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Authors: Lisa Wingate

Dandelion Summer (44 page)

BOOK: Dandelion Summer
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He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then sat rubbing his head. “Where’s Deborah?”
Where’s Deborah?
What? “A long ways away, I hope.” The sooner we were out of here, the better. Maybe he was having a premonition or something. Maybe Deborah was nearby, tracking us down.
I tried not to think about it while I was hitting the breakfast bar downstairs. Just like Mrs. Lora used to say,
You let a possibility into your mind, you let it into your life.
The only possibility I wanted today was that we’d find Clara Culp, and she’d be J. Norm’s sister for real.
But all the same, as I was getting breakfast, I felt like the lady behind the desk was watching me, like she was trying to figure out if she’d seen me somewhere. The TV news announced that they had a report of a missing elderly man coming up after the commercial, and I didn’t wait to see what it was about. I scooted out of there. That sounded way too close to home.
When I came back to the room, J. Norm was dressed and seemed better. He didn’t argue about packing up and leaving the hotel, even though the smart thing would’ve been to stay around and check the e-mail and use the phone book. Instead, I stuck the phone book in my backpack and told J. Norm it was time to get in the car—we had places to go. He didn’t ask
what
places, and I figured the sooner we were on the move toward Houston, the better. We could stop in a little while to check the e-mail.
When we got in the car, J. Norm smiled and asked, “Did you see Roy’s project?”
“Roy?” I started the car and backed out. “What project?” What in the world was he talking about?
He had his face toward the window as we crossed the parking lot, so that all I could see was his wispy hair and the side of his cheek. The wrinkles around his eyes were deep, and he was concentrating on something off in the distance. “For his history class. He did an oral report about the rockets.” He slid a hand under his collar and worked the back of his neck like he was trying to soften up dough.
“That wasn’t Roy; that was me.” I glanced at him as a guy in a giant SUV stopped to let us into the wall-to-wall traffic creeping along on the road. “That was me, J. Norm.”
“Did the rockets turn out all right? Roy’s rockets?”
The question kind of pinched for a second. Why was he talking about Roy? Roy wasn’t here. I was. “Most of the stuff I took was Deborah’s and yours. She wrote her name on the bottoms of the rockets she put together. Guess she wanted everybody to know which ones she built.”
He chuckled softly. “Well, you know, sibling rivalry. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. We’ll just make sure to put the rockets back where they belong, and she’ll be none the wiser.”
“J. Norm, are you all right?”
He shrugged, stretching his neck some more, then rubbing his chest, his forehead furrowing. “I don’t think I slept very well. Breakfast didn’t agree with me.”
I frowned at the Styrofoam container on the console. Breakfast was still in the box—two cinnamon rolls and a couple of boiled eggs. “We haven’t had breakfast yet.” I popped open the container, thinking maybe some food would fix him up. “On today’s gourmet menu, we got cinnamon rolls, served slightly dry, and eggs à la boiled. Which would you like, sir?”
He didn’t laugh like I wanted him to, or tell me to keep both hands on the wheel. “Nothing just now, I think. You know I could stand to lose a little weight.”
My speck of worry grew the way bacteria do on a science-lab Petri dish—invisible at first, but then morphing into a blob. J. Norm was thin as a rail fence. Deborah was always trying to get him to gain weight.
“You sure you’re all right this morning?”
He glanced sideways at me, blinking. “Splendid, actually.” Then he picked up a cinnamon roll and took a bite. After a minute, he set it down and rubbed his chest some more. “I must have overdone last night at dinner. It’s still with me, I’m afraid.”
“Eeewww.” I turned on the radio as some jerk squeezed into traffic ahead of me. “That’s TMI.”
“TMI?”
“Too much information.” We were getting close to the highway ramp now, and there were signs pointing every which way. Overhead, a gob of roads crisscrossed, a bazillion lanes of traffic whizzing different ways. I started to panic, and all of a sudden I couldn’t remember any of the directions I’d looked up last night at Pizza Hut. If I got on the wrong road, I didn’t know how I’d ever find a place to turn around. We could end up in Louisiana or somewhere. “J. Norm, which way do I turn?”
He pulled a face and made an unhappy noise, a burp, I guess, but it sounded like it hurt. He must’ve been blown up like a balloon inside. His lips pulled tight across his teeth for a second, then relaxed. “Where did you want to go? To Deborah’s?”
Another car skidded in front of me, and I hit the brakes, rocking both of us in our seats. We were almost on top of the highway ramps now. “Which way, J. Norm? Which way to Houston?” A sweat broke over my body. Cars were all around; signs were everywhere; people were honking, changing lanes, shaking fists and shooting the finger. A truck had stalled out in the intersection ahead. It looked like Russ’s. I thought about Russ. I panicked. “Which way? Which way to Houston? Which way?”
“Houston . . .” J. Norm muttered, like he didn’t have a clue.
“Which way!” I squealed.
Finally, at the last minute, he pointed. “Here, take the ramp here. Right here.”
I peeled off just in time to stop the guy behind me from cutting around. He laid on the horn, and I jumped in my seat, but then settled back down and let out the breath I’d been choking on. At least we were headed the way we needed to go. In another minute or two, we’d be . . .
At the end of the entrance ramp, the guy behind me cut into traffic, almost hit a truck, and whizzed by our car so fast, I thought he’d take our fender off. I screamed, clutching the steering wheel for dear life, as we ran out of entrance ramp and ended up cruising the shoulder. Luckily, the next guy let me in, but then he honked and whipped it around me, because sixty was my top speed, and he didn’t want to go sixty.
“Oh, man,” I whispered. I’d really gotten myself into it this time. My hands were sweating so hard, the steering wheel felt like someone’d greased it. I’d never, ever been in any kind of traffic mess like this before. This was nuts.
Beside me, J. Norm must’ve been thinking the same thing. He sucked in a breath that sounded like it was coming through a pinched straw. I knew just how he felt. I couldn’t breathe, either.
The radio got weirdly loud all of a sudden and crackled between a heavy-metal headbanger station and some kind of rap music. I was afraid to take my hand off the wheel to turn it down. Another lane joined from the right, and cars were rushing by on both sides, so fast they were blurs of color with little heads inside. “Can you turn that down? J. Norm, can you . . .”
From the corner of my eye, I saw him jerk forward. He coughed and hacked until it sounded like a lung was coming up.
“Geez, take it easy.” I had the thought that maybe he was choking. What would I do if he was? We were trapped here. Cars were zooming past, ducking in and out of lanes, bouncing around like pinballs in a machine. I didn’t dare do anything but drive straight ahead and try to make sure nobody hit me. “You need help? You okay?”
Nodding, he pulled out a hankie and covered his mouth with it, coughing and coughing, doubling forward over his knees. He coughed, then wheezed, then coughed, then wheezed. Cars raced by. Sweat broke over my skin, dripped down my back, circled around my ear, and made my hair wet. “J. Norm? Hey . . . J. Norm?” A blue pickup truck zipped in front of us, then hit the brakes. I slammed on mine. Too hard. The tires squealed and the back end of our car fishtailed. It wouldn’t stop. We were gonna hit the guy. It was too . . .
Every drop of blood in my body froze.
A horn blared.
A guitar squealed high on the radio.
My heart hammered.
My mind rushed.
I wondered what would happen when we hit.
What if I died? What if I died right here on this highway?
Where would Mama bury me?
The pickup cut into another lane. I let off the brakes a little. Our car quit sliding, slowed down, rocked to a stop short of hitting the next car in front.
I sat there for a second, not moving, not doing anything, blood still pounding in my ears, air clogging my throat. The car behind us squealed its tires. I held my breath again. It stopped short of our bumper.
The radio fuzzed to static.
Everything got quiet, the cars packing in solid on all sides, the sounds of screaming brakes and squealing tires moving back, and back, and back. I heard the crackle and crash of a fender bender somewhere.
The van in front of us rolled forward, the line of traffic starting off again, like there was no reason to have stopped in the first place.
“J. Norm, did you see tha . . .”
Just before I let off the brakes, I looked to the side, and the words died in my mouth. J. Norm was twisted and crumpled halfway on his seat, halfway on the floorboard, his arm hanging back on the console, his head buried somewhere under the glove box.
“Hey!” I tugged on his shirt, shook him. “J. Norm, hey!” His skin was cold and clammy, his body limp like a rag doll’s. “J. Norm, hey! What’s wrong? What’s the matter? Wake up! Sit up, okay?” My pulse went wild again. Panic came back like a brush fire sparking. “J. Norm!” I screamed, then hollered his name again and again.
The thoughts in my head exploded, circled, rushed in all directions like cars on some wild freeway. What should I do? What could I do? Should I find a place to pull off? Look for a hospital sign? Stop and yell for help? I couldn’t even get to the side of the road. I was stuck here, trapped.
The road, the cars, the sky, stores, hotels, buildings blurred behind tears.
Please, oh, please, oh, please
, I prayed.
Oh, please, God, I’m sorry for everything I ever did wrong. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. . . .
What do I do?
Tell me what to do!
Blinking hard, I looked for an exit sign, watched for something, anything ahead.
Please . . . something. A hospital, a police car, somebody . . .
Somebody help. . . .
A truck in the left lane backed off, and a gap opened. I watched it grow wider. I couldn’t exit from there, but I could stop the car, try to get J. Norm out onto the grass in the middle of the road, yell for help.
Would somebody help? Would somebody stop?
Please, somebody. Please . . .
I turned the wheels, moved into the empty space, bumped over the line of reflectors onto the shoulder, stopped on the grass just before a bridge, my foot shaking so hard it would barely press the brake.
Grabbing my seat belt, I pulled and tugged, tried to push the button. My fingers were useless, numb. The seat belt came free. I opened the door, stumbled into the ditch, ran through the grass, the wildflowers pulling at my shoes.
“J. Norm, J. Norm!” My voice was high and raw, not loud enough for anyone to hear over the traffic as I yanked open the passenger-side door, leaned in to undo the seat belt, tried to pull J. Norm out. He was too heavy, wedged in too tight. Tears blurred everything. I ran to the side of the road, waving my arms, screaming, “Somebody! Somebody help me!”
Chapter 23
 
J. Norman Alvord
 
 
 
 
There was a light nearby, so bright it was blinding. The light was beautiful, the beams radiating outward from a single center. Something was moving against its glow, crossing back and forth, but I couldn’t make it out, couldn’t see into the light.
I closed my eyes, opened them again, tried to clear my vision. My eyelids were stiff, swollen, grainy, but this place was warm, quiet, comfortable. White. Had I found my way to heaven, after all? Had grace brought me here, even though I’d allowed myself to become a bitter, irreverent old man? Had I been forgiven for all the ways in which I was a failure as a father, a husband, a human being?
I had a sense of someone female close by. A sigh hovered in the air, a soft, familiar sound, and then the clinking of jewelry. Was that Annalee? Was she here?
I tried to say her name, to call her to me, but my mouth was dry, my throat packed in cotton. I felt as if I were drifting, my body floating, then landing in a soft place, then floating again.
I swallowed hard, tried to say,
Annalee?
But the word was little more than a rough croak, a coarse bit of sound. The light shifted, and I could hear her coming closer, her clothes rustling. Instinctively, I was afraid. Where was I and who was out there?
I tried again to call her, but I produced nothing more than, “Nnnul-eee.” I could see her now, silhouetted against the brightness. Annalee. The light behind her shifted, dots of shadow moving, swaying. Leaves. The shadows of leaves. Were there trees in heaven?
BOOK: Dandelion Summer
12.6Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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