dave honestly.
i don’t know. i mean, it’s not like i thought that just by doing this, everything would make sense, or that callie would all of a sudden start to talk, or that we’d make some big breakthrough once i got to know more about her past. but i guess i also maybe did think those things a little.
No response just yet.
sorry, I type, that was maybe a lot.
No blinking ellipses.
hey, I type, noting he didn’t tell me not to say “sorry,” wondering if he’s trying to give me a taste of my own medicine by not answering, getting mad at myself for thinking these things because Dave’s the best and I don’t know why I’m always looking for reasons to push him away. you can text back whenever, but it’s my turn to drive soon, so I won’t be able to respond. but i miss you. i would kiss your whole face if you were here.
There they are now, the blinking ellipses, come to restore my faith in chivalry and Dave.
Ah, sorry! My mom needed me. This whole trip seems like a lot for you. Take care of yourself. Please? And drive safe.
A whole face’s worth of kisses right back at you.
I send him a dozen emojis with hearts in their eyes, then close my own eyes and allow myself to feel just a bit calmer, until Stan pipes up from the driver’s side.
“I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to go,” says Stan.
I look up to see at least four exits going in every direction up ahead where the horizon is.
I’m setting up a logic puzzle in my head and trying to pull together an educated guess when suddenly Ted reaches up from the back and across the seats and turns the wheel. We zigzag for a terrifying few seconds, but then Stan regains control and rights the wheel, and I look up just in time to see us sailing through one of the northbound exits. In the blur of it all, I catch a hurried glimpse of Ted in the rearview mirror. His hand is still on the wheel, but he’s not looking at the signs or even the road in front of us. He’s looking intently at Callie, who stares back at him too.
“Jesus, Ted!” Stan exhales, getting into the rightmost lane and slowing to sub-speed limit. “You okay, Lorna? Sorry about that.”