We make pretty good time, the two of us taking turns driving, passing the hours with some deep questions, some bullshit. I learn that Helen is deathly afraid of snakes, that the place she’d most like to travel to is Greece, and that she didn’t leave the convent to become a romance writer, though she laughs at the question. “I’m happy being a librarian. The writing stuff is just for me, kind of a way to work some things out.”
I don’t point out that, at least from what I heard, what she mainly seems to be working out is her libido, but I do tell her about my dream of road-tripping across the country in an RV, my childhood dog Mooch, and my manly fear of cockroaches.
She asks me some questions about my line of work, too: “So why don’t you carry a gun? Wouldn’t that make your job safer?”
I shrug. “Maybe, but it might also make it harder.” She seems genuinely curious, so I explain, “Despite what the movies make it look like, most of my job is talking to people. Asking questions. And people close down real quick when they see a gun.” I shrug. “Besides, I have other ways to take care of myself.”
“Krav Maga,” Helen says, seemingly without thinking, and then proceeds to turn bright pink.
I give her the side-eye, not saying anything. Krav Maga, huh? Seems like someone’s been watching quite a bit moreBama Bountythan she’s been letting on. I don’t comment, though, because embarrassment is another way to shut down conversations fast. And I find, to my surprise, that I really want to keep Helen talking.
The time passes by surprisingly quickly. Close to the six-hour mark, Helen motions to one of the signs. “We’re not too far from Mobile. Should we stop, stretch our legs, have a pee break?”
I’ve been bracing myself for this moment. As soon as I knew we’d be taking the I-65 from Nashville, I knew we’d be driving through my old stomping grounds. But Mobile is a big city, I remind myself. The likelihood of running into my dad, my brothers…Vera…is slim to none. Especially in a random gas station just off the highway.
Still, I catch myself tightening my hands into fists. “Sure,” I say, forcing my tone to stay neutral. “Why not?”
I think I do a pretty good job pretending, until I glance over at Helen and see her frowning at me. “What’s wrong? You sound weird.”
Can Sister Helen read my thoughts? That’s a disturbing idea. More disturbing for her than me, I’d guess, based on some of the things I’ve been thinking about. Things I definitely shouldnotbe thinking about, even if I can’t get the image of her in that thin white shirt off my mind… I clear my throat. “I, uh, I haven’t been back to Mobile since…”
Helen’s read my Wikipedia page, so I don’t need to fill in the blanks. Her eyes widen. “Seriously? Not even for Christmas?”
“Hard to be in the holiday mood when your dad was boning your fiancée for half a year before anyone had the balls to tell you.”
Helen grimaces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. We can just keep going until we get to the next town.”
I glance at her pointedly, eying the little dance she’s doing in her seat. “Thanks, but I’d rather younotpiss your pants on Kitty’s original leather seats.” Seeing the protest already forming on her lips, I reassure her, “It’s fine. Honestly. We’ll stay on the outskirts of town, just make a quick pit stop, then bye-bye, Mobile.”
“I’ll pee so fast,” Helen vows, making a little cross-her-heart sign over her chest.
It’s fine, I tell myself, fighting off the deep sense of dread I feel at being in the same state as my family.
Still, I’ll be happier once we put Mobile in our taillights.
We pull into a gas station right off the highway, still on the outskirts of town. There’s literally no way Vera would be caught dead in a place like this, so I relax, though I’m still determined to leave as fast as possible.
“I’ll do the gas,” I tell Helen. “You run inside so you can stop dancing around like a toddler. I’ll meet you back out here.”
“Aren’t you going to go?” Helen asks me, doing that squirmy dance that little kids do when they’re insisting they don’t need to pee. It looks especially absurd seeing a woman in her thirties doing it, but for some reason, it’s also adorable.
“I’m good,” I tell her.
“But New Orleans is still hours away. Who knows when we’ll stop again?”
“You worry about you and your bladder, I’ll worry about me and mine.” Still, I suppose she isn’t wrong. I sigh. “Fine, just a quick piss, then let’s meet back at the car. No snacks.” I level my index finger at her warningly. “No snacks.”
Helen looks at me with a guilty smile. “The sign says they have barbeque. Real Alabama barbeque.”
“From a gas station.” I consider my words. Actually, knowing Alabama, that’s probably the place to get the best barbeque, but I’m sure as hell not gonna tell her that.
“The sign says they do crawfish boils, too. I don’t know what that is, but it sounds Southern.”
“You’re certifiable if you think you’re eating crawfish in my car,” I growl at her through gritted teeth. The messiest food on the planet—she must have lost her damn mind. “I’m not joking, I’ll leave you here if you come out with that!”
The smile she flashes back at me is not a good sign. The woman clearly has no fear of me anymore. I’ve lost all authority.
So then why the hell am I fighting a grin as I watch her half run, half waddle to the bathroom, like I’m some heartsick idiot?
