Road Trips Read Free Page A

been thrown by one of the senior
partners of her law firm. Having only been practicing with the firm for a short
time, she was excited at the chance to mingle with the important partners and
clients. She knew she was about to become a member of the inner circle. Life
was finally blooming; sacrifice was yielding reward.
    For the past seven years, Maude had scraped to make ends
meet. Her husband had left her and her daughter without so much as a goodbye.
No one could find him; and with no child support or alimony, she had finished college
(she had, of course, dropped out when she married), then completed law
school—and the entire time, she still kept food on the table. But the circle
was almost complete; she was getting what she deserved.
    So all night long, she had sipped martinis, chatted with
clients, and told illuminating tales to partners. And as the sun blazed red in
the sky, she was coming home to her daughter. She hated leaving her daughter,
Angel, with a nanny so often, but she had no choice: They had to eat, so she
had to work. But soon it would all pay off. Soon they would have everything
they had longed for. She rubbed her eyes again, and let them close for a
moment—
    —Maude lay on the beach with her husband. They were entwined
in each other’s arms, kissing, tasting the salt of the surf from one another’s
lips. Sand clung to their wet bodies, the water lapped at their naked flesh,
like pearls dancing across their skin. The sand moved under them, shifted,
pulling away with the tide.
    Screams filled the air around her; Maude froze, uncertain of
the origin. Maude cringed as the beach morphed into darkness, apparently
disintegrating with the tidal pull. The horizon mutated, pulled in toward her,
and became the walls of a dimly lit room. The sand fell away, revealing a
cushion beneath her.
    She lay in a hospital bed, strapped down. Maude realized,
then, that the screams were her own. Maude strained her neck, lifting her head
toward the window. Hard raindrops pummeled the glass; the daytime sky was dark
with gray, rolling clouds. A streak of lightning lit the room momentarily,
followed by a crack of thunder, deafening and strong.
    A white-arraigned apparition floated into the room with a
dagger-like needle. She placed the syringe to Maude’s arm and injected a fluid.
Maude stifled her screams and closed her eyes.
    Maude’s eyes bolted open.
    She looked around, realizing she was in her car, on her way
home. She couldn’t believe she had fallen asleep; she had meant only to blink.
Home, she didn’t even remember most of the trip. Turning into the driveway,
Maude’s front tire hit the curb and she was jolted, hitting her head on the
roof. She rubbed her bruised head, groaning.
    Climbing out of her trusty Escort, she looked at the
brooding, rosy sky. She thought whimsically, Red in the morning, sailors
take a warning. Yet, the forecast had not called for rain. Seeing Angel’s
bike lying in the yard, Maude smiled.
    Maude gave a cursory glance around the yard, then to her
watch. It was nearly eight-thirty. Angel always woke up early. Maude had
expected Angel to greet her or at least to be on her bike. She walked to the
house.
    Inside the house, Maude dropped her small purse. It made a
hollow thud on the floor. The light shining through the window caught air-borne
dust particles, making the room look hazy, surreal. The house was silent.
    “Angel?” Maude called.
    No response. “Mary?” She called for the nanny.
    No response.
    Maude’s heels clicked on the wood floor as she searched the
house. She found only the television on. A tape was in the VCR playing a recording of Maude with Angel. Angel was years younger, a short time before her
father left. Maude was playing with her, twirling the girl’s blonde curls
around her fingers. Over and over, Angel gleefully squealed, “Rubber baby buggy
bumpers!”
    Maude turned off the television. The house filled with a
stygian silence. She backed away from the TV, then