The Mother Road (31 page)

“Let’s move, people!” Bernie grabs the picture frame and bolts out of the car, right into Max’s Take Out, a hole in the wall kind of place that apparently makes some of the best Chicago Dogs in Central Chicago.

We file out of the RV, lock up, and meet Bernie in the small restaurant. The place is so small, our little clan takes up all the space. Bernie has already ordered for everyone, not messing around. Within minutes, our food is ready. We grab our drinks, our bags, and walk east toward Michigan Avenue.

Pretty sure Mama McMann was looking out for us when it came to a parking spot because not only is it right next to Max’s Take Out, but it is a short walk to Grant Park.

The city bustles around us, horns honking and cars taking up the pedestrian walkways, a far cry from Jamestown. Marley is in her element, not even looking when she crosses the road, whereas I’m a scared fawn learning to walk for the first time.

“Come on, slow poke,” Marley says, grabbing my arm and propelling me forward across Michigan Ave to Grant Park.

Trying to hide the squeal in my voice, I say, “Big cities don’t sit well with me.”

Marley glances at me for a second, a hint of disappointment in her eyes before she focuses back on the mission in front of us, getting to Buckingham Fountain.

Bernie is a beefy man with a bit of a root beer belly. He gets around slower than normal people, a little limp in his step from falling through a hay barn when he was a teenager, but when it comes to honoring his wife, I’ve never seen such pep in his step or shake in his hips as he power walks across Grant Park.

Buckingham Fountain is a gorgeous multi-level fountain with copper faded horses and a pool surrounding it. I’ve seen pictures, but being in its presence is indescribable. Since it’s fenced off from visitors, we stretch out on the ground, sitting to the side of the fountain so we can look out at Lake Michigan and the fountain at the same time.

Bernie passes around the hot dogs, licking his fingers each time mustard gets on them.

“Did you know Buckingham Fountain is one of the largest fountains in the world with a diameter of two-hundred and eighty feet?” Paul informs us. “You see those four sea horses, immersed and surrounding the pool of the fountain? They are supposed to represent the four states that surround Lake Michigan. Can anyone name those states?”

Marley holds up her hand and starts counting off on her fingers. “Let’s see, there’s Paul’s Pubes, Sandy Nips, Browned Butthole and, gosh, what is that last one…”

“Needle dick,” I aid her.

She snaps her finger at me and points. “That’s right, needle dick.”

“Wrong,” Paul states, clearly not insulted. “They are Indiana, Wisconsin, Illinois, and Michigan, but valiant effort at making yourself look like a turd basin.”

“Enough,” Bernie interrupts us all. “Marley and Porter, thank Paul for his timely facts about the fountain. They were very informative.”

Yup, Bernie is no longer in a joking mood right now. It happens when he wants to be serious. Recognizing the change in attitude, Marley and I both apologize and thank Paul, then wait for Bernie to speak.

He cups the picture frame and rubs his thumbs across it. His voice is heavy as he speaks. “This is it, Glory,” Bernie says, using Gloria McMann’s nickname. “We made it. We picked up our little Buttons in California, traveled across the Mother Road, a bucket list dream you once had, and we’ve made it to Chicago. We had our ups and downs, Paul thinking he burned his butt being one of them,” we all laugh softly, “and we were privileged to bring Porter along with us, your second son.”

My throat chokes up and I look down at my hot dog, trying to hold back the tears. Marley squeezes my shoulder, just like her mom used to do, and I’m brought back to a time in my life where the Smiths might have been chaotic in nature with alcohol abuse, but I was truly blessed with the McMann’s and Gloria’s open arms. From the moment she saw me, she welcomed me into her home, treated me as if I was hers, and taught me life lessons I craved from my parents but never received.

“This trip was to honor you and the traditions we shared. The games on the road, the yelling matches we would get in over directions, and the home cooked meals you prepared for us in a 1980s recreational vehicle are missed terribly. But, most importantly, we miss your smile, your laugh, and your never-ending nurturing heart. We hope we did you right on this trip and honored you properly.”

Bernie holds up his hot dog, and we do the same. Clearing his throat, he says, “To Gloria, our guiding light, mama bear, and beautiful artist who made our days brighter, she is missed. We love you.”

In unison, we cheers our hot dogs and take a bite, looking out over Michigan Avenue, just like Mama McMann always planned. We don’t talk; we just observe and enjoy the company of one another. Memories flood me of the small brunette with a sparkly attitude. She never took Bernie’s crap and was the mama bear of the household. No one messed with her, including me.

“I can’t believe we are finally here in Chicago. It seems like yesterday we were taking our first vacation in Tacy. Remember when Mom bought flowers to make it feel homier and on the first stop, they flew off the counter and scattered across the floor? I think that was the first time I heard Dad scream like a girl,” Paul laughs.

Bernie defends himself. “I thought it was the back window smashing in. Your mother and her flowers.”

Marley sighs and rests her head on my shoulder, I quickly panic and glance around to see if Paul or Bernie notice. They either don’t see Marley resting on me or don’t care, because they don’t cause a scene, so I take the moment to soak her in, marveling in the way the breeze coming off Lake Michigan kicks up the strawberry scent in Marley’s hair.

“Mom always used to say if you have flowers in your life then you’re protected and loved. She told me to only date a man who cares enough to bring me flowers because every girl deserves the smell of spring mornings in her life.” Quickly, Marley wipes a tear away from her face and my heart breaks in half for her.

“She was right,” Bernie confirms. “She always had an idea of the kind of man you deserved. A man who brings you flowers is one of them.”

The sun sets and people mill about us, laughing and taking pictures, while time stands still. Marley lifts her head and pulls her Polaroid out of her purse. “One last picture before it’s too dark?”

Paul asks a stranger to help us out, and for the last part of our trip, we put our arms around each other, hold up the picture of Mama McMann, and smile while Bernie tells us to, “Say cheese.”

The Polaroid flashes and one last memory is captured, ending our trip across Route 66.

****

By the time we pull up to the South Bend KOA, we are emotionally exhausted and physically hurting for sleep. It was a long day of driving and reminiscing. We were able to purchase some sandwiches on the way and eat them while we traveled the last miles of our day.

We didn’t play games after we left Chicago, we didn’t play music, and we didn’t even talk. We sat in silence, driving through the dark night, lost in our own thoughts. Both Bernie and Paul were quiet as they got ready in the bathroom, and when we got back to the RV, Marley didn’t talk much either.

Now, I lay on my back, looking up at the tent ceiling, wondering what tomorrow will bring. It will be our last day on the road. We will be powering through the rest of Indiana, then Ohio, a small part of Pennsylvania, and straight on into Jamestown. It will take us a little over six hours, and with the early start we will have tomorrow morning, we will make it with plenty of time to spare for the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.

I know the minute we make it back to the farm, the simple life I’ve known for the last few days will be flipped upside down with wedding tasks. I will be ripped apart from Marley, since she will be busy helping Savannah, and then what? She flies home on Sunday?

Fury and nerves overtake my body as I think about having to say goodbye to Marley. I’ve only held her in my arms a few short times; I still don’t know what happened in those four years we didn’t speak or see each other. I don’t know her entire story for developing a brand for herself or what her life is like out in California.

California.

It’s where she belongs, it’s where she lives, three thousand miles away from my tiny little shack of a home that sits on her father’s property.

I groan to myself, disappointed with the way I’ve planned out my life, never giving myself a chance to truly turn the tide and become someone better. Man Soap is my last hope for a change, especially since I have no education past high school, and the only experience I possess is shucking shit onto a truck bed and hauling it away for manure.

I’m not much for hosting my own pity party, but a depressed party of one is looking pretty good right about now.

My tent rustles and the zipper starts to open. I sit up, ready to throat punch whoever walks in, when I see Marley poke her head in and hold out her hand. “Walk with me?”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I slip on my shoes and take her hand, walking to the wooden playground in the middle of the KOA. There is a stagecoach made of wood with wooden horses in front of it that Marley leads me to. She forces me to sit in the carriage and then sits on my lap, resting her head on my shoulder.

I run my fingers through her hair and press my cheek against her head, wondering if this is the last peaceful moment I will share with her.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, knowing it was a substantially emotional day for everyone.

“Okay. I feel like at the end of the trip I expected this big party or something, there was so much build up leading to Chicago, but instead, I just felt sad, and I think Paul and dad felt the same way. This is going to sound stupid, but I kind of felt like when we arrived, Mom was going to be there, wearing her raggedy apron, holding a plate of hot dogs for us all to share.”

“That’s not stupid at all. I can see how you might have felt that way.”

“It’s weird that it’s over. I feel like there should have been more, but I don’t think any of us were emotionally ready for the toll the ending of the trip took on us. It’s like we’re finally saying goodbye. It makes me sick to my stomach.”

I know the feeling. In a few short days, I will be living a lonely life of solitude once again.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper and kiss her head, not really knowing what else to say.

Rubbing her head against my chest, she asks, “Do you ever think about what might have happened to us if you didn’t leave that night? Do you think we would have been something or do you think it would have ruined us even more?”

That question is on a constant replay in my head, especially since I’ve seen Marley again. What would it be like if I never left? I would have one hundred percent fallen deeply in love with her, not that I’m not already there, but I would have fallen harder and faster. I also would have held her back, not allowing her to reach her full potential.

“I think about it sometimes,” I lie. “I would have consumed you, Marley. You would have stayed in Jamestown, never fulfilling your goals. I would like to think you would be happy, at least I think you would have been for a while, until you realized you weren’t fulfilled, and then I think you would have resented me for that. You were always going places, Marley. Even though I love Jamestown, it’s not a place where you could have fully flourished, and I would have hated myself for that; that’s why I left. What we had back then was destructive, and instead of having it explode later on down the road, I diffused the build-up and left, leaving you no other choice than to do the same.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make,” she says sadly. “You should have talked to me. We had so much going for us, Porter. We could have figured something out.”

“No, we couldn’t have,” I shake my head. “We’re living in two different worlds, Marley, and they don’t meet up. Your life is fast-paced, always looking for the latest and greatest thing. My life is simple, on a farm. We clash in every way.”

“I don’t believe that,” she says softly. “I don’t think you gave us a chance.”

It’s true, I didn’t, but there was a reason I didn’t.

“If I gave us a chance, you would have broken me into pieces when you realized I wasn’t good enough to stay with while you chased your dreams.”

“How can you say that?”

Anger is evident in her voice but I clam her, stroking her hair and placing a kiss against her temple.

“Marley, I would have jumped at the chance of being with you back then but I knew I had to let you go so you could grow into the intelligently beautiful woman you are today.”

She stills in my arms and I can see her processing my words. When I think she’s going to fight with me some more, Marley palms her hand against my cheek and forces me to look at her. Her light blue eyes shine under the rays of the moon as they search mine. Gently, she kisses my lips, leaving me wide open, bruised, and battered. I fall into her touch, soak her in, and breathe in her tantalizing scent, committing everything to memory.

She straddles my lap so her chest is touching mine and grips my face with both hands, deepening her kiss. My hands fall under her shirt where I caress her smooth skin, basking in the feel of her in my arms.

“I don’t want this trip to end,” she whispers across my mouth, turning my stomach upside down.

I pull her into a hug and rest my chin on her shoulder as I try to figure out what to say next. My heart is screaming for me to tell her how I feel, to pour it all out on the table and expose myself completely, but my mind has a different idea full of fear.

Instead of telling Marley how I feel, knowing it won’t work out, I keep my mouth shut and hold her until the wee hours of the morning, when she climbs back in the RV and parts with a light kiss to my lips.

**MARLEY**

We woke up early in the morning and took off for Jamestown, my heart heavy and my eyes burning from crying after saying goodnight to Porter.