As she folded up the blankets and lawn chairs, she considered the end result of this expedition.
She’d driven three hours in a minivan with four kids so her son could lose to neighboring teams from Falls Church and Arlington. They could have skipped the drive and the hotel and played each other on afield fifteen minutes from home instead. With a sigh of resignation, she herded the boys back to the car.
She punched “Home” on the GPS and then watched in dismay as the roadways on the fastest route available turned from blue to red. An accident somewhere.
She said a prayer, then leaned forward in the driver’s seat, shoulders hunched around her ears, fingers gripping the steering wheel, and plunged into the sea of cars.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” Johnny called from the third row.
She ignored this and grasped the steering wheel tighter.
Driving through rural Minnesota on a summer day felt like a form ofmeditation. Wide, sparsely trafficked highways winding through neatly planted rows of corn and soybeans under the cobalt dome of an endless sky, like a road trip through the Elysian Fields.
Butthis... this East Coast driving felt like hurtling through a vortex into the opening montage ofThe Sopranos. Careening down six lanes of traffic at seventy miles an hour, surrounded by smokestacks and concrete, boxed in by eighteen-wheelers. It induced a sort of vehicular claustrophobia.
An hour later, Matt frowned at her from the passenger seat. “Mom, I have to go to the bathroom.”
These were the first words he’d spoken since getting into the car. His brooding silence spoke volumes about the game and his performance.
She answered, gaze firmly glued to the highway. “I’m trying to find that truck stop we heard about with the Subwayandthe Burger King.”
Because no one could possibly be expected to agree on one fast-food restaurant. They needed to stop at the travel plaza with options for every palate in the car.
“Mom. Are we there yet? I’mstarving,” James called from the row directly behind her.
She turned off at the next exit, as directed by the GPS, and pulled into the parking lot of a massive truck stop called Big Jim’s.
“We’re here,” she called in a cheery voice for the benefit of Luke, who had not complained about hunger, thirst, or a full bladder, and must therefore be asleep beneath his blanket tent. After another reminder, he emerged from his cocoon, groggy, with his hair sticking up.
She climbed out of the car, limbs stiff with tension. She needed this break for food and drink even more than the boys did.
They entered the crowded truck stop, and she clutched Johnny’s hand. At age eight, he was the only child who would still condescend to hold her hand in public.
Anodyne ’80s music washed over them, then faded into the background as they entered the food court, where tired travelers queued up for pizza, Doritos, and caffeine.
She spotted two families from Matt’s team seated at a cluster of tables near Auntie Anne’s pretzels. They gave a half-hearted wave but did not issue an invitation to join them.
Kiersten bit her lip and herded the boys around the travel plaza with her credit card. Burger King for Matt, Roy Rogers for Luke, Subway for James, Pizza Hut for Johnny.
They sat down at a little cluster of scratched metal tables and ate in tired silence.
“Does anyone need to use the restroom again?” she asked when they finished.
They shook their heads.
“Okay,” she said. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
The boys had used the bathroom when they first arrived, while she kept watch just outside. It still creeped her out to send her boys into the men’s restroom alone, even though Matt was responsible enough to look after his younger brothers. She’d stood sentry at the entrance, with a Those Boys Have a Mother Who Is Paying Attention look on her face, as a warning to prospective kidnappers, pedophiles, and fugitives from justice.
She gave Matt the keys to the minivan. “You boys throw away your trash while I use the ladies’ room. I’ll meet you in the car.”
She used the facilities, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she washed her hands.
The dingy fluorescent light accentuated the dark circles under her eyes. Her gaze traveled from her limp hair to her squashy midsection, and then to the pizza stain on her T-shirt.
She hadwantedto eat something healthy, she really and truly had, but the three carrot sticks with hummus in the “healthy” section of the truck stop convenience store were no match for her screaming hunger pangs. So she’d eaten the remnants of the french fries and pizza left by her offspring.
She examined her face more closely. Was that facial hair? On herupper lip?
