Amy & Roger's Epic Detour (43 page)

Good-bye, so long, farewell …

—Paul Tiernan

Twenty miles outside of Philadelphia, I began to break down. It seemed that all too soon, there were signs every few feet, telling me just how close Philadelphia was. Roger was holding my hand between our seats, but I was having trouble even looking at him, choosing instead to stare out the window, and not able to think about anything except how in a very few minutes, he’d be gone.

“You okay?” Roger asked, as he turned down a residential street.

“I don’t think so,” I said, still looking out my window.

“Well, I think we’re almost there,” he said, slowing down and squinting at the numbers on his side.

“That’s not really helping,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and utterly failing. Roger looked over at me for a moment, then pulled to the side of the road. I looked around—we were between two houses. “Are we here?” I asked, confused.

“I think it’s up there,” he said, looking from the address in his phone to a driveway a few feet away. “I just wanted a little privacy.” He killed the engine, left the keys in the ignition, and turned to me, unbuckling his seat belt and then mine.

“What now?” I asked, hoping that he had some sort of a plan.

“Well,” he said, sliding to the edge of his seat, “I’m going to go in and you’re going to drive to Connecticut. And then I’m going to call you later tonight and we’ll talk.”

“No,” I said. “I mean, what’s going to happen? With us?” I asked, heart hammering.

He smiled at me. “You’re the navigator,” he said. “You want to know where we’re going, and the exact route.”

“Well, yes,” I said. “I mean …”

“But what if we hadn’t taken the detour?” he asked. “We’d have been back a long time ago. And we would only have seen Tulsa.”

“I know,” I said, thinking about the trip my mother had wanted me to take, and the trip we’d ended up taking, and how much better ours had been.

“So I think we have to be open to what happens,” he said. “We can’t know exactly what’s coming.”

“But I just want to know if …” I stopped when I realized I couldn’t finish the sentence. What I wanted was some kind of guarantee, and he couldn’t give that to me. Nobody could.

“Amy,” Roger said. I looked at him, hearing just how he’d said my name. Like it contained only the good letters. “I didn’t expect this to happen. Did you?”

“Well, of course not.”

“Exactly. So I’m just trying to figure it out myself. We can’t know what’s going to happen. We can just try to figure it out as we go along. Right?”

“Right,” I said slowly. “But …”

“I mean, I should have known,” he said, leaning back a little and smiling at me. “It always happens this way.”

“What does?”

“The best discoveries always happened to the people who weren’t looking for them. Columbus and America. Pinzón, who stumbled on Brazil while looking for the West Indies. Stanley happening on Victoria Falls. And you. Amy Curry, when I was least expecting her.”

I smiled back at him, while feeling sharply just how much I was going to miss him. It was almost a physical pain. “I’m on that list?”

“You’re at the top of that list.” He leaned over and kissed me, and I kissed back, and we stayed that way until we switched to just holding each other. He pulled away after a long moment, and I nodded. We both got out of the car, and I walked around to the driver’s side as Roger grabbed his backpack and duffel.

“Okay,” I said. We kissed again, and he hugged me so tightly that my feet lifted off the ground.

“I’m calling you tonight,” he whispered into my ear. “And we’ll figure it out. I promise.” I nodded again, and Roger set me down, and I felt him slip something into the front pocket of my jeans. “Don’t open it until you get to Connecticut, okay?” He stepped back, smiling at me sadly. “We’re not going to say good-bye.”

“Of course not,” I said, trying my best to smile back at him.

“I’m just going to say … see you around,” he said, taking a few steps toward his dad’s house.

“Don’t be a stranger,” I said.

“Take care,” he said, stepping away.

“So long,” I said.

“Talk to you later,” he said, walking away, still facing me.

“See you soon,” I called.

He was now at the base of his driveway, and he raised a hand in a wave to me. I raised a hand back. And then he shouldered his duffel and headed up the driveway, leaving me standing by the car, alone.

* Amy Playlist #3 *

“The End of the Road” or “The Beginning”

Into the woods, then out of the woods, and home before dark.

—Stephen Sondheim

Three hours later I passed the sign that told me I’d just entered Connecticut, and I pulled off into the first rest station that I saw. I killed the engine and pulled out of my pocket what Roger had given me—an object, wrapped in a note.

The magnet had
AMERICA
written across it. I turned it in my hand, thinking about the trip. Thinking about the people we had met, and everything that we had seen.

I read his words over again. I wasn’t sure what would happen with us. I knew that there were no guarantees. Terrible things happened when you were least expecting them, on sunny Saturday mornings, and the consequences just had to be lived with, every day. But it seemed that wonderful things could happen too. You could be forced to take a trip, not knowing who you would meet. Not knowing that it would change your life.

I got out of the car and stretched my legs, taking in my first real view of Connecticut. It was pretty, I realized with some surprise, even at the rest station.

I took out the Connecticut map I’d bought at a gas station and unfolded it when I realized that I didn’t have the address of my mother’s—our—new house. I began to think about the house as a real place, one that I would be at in under an hour. I couldn’t picture it, but I hoped it had Internet access. I owed Julia a long-overdue e-mail. I took out my phone and dialed my mother’s cell, expecting it to go straight to voice mail, as all my other calls had.

She answered after the second ring. “Amy?” she asked, her voice a little hesitant.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, trying to speak around the lump in my throat that had formed just hearing her voice.

“Are you okay?” my mother asked, and I could hear how tense she sounded. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, and I could hear her let out a breath. “I’m okay. I’m in Connecticut.”

“You’re—here?” she asked, the worry in her voice replaced by surprise. “Now? With Roger?”

“No, just me,” I said, still a little surprised that it was true. “I dropped Roger off at his father’s a few hours ago.”

“You dropped him off?” my mother was sounding more and more confused. “You mean—you’re driving?”

“I am,” I said. And I felt, in the silence that followed, everything that had happened on the trip to bring me to this place.

“Well,” she said, sounding a little stunned. “That … that’s great. I mean, that you …,” her voice trailed off. “Not that I’m not upset with you,” she said, in a tone that was probably meant to be stern. But she didn’t quite pull it off. “I am. And we’re going to talk about consequences.”

“We’re going to have to talk about a lot,” I said. “I hope.”

“Well … yes,” my mother said slowly, probably trying to figure out what I was talking about. But if she didn’t get it now, it was okay. I could tell her later.

“Can I have the address?” I asked. “I just crossed the state line.”

“Oh, of course,” my mother said. She read me the address and gave me basic directions, and then silence fell between us.

“Okay,” I said after a moment. “So—”

“Are you hungry?” my mother asked, a little abruptly. “I was just about to get dinner started. But if you haven’t eaten, I’ll wait.”

“I haven’t eaten,” I said. As I said, this I realized that I actually was hungry. And that a home-cooked meal sounded pretty good.

“Well, I’ll start it now,” my mother said. “And you’ll drive safe?”

“I will,” I promised. “I’ll see you soon.” I hung up the phone and got back into the car. I placed Roger’s magnet carefully in my purse. As I did, I saw the copy of
Food, Gas, and Lodging
—the book that had come with me across the country. I pulled it out and opened it up to the note card, to the last page my father had read. As I looked at it, I knew I was going to be able to read beyond page sixty-two. Otherwise, I was never going to find out what happened next. I would read through to the end, even though I knew that I wouldn’t be able to discuss it with my father. But maybe Charlie and I could talk about it when he came back.

As I smoothed out the Connecticut map, the state motto on the cover caught my eye.
He who transplanted sustains.

I looked at it for a long time. Even though that had obviously been Connecticut’s motto for a long time—since 1622, the map helpfully told me—it felt like a sign. It felt like it meant that maybe I was going to be okay here. That transplanted as I was, I might find a way to thrive here.

I looked at it for a moment longer, then realized that if I didn’t leave soon, I was going to be late for dinner. I turned on the car and scrolled through my mix until I found an Elvis song. Then I signaled, turned up the volume, and pulled back out onto the highway.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Table of Contents

1 Miss California

Eureka [I have found it]

But I think it only fair to warn you, all those songs about California lied.

California is a garden of Eden, a paradise to live in or see. But believe it or not, you won’t find it so hot, if you ain’t got the do-re-mi.

You ain’t never caught a rabbit, and you ain’t no friend of mine.

I’d like to dream my troubles all away on a bed of California stars.

You’ll be missed, Miss California.

2 The Loneliest Road in America

Long-distance information, give me Memphis, Tennessee.

She’s gonna make a stop in Nevada.

We’re on the road to nowhere. Come on inside.