36
He sat in the passenger seat of his own truck, eyes closed. She sat in the driver’s seat and strapped the seat belt into place. Then regarded him, sitting there, like a kidnappee. She reached over and squeezed his thigh. Then ran her hand up a bit higher and gave another squeeze.
All right now, he said, his voice cracking, what are you trying to do to me?
She allowed herself a little laugh.
Now put the blindfold on him, Jessie, Vivian said. There you go. Make sure it’s tight. Can you see anything, Charlie?
I can’t see a thing.
Are your eyes open? Melissa asked.
Yes.
And you’re sure you can’t see anything? Vivian asked.
Yes. Well, maybe a little. I can see my legs. The seat. Sunlight.
Take it off him, Jessie. Now Charlie, close your eyes again. There you go. Make it wider, sweetie. Slide it over his nose too. There you go. Melissa, can you help her?
Over my nose?
Shhh, Jessie said, taking her task very seriously.
Okay, open your eyes. Now, can you see anything now?
No. It’s completely dark. I can’t see a thing. You’ve blinded me. Are you happy?
Excellent.
You do know how much I love this truck, right? Charlie asked.
What are you saying? You trust me enough to marry me, but not enough to drive your truck?
Charlie paused for longer than he might have intended. Yes, I guess I am saying that, somewhat.
You think I’m a bad driver?
Just maybe not as attentive as say, I am.
Well, this will be a real trust exercise for you then, Vivian said, slapping his thigh, before adjusting the rearview and side mirrors. You buckled in back there, ladies?
Yes, I am, Jessie said. Did you bring my pop?
In the cooler beside you. But, Jessie?
Yes?
One bottle, okay?
Got it.
She can be mean sometimes, can’t she? Melissa asked.
Like when she blindfolds someone, Charlie put in.
Okay, here we go.
And Blueberry will be okay? he asked. And Shelby? You’ve got a plan for the animals?
Yes, I told you, Jill and the girls will be here late afternoon, as soon as she can get out of work, and they’ll stay all weekend. It’ll be a nice break for them, out of the city.
She pulled the truck slowly out of the driveway, the blinker’s steady rhythm throbbing. Any sense where we’re going?
West, he said tentatively. West for the moment. But I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to keep the compass steady in my mind.
And Jessie didn’t spill the beans? She didn’t tell you where we’re going?
I didn’t, Jessie cried out.
No, look, I told you. I tried. I even attempted bribery. She wouldn’t say a word. Poor thing, you must have scared the bejeezus out of her.
I did nothing of the sort. Vivian smiled.
And Melissa? She didn’t tell you? These days I swear she likes you better than me.
Well, he shrugged, what can I say? We’re simpatico. Aren’t we, hon?
Melissa reached out from the back seat of the extended cab and rubbed his shoulders. I’m sorry, C, we’ve got to keep it a secret. But I think it’ll be worth it.
Fine, he said, I think I’ll just close my eyes then and get a little shut-eye while I’m getting my shut-eye.
Yeah, Vivian said, peering in the rearview mirror to where her two daughters were talking to one another. Good luck with the peanut gallery back there.
She imagined him settling into a cozy kind of darkness. Trying his best to relax into the role of passenger. Feeling invisible hills roll beneath their tires and slide away. Feeling the gravity of valleys. Smelling the manure of passing farms. The cool fresh air blown off a no-name stream gurgling over fieldstone riffles, and sun-bleached fallen cottonwoods and box elders. Birdsong. Cranes and red-winged blackbirds. Low-country birds. Feeling them slow at four-way stops. Hearing the air brakes of eighteen-wheelers wheeze and shudder. Listening as she and Jessie talked about lunch, about what Jessie would eat for lunch, and then, then drifting off again… She could hear his breathing relax into something just lighter than a snore.
When he awoke, she wondered if he could feel the commerce, the activity of a highway pulling them towards a city. Her hands tensed on the steering wheel. This wasn’t as bad as driving in Saint Paul or Minneapolis, but it wasn’t like home either, not at all like Chippewa Falls. Could he sense traffic surrounding them on the roads? He pushed himself up in the seat and was just about to remove the blindfold when her hand was on his and she was saying, We’re close but not quite there yet.
Where are we?
I can’t tell you yet, she said.
La Crosse, Jessie put in from the back seat.
Jessie, Vivian said.
Oh, sorry, Auntie.
Home of the Bodega bar, Melissa sighed. What a wonderful place to drink a cold beer. Or, like, eight cold beers.
I do love La Crosse, he said. So can I take the blindfold off now?
No, Vivian said. Absolutely not. And Jessie, don’t you say another word, do you hear me, girl? If you spoil this, I swear to god…no more soda. Ever.
He stifled a laugh, freezing his face into a mask of seriousness.
Ever? Jessie squeaked.
Ever, Vivian said. I mean it.
Mom, Melissa said, a little harsh maybe?
They exited off the highway, slowing by degrees as they matriculated to smaller roads. They drove closer and closer to the Mississippi River, to the old buildings of downtown La Crosse. She rolled her window down and felt the summer air against her face, blowing her hair around her face.
Eventually, she pulled them to a stop in a wide parking lot. People milled around the truck. Walking toward the central gravity of the train station. People of all ages. Old people shuffling and young children plodding along holding on to their parents’ hands. Luggage rolling and scraping. Car doors banging shut. Talking. Excited talking. There was a thrumming of excitement in the people she heard. An anticipation of something. Something collective.
Vivian felt nervous, nervous in the best possible way. Nervous about doing something totally new. Something unexpected. She’d never been on a train before and always wanted to. Always wanted to ride along with him through countryside she’d seen, never imagined. Wondered if he was the same man while he was working, or if he presented himself differently.
Where are we? he asked.
She loosened his blindfold and ran her fingers along his jaw while he blinked his eyes to see that it was now late morning, the sun high above them and bright. They were outside a train depot, and from far off they heard that whistle, that huge shrill whistle reverberating between the bluffs of the river and off the wide flat face of the blue-green river. The air shivered and vibrated with the encroaching immensity of the locomotive and all the cars stretched out behind it.
Are we going somewhere? he asked. On a train?
She nodded then, her eyes shining with the joy of the surprise.
Chicago, she said. Now come on. It’s all taken care of. I’ll just need a little help with the bags.
Wait, on the train? We’re taking the train? We’re taking the train to Chicago?
She nodded again.
I’ve never ridden Amtrak. All my years on the railroad, and I’ve never been on Amtrak. Always wanted to, but I…
Well, she smiled, that makes four of us.
Is there a caboose, Charlie? Jessie asked.
Charlie turned in his seat, smiled at her, I hope so, he said, though he knew the likelihood was incredibly small. There weren’t many cabooses left on the rails except those owned by the extremely wealthy. Then, looking at Vivian, he said, You didn’t have to do this. Please, let me pay for everything once we get there. I can’t let you—
Can I tell you something, Charlie? she said, interrupting him.
She wanted him to note that. The use of his name. Her tone. She even suppressed the smile she still felt inside. A reprimand was coming. A good-hearted reprimand.
I’m serious now, she said. I mean this: Can you stop talking about money, please? I hate it. Everything is fine. We’re not staying at the Peninsula, or whatever, but we’re not staying at Motel 6 either. The ratings were good, and they have a free breakfast. It’s for two nights. One room, two beds. Now I’ve saved money for this. My money. Please don’t ruin this for me. I mean that now. Do you understand me?
He nodded.
You never talked about money when we were first married, she put in. Ever.
Well, I didn’t have any.
I still don’t, she said. So there.
Me either, Melissa echoed.
Me either, Jessie said, nodding.
You’re right, he said, I do talk about it too much. I can even hear myself when I’m doing it. It’s terrible, I know.
I just want to be comfortable, she said. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t need fancy restaurants or hotels. Because then what? What comes next? Expensive clothing? I can’t walk into a nice hotel in old shoes. Someone staring at me while I eat dinner because I’m wearing a dress from Target. I certainly can’t walk into the Four Seasons this way, with my roots growing out and my nails looking like a farmer. Does that make sense, Charlie? Do you understand me?
I do, he said, and he meant it.
Are you fighting? Jessie asked, somewhat nonchalantly.
No, Vivian said sweetly. Charlie is just learning something important.
You’re teaching him?
That’s right. I am. I’m teaching him. Although sometimes, certain lessons seem to take longer than others.
Is Charlie slow? Jessie asked.
He might be, sweetheart, Vivian laughed. But I still love him.
You two are a hoot, Melissa said, rolling her eyes.
They stood away from the edge of the platform as travelers began saying their goodbyes. Lifted their luggage up off the ground. As students shouldered backpacks. Something about a train slowing. Something about a train coming to a stop. Such power. Such vast, thrumming power. There was an occasion about it. An opportunity. This machine and its constituents were moving somewhere, and if a person only climbed aboard, the train promised new terrain, new perspectives, new towns and cities, new faces. She was nervous. Nervous that the tickets would somehow be unreadable on her phone; she didn’t like the fact that she didn’t have paper tickets, something to safely stow in her purse.
She helped him haul their bags up and onto the train, stowing them in a storage compartment, while Melissa held Jessie’s hand. The train jolted beneath her, and her body felt electric with anticipation. Travelers jostled, shouldered past, finding seats or moving from car to car. The train car’s ventilation system whispered on, and the space was filled with new fresh air purifying the scent of diesel, body odor, and fast food in grease-splotched paper bags.
She gently directed Jessie into a seat and pointed at a space across the aisle for Charlie and Melissa. This felt familiar: marshaling a family. This she could do.
I get this seat, Jessie said, by the window.
Vivian leaned across the aisle and kissed him lightly. The kind of kiss that was commonplace between them now, though even a year ago it had been the stuff of dreams, or old memories. Sometimes she tried to record one of their kisses in her mind, the way a mundane day is nevertheless still documented in a diary, still essential to the record.
Can I tell you something? she asked. I’ve never been to Illinois. Never been to Chicago. I’m nervous. Excited. She bit her lip. I didn’t think…for years, I didn’t think this was something I could do, or ever would do. And I guess what I want to say is…that I wouldn’t be doing it, not without you.
Thank you, he replied. Thank you for this beautiful trip you’ve planned. Honestly, I’m astonished. I’m excited too, I really am.
She allowed herself a small laugh, and realized they were flirting, holding hands, tiny sparks popping in her hands, palpable electricity. Like the moments when a roller coaster lurches up its track, just before the great stomach-twisting fall.
Honestly, you two make me sick, Melissa laughed. You know? Like, get a room already.
Chicago is one of my favorite cities, he said to Vivian, squeezing her hand. You’ll love it. I don’t want to say too much about it. You should experience it for yourself. But I can’t wait to see your face.
The train rocked, and rocked again, and then they were moving. Slowly, to start. The river off to her right. Jessie’s face pressed against the window. She was singing something, some song Vivian recognized, but not immediately. She was singing the same line, over and over again, and it took her a moment, but then she recalled it. I see your true colors…
How do you know that song? Vivian asked.
Everyone knows it, Jessie said casually.
You know that song was on the radio all the time a couple years after you were born?
Was it?
Jessie had lived with her for a little more than two years. A little more than two years before she passed her sweet baby to the Stapletons. But during those first months, they had often sat in the front yard of her aunt and uncle’s house under the generous shade of a great cottonwood tree. She remembered that cottonwood tree now. How it moved with the wind. How she used to sway and rock Jessie in time with pendulous tree branches’ languid movements. The sunlight dappling down. Just Vivian and her little baby and the brief time they had together as mother and daughter. She said a silent thank-you to those relatives of hers that had helped her, aided her in a time of need, reached down and lifted her up. Sometimes, she realized, it is too late to properly acknowledge the good fortune of generosity and kindness, but it is never too late to try to duplicate such acts, to multiply them, like a family growing larger, like a grand old tree branching out to embrace the sun’s good light.
Strange, but just then Vivian was thankful for that summer weather of that long-ago time. For those days of benevolent breeze and long sunlight. It might just as easily have been winter, dark and cold, and they would have been cooped up inside some bedroom not her own. Buried beneath warm blankets to ward off the cold that accompanied those howling winds of a Montana winter. Or it might have been raining. But that wasn’t what she remembered. She just remembered her beautiful baby daughter and that cottonwood tree. She remembered grace and kindness. And she remembered those two old people who shepherded her across the vastness of the country.
They rode and they watched. Watched the countryside sweep by. At first the bluffs buffering the Mississippi River. Long barges burdened with coal. Freight trains idling. Small towns of brick buildings and narrow streets. Fishermen. Then away from the river. Gentle hills. Fields of corn. Fields of grass. Fields of beans. Forests and barbed-wire fences. Sparsely trafficked roads. Then power lines and telephone lines. Poles marking the miles. Bigger towns now, more stops.
The anticipation was back. That they were moving toward something big, something grand. People adjusted and readjusted in their seats. Organized bags. Folded newspapers and magazines away. Checked makeup. The roads and highways were now flush with swiftly moving traffic. If Chippewa Falls moved at a certain speed, Chicago moved a hundred times faster, a thousand times faster. Frenetically so. Passengers were checking their phones now, making last-minute calls.
She glanced over at Charlie, but he didn’t seem nervous in the least. He reached out for her hand.
Hey, he said, the great thing about a big city is that you’re invisible. Nobody cares. You just do your own thing.
She nodded her head.
Can I tell you something else?
Okay, she murmured.
This might surprise you, but I think the two friendliest big cities in America are Chicago and New York. People there, they put on these, you know, gruff masks. All business. But if you get lost in New York and need directions, and you’re brave enough to ask someone, next thing you know you’re surrounded by New Yorkers fighting to give you the best directions. It’s happened to me. Same with Chicago. You ask someone where to find a good hot dog, and then suddenly, a cop is flashing his lights and asking you to follow him to his favorite place.
Really?
Sometimes, yeah. I mean, they can be jerks too, of course, but most of the time not so much.
Now, the skyline came into view, like a bookcase of the gods. Towers hulking through the smog and sunlight. Jessie fell silent, her mouth slightly open, as they lumbered closer and closer to the heart of the city. Passengers stood and shuffled towards the entrances of the cars.
Vivian reached out and touched Jessie’s thigh. We’re in no hurry, sweetheart. We can take our time. She knew she was talking as much to herself as to her daughter. Across the aisle, she saw Melissa pop a piece of gum into her mouth and then check her hair and makeup on her phone. A person didn’t even need a mirror anymore, she thought.
They let the other passengers disembark and then stood up to gather their own bags. She and Jessie held hands as they stepped down from the train. Charlie and Melissa handled the luggage. The air, thick with exhaust, seemed to pulse with energy.
I don’t know where I’m going, Vivian admitted.
Come on, he said, follow me.
Inside Union Station he paused to allow them to take in the great barreled skylight above them, the polished terrazzo floor, the soaring walls of pale stone.
You’ve been inside this building before? Vivian asked.
It’s been a while, he admitted, but I have seen The Untouchables.
Then they moved out onto Canal Street, and she gawked up into the sky at one of the world’s great skyscrapers, a building she’d always read about or known on TV as the Sears Tower. Stray paper rode on gusts of wind, and elevated trains tumbled by down some unseen tracks. It was all dizzying, dazzling.
Glancing at her watch, Vivian said, We should check into the hotel. I do have one thing planned for this evening.