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My plan was to just keep driving, to find a spot close to the address and get some shut eye until daybreak, but I thought she might freak if her first sight was this lady’s house number.
As she combs both hands through her hair, she says, “Sorry. How long have I been asleep for?”
“Not too long, two hours maybe? Seriously, you can close your eyes again. Says we’ll be arriving in twenty minutes but we can’t be knocking on the door for a few more hours anyway.”
“No, I’m up. I’m good,” she says, fishing a ponytail holder out of her shorts pocket. Pulling down the mirror, she asks, “Think we could scout out a restroom before we get there?”
“Absolutely.”
I’m doing my best to be upbeat and cheery, because I sense Sarah might be starting to freak out.
She looks grateful when she smiles back at me, which almost makes me tear up with the satisfaction of being, I don’t know, worthwhile in her eyes. Fatigue, that’s what I blame for the sappy state I’m currently in.
And it reads three a.m. when we finally pull down a street with small ranch houses. Can’t really see much, but the town gave off a neglected vibe when we drove down what seemed to be the main street. In other words, it reminds me of home sweet home.
After about twenty minutes of frenetic, random commentary, I’m wishing I left Sarah sleeping before. “C’mere,” I say as I lean back while pulling her into me and wrapping my arms around her front, “I need to shut my eyes for a few minutes.”
“Oh, of course,” she chirps, nestling right into me. “Get some rest.”
“Hey there, buddy.”
I startle to the muffled sound of a guy’s voice and a light tap on my window. Damn, I was just in the middle of an extremely good dream, and as I sit up, I realize the dream was so good that I’m poking Sarah with some morning wood.
It takes me a minute to shift her off me, orient myself and lower my window. “Hey.”
This guy looks super awake and super friendly. “You two lost or something?”
“Uh, no, just um…”Should I get into it with this guy?“Just looking for someone who maybe used to live around here.”
Sarah rouses from her slumber and starts looking all freaked out and afraid when she catches sight of the guy.
He ducks down and looks across to her. “It’s ok, hun.” Looking back to me, he says, “Well, I’ve lived in this town my whole entire life, so if this person exists, I’ll know ‘em.”
I give Sarah a moment to take the lead, but she stays quiet. “Grace Dawson? Does that name sound familiar?”
“I’ll say!” And with that, a woman comes out the front door holding an infant with three other kids trailing behind. He calls over to her, “These two are looking for Grace Dawson.”
I’m expecting him to wink or something, like there’s a punchline coming, because now the two of them are smiling—like super happy, spanning the width of your face grins. And when I look to Sarah, I can see that her eyes are now fixed on the woman’s belly, where upon further inspection, you can see that she’s expecting.
“Oh my God,” Sarah whispers, and I’m kind of shitting my pants now, too. My words from yesterday come back to haunt me:You might not be an only child.
I whisper, “She’s too young, Sarah.”
“How doyouknow?”
As I ponder that rhetorical question, I notice that two sets of hands are now pressed up against Sarah’s window, taking her in like she’s an exhibit at the zoo, another kid is clamoring to be picked up by this dude I presume is her dad, and the baby is starting to cry.
“Come on out,” the mom gestures with that super friendly smile. “You two look like you could use some breakfast.”
The mom ushers the kids away from the car so we can get out, and I’m thinking we must look a little shell-shocked, like we’re aliens who’ve been kindly invited to disembark from the safety of the mothership.
Shifting her baby to the other hip, she offers Sarah her hand. “I’m Sienna,” looking to the guy, she adds, “and this is my husband, Garth.” Sarah lets out a relieved breath, which doesn’t go unnoticed. “Grace is one of my very dear friends.”
To which her husband adds, “Grace is the best. She was our English teacher in high school. I still call her Miss Dawson sometimes…Force of habit.”
When an uncomfortable ten seconds pass while Sarah continues to imitate a statue, I pipe up. “Nice to meet you. I’m Liam Murphy and this is Sarah Hamilton.”
The little boy who’s now holding onto his mother’s hand plucks his thumb out of his mouth to say, “You big and you tiny.”
