Three For The Road. Shannon Waverly
a sip of tea, she let her gaze wander the motor home, crammed full of her possessions. She’d brought along most of the necessities to start a new life, but she’d also brought some frills. The Steuben goblets she’d inherited from her grandmother, her Crabtree & Evelyn clothing sachets, nearly twenty years of needlework, even her Salem rocker. She knew personal, homey touches had little to do with survival, but she needed them, anyway. Her soul needed them.
Mary Elizabeth smiled softly, her sense of well-being returning. She might be alone now, detached from home and everyone she knew, but ultimately she’d be okay. She had this RV to comfort her and shelter her from all the wide-open unknowns beyond.
And she had a tiny life growing inside her, she thought, placing her hand on her stomach. As always, that realization intensified her resolve. She would reach Florida, she would make a new life for herself. And she would provide a happy future for the baby. There would be no more talk of abortion, no more pressure to marry a man she didn’t love, no more fear that that man would begrudge and mistreat his own child. The legacy of resentment stopped here.
She finished her lunch, washed her dishes and, with fresh determination and optimism, got back on the road.
Mary Elizabeth’s spirits remained buoyed through most of the afternoon, down the Massachusetts interstate, into Rhode Island and on through Connecticut. She played the radio, listened to a book on tape, and when she got tired of that, simply drifted along with her thoughts.
She pulled into another rest area just before New Rochelle. Traffic was bumper-to-bumper on the opposite side of the highway, commuters leaving New York for their homes in the suburbs. And while this side of the highway was relatively free-flowing, she knew she’d hit similarly clogged arteries once she reached the city and the lanes outbound south.
Instead, she parked the RV and passed the hectic rush hour over a leisurely dinner of quiche, salad and crisp bottled water with a twist of lemon. For dessert she had tea and a slice of Mrs. Pidgin’s spice cake.
Feeling replete, she took to the road again at dusk. With any luck she’d reach the recommended campground in New Jersey around seven-thirty. She smiled, struck by a childlike sense of anticipation.
Everything was going well. The tires were humming, she was humming, the cat had even awakened to keep her company again.
And then she reached the Bronx.
There, highway signs and exit ramps became so confusing that before she knew it she’d gotten off I-95 and entered a labyrinth of streets that seemed to have no way out. It was, by far, the most frightening terrain she’d ever seen, except on “NYPD Blue.” She drove in circles, went down blind alleys and sped past loitering, leather-clad gangs. Occasionally she thought of her St. Christopher riding solemnly along on the dash, but mostly her prayers just went up to anybody who’d listen. She wanted to find her way out, but more than that, she was terrified of breaking down. All along the dark, potholed streets, cars lay stripped of everything but their shells. She didn’t want to think about what had happened to their owners.
Eventually, and for no reason she could discern, she did find the highway again. But by then she was so weak from having adrenaline rushing through her system, she didn’t even care that she was heading in the wrong direction, back toward Connecticut. And when, a few miles later, she realized she wasn’t even on I-95, that didn’t matter, either. She was on a major highway, she was going somewhere, and that somewhere wasn’t New York City.
She took the first exit she came to that displayed the symbol for lodging. It was nearly nine o’clock.
She braked at the end of the exit ramp, peering first to her right, then to her left, wondering which direction to take on the dark two-lane road. Wondering, too, why there weren’t any signs. The billboard on the highway had promised a luxury motel three miles east off the exit, but which way was east? She was so tired she didn’t know up from down anymore.
She slumped over the wheel, dropping her forehead to her knuckles. She didn’t need this. For the last half hour, the only thing keeping her going was the thought of bringing this cumbersome vehicle to a stop and crawling into bed.
Ah, well, she sighed, sitting up. It was only three miles. If she chose the wrong direction, how long could it take to turn around and backtrack? She flexed her shoulders, did a quick eenie-meenie, and went left.
The road was dark and narrow and arched with trees. She passed a cottage set back from the road, a small restaurant and several acres of corn field. After that there was nothing but woods.
She glanced at her odometer several times, and when she was satisfied she’d covered more than the requisite distance without finding the motel—or any other signs of civilization, for that matter—she decided to turn around.
Almost too tired to see anymore, she swung the camper across the road, her headlights cutting a white tunnel into the trees. She shifted and carefully backed up, red brake lights casting an eerie glow over the roadside brush at the rear.
Given the length of her vehicle and the narrowness of the road, however, Mary Elizabeth was forced to go through the maneuver again, cutting across and backing up. Still, the turn wasn’t complete, and she wished she’d waited until she’d come upon a driveway or crossroad.
This time would do it, though, she was certain. Forward. Back. Back a bit more...
Without any warning, the rear end of the motor home dropped with a thud. Mary Elizabeth’s teeth banged together, while somewhere in the nether regions boxes tumbled. “Oh, God!” she whispered as the engine stalled.
With fingers that quivered, she turned the ignition key and pressed her foot to the gas pedal. But even as she was doing so she knew she was wasting her time. The back tires spun futilely, kicking up dirt and pebbles that hit nearby tree trunks like buckshot. The RV didn’t budge. Panic flooded her as she gripped the wheel. Her blood pounded. What was she to do now?
After turning off the engine, she found a flashlight and slipped outside to investigate. Just as she’d suspected, she’d backed the RV right into a roadside ditch. She clutched the top of her head as if it might blow off. How could she be so stupid?
Okay, don’t panic. This isn’t a problem, she assured herself. You’ve got AAA, and they come to the rescue anywhere, any time. Right? Right. All you have to do is find a phone.
She peered up the road one way and down the other. All black. Just cricket chirps and bullfrog noises mixed with the thick, woodsy smell of humus. This was definitely not her idea of New York. Or was she back in Connecticut? Well, it wasn’t her idea of Connecticut, either.
She climbed into the motor home again, brushed her hair, put on lipstick, found her purse, stepped outside, locked the door and, with a shuddery sigh, pocketed the keys.
The solution was easy, she told herself. She’d simply walk back the way she’d come and phone for a tow truck from the restaurant she’d passed just off the exit.
But when she stared down the dark empty road and remembered she’d be on it for more than three miles, her heart grew faint. She reminded herself that every journey, no matter how daunting, begins with a single step. She pulled in a breath and set off.
When she finally reached the restaurant, her legs were ready to give out. But what was worse, now that she’d gotten a good look, she realized it wasn’t the sort of establishment she’d ever walked into before. It wasn’t the sort she ever wanted to walk into, either.
It was low and dark and seedy-looking. The gravel lot surrounding it teemed with pickup trucks and motorcycles glinting lurid neon color from the beer signs flashing in its windows. Over the door a string of multicolored Christmas lights outlined a peeling sign left over from happier or more hopeful days. Starlight Lounge it read. The I was dotted with a star.
Mary Elizabeth looked across the road to the lone cottage huddled beneath a dense grove of pines, pines that made an almost human sighing, and her mind filled with visions straight out of a Stephen King novel.
She glanced