Glory Road Read online

  Mom carefully picked it up, walked over to the trash can sitting by the side of the road, and dropped it in.

  “I don’t remember much,” I said. “I was six when we moved here, right?”

  “It was just a few days before your sixth birthday, actually. Mama had everything planned, so when you came out of your room after quiet time that day, half the street was already crammed into her small kitchen. Everyone had balloons and party hats.”

  “I remember.” The memory was hazy, but it was there. “Mr. Rainwater gave me a snow globe, didn’t he?”

  She nodded. “It was from Lake Lurleen, something he’d picked up at a souvenir shop years before.”

  “That’s right. It had a man fishing in a tiny boat with a really big fish on the end of the line. I think I still have it somewhere.”

  “He was so sweet. He didn’t know how to buy something for a little girl, so he probably just found it around his house and wrapped it up for you.”

  Thinking back on that party, which had previously been buried in my memory, made me look differently at the houses we jogged past. These people weren’t just customers at our shop—grumpy, cheerful, or forgetful old folks. These people had welcomed us in when we could no longer stay in our home. When I was five, I had no idea what was happening—why Dad was crying but Mom wasn’t, why that woman flung Mom’s favorite bathing suit in the car, and why Mom casually threw it away. Now, at almost fifteen, I had ideas. But back then, we needed a new home and everyone on Glory Road offered it with open arms. As far as I knew, they never mentioned what may or may not have happened with Mom and Dad.

  Now that I thought about it, Gus probably threatened them with death by cold shoulder—or maybe by withholding her baked treats from the church bake sale—if anyone spoke of my dad in front of us. Who would go against that?

  Instead, they left little packages on our doorstep—a crocheted hat with plastic flowers around the brim from Elma Dean, a gallon of fresh strawberry iced tea from Ms. Rickers, a little wooden birdhouse complete with shutters on the windows from Mr. Rainwater.

  “Someone left a copy of the book Surprised by Singleness on the kitchen counter after your party,” Mom said. “I picked it up before Mama saw it. She would have been livid if she knew someone left it for me.”

  “Did you read it?”

  “Lord, yes, every word. And every other self-help book I could find. For a while. I finally gave them up, thank goodness.”

  “Were you surprised by your singleness?” I said it lightly like a joke, but I was really curious. Did that day in the driveway come out of nowhere, or had she seen it coming? Could a person’s hopes and dreams just blow up so quickly like that?

  “Not really. I was a different person when I met your dad. The whole thing was partly my fault. Once you came and I fell in love with you, I fell out of love with the person I’d tried so hard to be—the person who wasn’t the real me. Unfortunately, your dad wasn’t too charmed by the real me.”

  “Well, he’s an idiot.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he just knew exactly what—and who—he wanted, and I wasn’t her anymore.”

  “But he wanted that woman in the scrubs? I remember her. She looked ridiculous.”

  Mom inhaled sharply. “I didn’t know you remembered that day.”

  I shrugged. “Just bits and pieces.” No need to tell Mom the ordeal in the driveway was burned into my brain, etched into my memories. “She was so . . . perky. I wanted to throw something at her.”

  “Did you know why she was there?”

  “You said she was one of Dad’s hygienists.”

  She paused before answering. “That’s right. She was.”

  It didn’t make sense back then that his hygienist was there at our house. Why wasn’t she at the office, flossing teeth and reminding people to brush twice a day? Why was she coming out of my parents’ house like she owned the place? I understood more now, but this adult world—marriage, love, commitment—was murky.

  We ran in silence. My thighs burned and sweat dripped down one side of my face, but the exertion felt good. I actually felt like I could keep running all evening, but Mom slowed down. I’d been watching the path in front of me, trying not to trip on the roots of a big oak tree, so I didn’t see why she stopped. Then I heard the dog bark.

  Ahead of us, Mr. Bradley stood at his mailbox flipping through a stack of mail, his back to us. When Stanley barked again, Mr. Bradley turned and his mouth pulled into a grin. I glanced at Mom. For a split second, her face mimicked his, but she wiped it away quickly.

  “Hey, you two,” he called. Stanley lunged for us, tongue already wagging, but Mr. Bradley was surprisingly quick. He grabbed Stanley’s collar before he could jump up on us. “It’s a good time for a run. Not too hot.”

  Why was it that people around here always started conversations with the weather? Everyone did it—even Mr. Bradley, and he’d only lived on the street for about five minutes. Well, his childhood and five minutes. It was as if the weather was a known icebreaker, like those silly games teachers made us play at the beginning of school years. Instead of “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” it was, “Hey, how about this hot weather?”

  But Mom went along with it, as everyone did. “It’s great. We would have melted if we’d headed out earlier, but it’s manageable now. I even got my partner to come out with me today.” She put her hand on my back. Her heat radiated into my already-hot skin, but I liked the idea that we were partners.

  “You got a good one. Nick would be impressed. He runs every morning for baseball. He’s always trying to get me to run with him, but it’s not really my thing.”

  “Not your thing?” Mom asked. “You used to get up at the crack of dawn to run too, didn’t you?”

  He laughed. “I did, but that was a long time ago. No more football, no more need to kill myself mile by mile. Now I’m just pouring my first cup of coffee by the time Nick finishes his morning run. I like it this way better.”

  “I’m with you on that.” Mom wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Mornings are for coffee and my front porch, rain or shine. I take them slow.”

  Mr. Bradley smiled softly out of one side of his mouth. They both grew quiet, and the silence was more than I could handle.

  “Okay, so we’ll get going.” I both wanted to see Nick and didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stand there any longer with the awkwardness. Plus, it had started to rain again. Just drops now, but the sky was getting darker, and not from the approaching nightfall.

  “Right.” Mr. Bradley restacked the mail in his hands—a few magazines at the bottom, envelopes on top. “I take it you get a free pass on the parent meeting at school. You’ve been around here awhile, so you’re not exactly ‘new.’ Honestly, I’d rather not go, but I don’t want anyone to complain that the new dad’s uninvolved.”

  “Parent meeting?” Mom stared at me. “I didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Oops.” Crap. The posters, the flyers—yeah, I’d totally forgotten. “So, there’s an orientation meeting at seven thirty for new parents. I think it’s a PTO thing. They told us about it at registration.” I bit my lip. “Sorry.”

  Mom ran a hand over her hair and glanced down at her damp running clothes, ankles splattered with red mud. “I wish you’d mentioned it. I’d hate to miss any information we’ll need later on.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I was . . . distracted.” There’d been a huge poster on the door to the gym, I remembered, and someone stuck a flyer in my hand, but who knew where that had gotten off to? I felt bad for Mom. She’d always been intimidated by the PTO moms. “You could still go. If we run back now, you can just hop in the car and take off. I’ll clean up with Gus and make sure she gets home okay.”

  “No, I’d never make it.” She checked her watch. “It’s already ten after.”

  “You’re welcome to come with me,” Mr. Bradley said. “If you want. I can get you a towel too.” He nodded at the dirt on her
legs.

  She tucked loose hair behind her ears. “I can’t go like this.”

  “Mom, go. Go and come back and tell me how lovely and charming everyone was.”

  Lightning ripped across the sky and the raindrops fell faster. “Okay, not gonna happen,” she said. “No way am I letting you run back home in this.”

  “Nick can take her. He’s just inside watching TV.” He pointed to the garage. “Let’s get out of this rain.”

  Mom and I followed him up the driveway. The back wall of his garage was full of boxes, some still sealed with masking tape, others with the flaps open, revealing everything from shoes to books to tools.

  Mr. Bradley stepped inside and called for Nick. When he returned, he gestured to the boxes. “Sorry about the mess. We’re making slow progress.” He shook water from his hair. His Jeep was sandwiched into the garage next to an old black muscle car. Nick’s?

  “So, meeting, yes or no?” Mr. Bradley raised his eyebrows. “I can run you both home, or Nick can take Evan if you want to come with me.”

  The door to the house opened and Nick stepped out. “Hey, I thought you were going— Oh, hey,” he said when he saw me and Mom.

  “I was about to leave, but I found some neighbors.” He turned back to Mom. “So what’s it gonna be?”

  Mom groaned, then laughed. She looked at me. I shrugged.

  “I get it,” Mr. Bradley said. “If I had a daughter, I probably wouldn’t let her anywhere near a teenage boy’s car.” He reached over and tried to ruffle Nick’s hair, but Nick ducked out of the way. “But he’s not so bad.”

  Something in Mom’s eyes shifted. Her face softened. “Is it okay with you if Nick takes you home?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine, of course.” I kept my eyes on Mom instead of Nick in the doorway.

  “Text me when you get home,” she said quietly. “I want to know when you’re inside with Gus.”

  “Okay, I got it. Now go or you’ll be late.”

  “She’s right,” Mr. Bradley said. “Nick, grab a towel out of the hall closet, will you?”

  “Sure thing.” He retreated into the house. I smoothed my hair into another knot, then fanned my damp top away from my skin. The shirt was one of my favorites—a vintage Allman Brothers tee with a red truck carrying a huge peach in the back. Same as the album cover. My too-small Reeboks screamed middle school though.

  Mom kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t forget to text me,” she whispered. “Thanks, Nick. Take care of my girl.”

  “Mom,” I groaned. “We live, like, ten feet up the road.”

  Mom climbed in the Jeep next to Mr. Bradley and waved as they backed out of the garage. Outside, the rain hid their faces from view.

  “Our turn,” Nick said.

  We sat in his car and he cranked the engine, then turned to back down the driveway, his arm on the back of my seat. “All right, then. Here we go.”

  “I can’t believe this thing even runs.” I glanced around the interior of his car. A 1971 Dodge Challenger, he’d informed me on the way to my house. It was just an old black car to me, but it was cool. A little rundown but clean. We’d made the thirty-second drive to our house and now sat in the driveway, the front seat lit by the glow of the porch light. We had to talk loud to hear each other over the rain beating on the roof.

  “Hey, you should be impressed. I worked my butt off to get this thing in good shape.” He ran his hand across the dash. Below, the dashboard held nothing but a couple of air vents, a cigarette lighter, and an ancient radio. It had two fat dials and a handful of huge AM and FM buttons. He leaned over and blew onto one of the air vents, then rubbed away a speck of dust.

  “I am impressed. I mean, it’s awesome. It’s just so . . . old.” I cringed and cleared my throat. “Where did you find it?”

  “My dad found it at a junkyard for next to nothing, and we worked on it together back in Atlanta. If you think this looks old, you should have seen it when we started. Took two years to bring her back to life. Dad said if I worked on it with him, he’d give it to me when I turned sixteen. It was the same thing his dad did for him.”

  “Wow, that’s kind of a great deal. A new car you don’t have to pay for?”

  “Oh, I paid for it. In long, hot hours after school and on the weekends. Dad and I used a friend’s garage, since our condo didn’t have one. As long as I wasn’t on the baseball field, I was working on this car. I think it was partly my dad’s way of keeping me in line.”

  “So you were a troublemaker?” It sounded dumb, but I wanted to know more about him.

  “Nah, not really. At least not in the way my dad worried about.”

  That gave me exactly no real information, but I hardly knew him well enough to press for more. We sat in silence a moment while my brain whirred from subject to subject, trying to find something worthwhile to say. I came up blank.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Mom,” I said, my cheeks hot.

  “Good thing. I don’t want some big guy to beat me up for sitting in the car with you.” He grinned and I rolled my eyes. “Wait—how old are you?”

  “I’ll be fifteen in a few months.” If seven months was “a few.”

  “My dad wouldn’t let me even call a girl on the phone until I was fifteen, much less sit in a car with one. Your mom must be pretty cool.”

  “I don’t sit in cars with guys very often. I think she just trusts you because she knows your dad.”

  “Guilty by association.”

  I sent a quick text back to Mom. Everything was fine and I’d make sure Gus got home soon. I quickly turned the screen off to hide the intrusion.

  “So, tell me about yourself,” he said. I looked up at him. “What?” he asked. “Isn’t this what good neighbors do? Learn about each other? Tell me something interesting.”

  “Um . . . I like music.”

  “Okay,” he said with a laugh. “Good start. I do too.”

  “I know. I mean, I’ve heard you. Sing. I heard you sing.”

  “When did you hear me?”

  I swallowed. “A few days ago. When you walked Stanley near our house. You were singing ‘Hallelujah.’ It’s a great song.”

  “The best. Which version?” He raised an eyebrow.

  I paused. “Usually I’d say the original is best, but for this one, Jeff Buckley. He did it better.”

  “Amen. I agree on both counts.” He leaned over the steering wheel and peered out the windshield. The porch light caught the falling rain and made the drops look like little diamonds falling through the air. He sat back in his seat and turned to me. “I didn’t realize I was talking to a music aficionado.”

  “I don’t know about that. I just know when I hear something good.”

  “Let’s see, judging by your shirt, I’d say you like mostly old stuff—sixties and seventies. Dylan. Some Beatles, but the less poppy stuff. Led Zeppelin. As for the ladies—Janis, Joni, maybe a little Emmy Lou?”

  “Have you been spying on me?”

  “Nah, just a good guess.”

  “Well, you’re right about most of it. Except Janis. I don’t see what the big deal was about her. Her voice was like a garbage disposal.”

  “Ouch. But you’re right. I gotta tell you, though, some good music has been made in, uh, more recent years. Ever heard of Shovels & Rope? Alabama Shakes? Florence and the Machine?”

  I shrugged. “A little.”

  “Ah.” He leaned to the side and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I have something for you.” He swiped the screen a few times, then handed me the phone with earbuds attached. I stuck one in my ear, and the sound of plucking strings filled my ear. After a moment, a woman’s voice began to float. I smiled involuntarily.

  “Right?” He grabbed the other end of the earbuds and listened.

  When the song was over, I pulled the end of the cord and handed him the earbud. “Who is that? She’s incredible.”

  “Florence an
d the Machine. They’re unlike anyone else. See? The good stuff didn’t stop with the seventies.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  “So, give me more. What else do you like?”

  “Nope. Your turn. Tell me something about you now.” It was easy to talk to Nick. He may have just been wasting time until he could get me out of his car and get back home, but he sure made it easy to forget my usual awkwardness.

  “Well, I like good music, as you know. I play baseball. I want to play ball in college, so I pretty much keep my head down and play as well as I can during the season. Off-season, I can have a little fun.”

  “Summertime too?”

  “A little. The team at Perry is having practices this summer. The coach wants everyone to keep up their skills. Makes me a little worried that I’ll be playing for some farm team, but we’ll see.”

  “What position do you play?” I didn’t know a thing about baseball, but I tried to cover it well.

  “I’m the pitcher.”

  “Ever get hit?”

  “Once. Ball bounced off my glove and broke my nose.”

  I laughed. “Sorry,” I said when I saw his face. “Not funny.”

  “Not at the time, no.” Then he laughed. “But later I guess it was. It swelled up pretty big.”

  “Okay, music, baseball, what else?”

  He held up his hands. “I like to work on old cars. I’m trying to convince my dad to buy this old junked Camaro I found on Craigslist. It doesn’t run, but it could be gorgeous. Oh, and we’re going to have a killer vegetable garden in the backyard soon.”

  I laughed.

  “Tell me about kids around here,” he continued. “What am I going to find at Perry High School?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. This will be my first year too.”

  “Ah, that’s right. Ninth grade?”

  I nodded.

  “We’re both newbies then. We’ll have to stick together. Navigate the halls of terror.”