They were alone on that road for miles. Only an old red pickup pulling on the road an hour past had broken up the monotony of staring at grey lanes and blue sky.
It was a wonder, she thought, that she hadn't gone in to trance and rolled them off the road.
And with that, her eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of her fellow passenger.
A set of blue eyes looked up to meet hers, surprising her. The passenger hadn't made a sound, so she couldn't tell how long they'd been awake. One long moment to look at those eyes, beautiful and deep blue. Her husband's eyes. But not her husband's face.
"Hey, baby girl. How you doing?" she asked the small passenger.
The blue eyes grew a smile under them, telling her she'd awoken a minute or two ago.
"Momma I'm hungry," she said, eyes dropping to study hands that picked at lint on her pants and whatever crumbs on the car seat she hadn't managed to swat away before strapping her daughter in at the last stop.
"We're almost there, baby girl. Can you hold on for a bit more?" she asked, locking eyes again with her child.
"Soon?"
"Yeah, we'll be at Gramma's house soon. Almost there, I promise," she said, and smiled. And because she had never lied to placate her child, the child trusted her and nodded, playing with the hem on her skirt. Apparently her usual play companion, a stuffed armadillo, had fallen to the floor during her sleep.
A large pothole in the road jolted the entire car, rattling all of their worldly belongings at the points they had been artfully shoved to make sure they made the move down safely. The distracting sound of china clinking on china reached her ears for the fifth or sixth time, causing her to think again to herself, "I swear, if something is chipped when we finally stop..."
The country was starting to feel familiar by degrees. She knew the bumps as they were coming now, braced herself for them. Marked how weeds had grown up in cracks widened by time and weather on the berm, or snaking out in to the lanes themselves. Noted a sapling that had shaken in the midsummer storms of her youth was now a sturdy chestnut in the middle of a field. Funny, she though, she had assumed it would be cut down for being in the way.
Finally the small green sign for SR 17 shot past on its small industrial metal pole and she slowed to the turnoff. No official off ramps or signs for gas and food in this part of the world. Mostly due to there being none.
Her car bumped down on to the far less heavily traveled road (if that were possible in this middle of nowhere-ness they were currently traveling in.) and the fine layer of grit and gravel began to spit out from underneath the tires immediately. To her surprise, the familiar sound made her shoulders relax. Her body had been holding on to the stress of the journey the entire time without realizing it.
Funny too, she thought, that this is what it takes to feel like I'm home.
The car rolled along the ancient pavement, covered by ancient oaks who's branches clawed out from both sides and twined in the middle, blocking most of the sky from view. At the slower speed the sound of cicadas droned through the windows at them, a million tiny insect didgeridoos.
In the back seat her daughter's blue eyes widened. "What is that?"
"Cicadas. They're everywhere down here," she replied, a small smile teasing its way back to her face as her daughter pushed her head against the glass. "You know, I can roll the window down if you want to hear them better."
"It's dusty," her daughter made a face to the idea, eyeing the clouds the car was somehow kicking up on what was supposed to be a modern paved surface.
"Okay, windows stay up. But you'll hear them all the time when we get to Gramma's," she explained.
Soon, by the way, she told herself. Really soon.
She was counting lanes off the road subconsciously... 3 left, 4 right, then home... only realizing it when she mouthed "4th left" at the sight of it. Not a single thing special about it, save the ancient macadam dissolved in to what was at one time a road covered in gravel. It was currently two ruts in the dirt with handfuls of gravel at intervals.
They bumped along the ruts, china clinking and boxes shifting crazily under the unusual motion. Each sway, though, was familiar in her bones. A little more pronounced, yes, but she knew exactly how long they had to endure it before...
... a meadow rolled in to view and the trees fell away. In the midst of it all was an old white house with chipping paint and a wrap around porch, every single screened window thrown open wide. A single willow tree swayed in a breeze that wasn't good enough to fight the heat outside their meagerly air conditioned box.
The porch screen door, she noted, was propped open with the same giant chunk of volcanic glass. As it always was. She had been afraid -illogically- it wouldn't be there for some strange reason.
Her daughter strained against her carseat straps and tried to press her nose against the glass to get a better view of what was coming. "Is that Gramma's house?"
"Yup. This is it, baby girl," she said, nodding softly.
"It's a big house!"
The surprise in her voice brought a laugh.
"You're used to apartments, that's why!"
They pulled in by the willow tree, nose up to the little metal rods with round red reflectors on them, and put the car in park. The road had been noisy, a quarter mile of bumping and grinding and clunking no matter what vehicle came up it. Her mother knew they were there and was certainly making her way to the driveway to greet them. She took a long moment to draw in her breath, releasing the steering wheel she had gripped for two and a half days, then let it out again slowly. Release the old now. Release it, because the new starts the second you open that door, she thought.
And then her mother was on the porch, spectacles and smiles and a long denim skirt even in that July heat. She waved to them. Then spotting her granddaughter, waved harder and grinned wider, wiping her hands on the faded apron tied at her waist.
"Gramma!" the little girl shouted, wiggling in her seat.
"Okay, okay, hold up. Let me unbuckle you before you vibrate through the seat and down through the bottom of the car!" the driver said, quickly throwing the driver's side door open and wishing the moment of peace bon chance in its passing.
"Is that my Abigail?" her mother called excitedly, her drawl slipping primly in to the words spoken as she strode across the lawn with sure, quick steps.
She had barely gotten the last buckle off so it wouldn't scrape the girl as she got out, when Abigail went shooting out under her arms and over to the elderly woman.
"Gramma! We're here! We drove the whole way!" She leapt on to the older woman with a flying fierce hug.
"I can see that! What a big girl to drive so far!" she said, bending over to return a hug to the enthusiastic child. Then she looked up at the other traveler with concern. "How was that long drive, Miranda? Everything okay? You didn't call..."
Miranda nodded, "Yeah Mom. Everything went fine. Just a long, long, boring, long drive." She managed a smile, then turned and began to pull the child's knapsack and armadillo out of the car, casting about to where her duffel back had possibly shifted since this morning. As she did, a sudden wave of faintness took her and she leaned against the car frame, closing her eyes.
"Very long drives are very tiring. We can unpack stuff later, hon," the elderly woman said, detaching from the granddaughter to come over and lay an arm across the woman's shoulders for a half-hug.
Miranda raised her head just enough to clearly be heard as she spoke, "Yeah, but if Abby doesn't have..."
"DILLON!" the little girl yelled, running up to snatch the armadillo from her mother's hands.
"Nevermind. She's got him," she chuckled.
Her mother grabbed the knapsack as Miranda located the duffel bag and hoisted it to her shoulder. The grey Chevrolet's door closed with a solid thunk, and the knowledge that her next 2.5 days would be spent with feet planted on terra firma, made her smile a bit wider.
"Momma! Is this our tree or is this everybody's tree?" Abby asked suddenly, pointing at the old willow.
"It's Gramma's tree."
"Gramma, can I climb it?" she asked excitedly.
"Just watch out you don't slip and fall," came the answer, the end of which wasn't uttered before both armadillo and child were up in the large V formed by the willow's diverging trunk.
"My lord, she's excited," the older woman chuckled.
"Not so many large willow trees in New York," Miranda admitted, "definitely not climbing willows at that."
They were at the steps to the porch when Miranda felt a hand on her back again, fingers squeezing her shoulder. She stopped to see her mother looking at her with the familiar tilt of the head and the smile that held fifteen different emotions.
"What?"
"It's far from ideal conditions, I know... but I'm glad to have you back, girl," the older woman smiled.
She nodded, too tired to front anything but affirmation at that point. Abby was hollering something about ants on bark, the steps squeaked under her stiff new(ish) shoes...
...And she was lost between times.
Playing in the meadow, climbing trees, chasing fireflies, chasing boys, all collided at once. She was no longer certain that she and her daughter were separate people, seeing her crouch down in the crook of the trunk to watch insects closely as she had clear memories of doing herself.
Another squeeze from her mother's hand, this time reassuring. She snapped back to the present. After a moment watching her daughter, she shrugged.
"There's just no getting away from Go'Tree."
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