The Summer Seekers

Kathleen reached into her bag for her sunglasses. It was a scorching day, the sun blazing through the glass into the cool car.

Those cocktails were making her maudlin.

Presumably Martha was suffering a similar attack of regret because yesterday’s chatter and enthusiasm had been replaced by tense silence.

Her gaze was fixed intently on the road in front as if it were an enemy to be defeated. Her lips moved slightly, as she conducted a silent conversation with herself.

Kathleen realized the girl hadn’t said a word aloud since they’d climbed into the car.

Martha had checked Kathleen’s seat belt three times and would have checked it a fourth had Kathleen not pointed out calmly that they were going for a drive, not space travel, and that the heavy crush of traffic seemed to preclude any racing tendencies that might be built into their rather flashy vehicle.

“Are you all right, dear?” Kathleen had welcomed Martha’s endless, bubbly chatter. It made her feel young again and gave her something to focus on other than her aching bones and unsettling thoughts. And it wasn’t as if their verbal exchanges were deep or probing. Apart from that one innocent query about whether Kathleen had visited California, there were no uncomfortable questions to deflect. It was Kathleen’s idea of perfect conversation. But from the moment Martha had helped Kathleen into the car, she’d stopped chattering and now her eyes—slightly wild, Kathleen thought—were fixed on the road as if she was braced for catastrophe.

“I’m concentrating. It’s—busy.”

It was a city, so of course it was busy. But Kathleen didn’t believe in stating the obvious, so she stayed silent and drank in the experience. Cars thronged bumper to bumper, crawling forward to a soundtrack of shouts and blaring horns. Drivers made sudden turns without giving any prior indication of their intentions. On top of that, navigating the route had proved challenging—a fact Kathleen considered to add an extra frisson of excitement, but which had caused Martha to breathe deeply several times and had no doubt added to her stress and punctured ebullience.

And now they were creeping along the edge of Lake Michigan with the Chicago skyline towering above them.

Kathleen felt she should say something reassuring. “I’m sure it will calm down once we leave Chicago.”

“I hope so or I estimate it’s going to take us at least a year and a half to complete this road trip. Not that I’m in a hurry. Or that I don’t love driving in traffic! It’s great practice.” Martha snatched a breath. “I’m not saying I need practice. I don’t want you to be nervous. Are you nervous?”

Someone in this car was nervous, Kathleen thought. And it wasn’t her.

“Why would I be nervous? You’re an excellent driver.” She had no idea if Martha was indifferent or excellent, but after that encounter with Liza in the car on the way to the airport she’d learned that a little encouragement went a long way.

“You think so?” Martha’s hands were locked around the wheel so tightly that if it had been a living thing it would have been long dead. “If you need me to slow down, tell me.”

If they drove any slower they’d be stationary. “Drive at any pace you wish. I hope you’re finding this car enjoyable to drive?”

> “Oh it’s—” Martha licked her lips. “It feels as if it would like to go fast.”

As if the car had a mind and life of its own. “You’re the one in charge.”

Martha sat up a little straighter. “Yes, I am.”

Finally they left Lake Michigan and the buzz and bustle of Chicago behind them and headed southwest out of the city. Martha’s hands gradually relaxed on the wheel. Her mouth still moved occasionally, and Kathleen managed to work out by a determined effort at lip reading that she was saying, Drive on the right.

Kathleen was reassured. A reminder was vastly preferable to a head-on collision.

They drove through the towns of Joliet, Elwood and Wilmington before crossing over the Kankakee River and continuing the journey south toward St. Louis. Each town was studded with nostalgia and quirky attractions. They passed neon signs advertising hot dogs and hamburgers, vintage diners, historic buildings and restored gas stations where they stopped to take photos in front of the shiny red gas pumps.

“I compiled a playlist,” Martha said. “But I’m thinking maybe I’ll get used to the car before adding music. Unless you’d like music. Some people hate silence.”

“Silence is underrated.” Particularly after three cocktails. “But it was thoughtful of you to put together appropriate music.”

“I’ve picked tracks for each place we’re visiting.” Martha’s focus on the road would have made a meerkat proud. Nothing escaped her attention. “Maybe later.”

Kathleen had the guidebook open on her lap, and also a notebook where she scribbled thoughts and observations. Even now, after so many years, it was instinctive to plan how she would present a place to the public. Part of her skill had been to get straight to the heart of the locality, showing what made it unique and special, knowing what would appeal and draw people in.

In her head she recorded a piece to camera.

When you hear the words road trip what do you imagine? Established in 1926, Route 66 has become one of the most famous roads in North America. There’s a reason it’s on the bucket list of so many people around the world. Over the next couple of weeks we’ll be traveling the 2,448 miles from Chicago to Santa Monica, crossing eight states and three time zones. We’ll be tasting food in historic diners, admiring murals, taking a side trip to the Grand Canyon and driving through flat planes, deserts and mountains before finally ending up on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. So join us as we take you on a journey not just through a varied landscape, but through American history.

At that point she’d smile at the camera, Dirk would yell “cut,” and they’d all celebrate with drinks in the nearest bar.

She’d prided herself on rarely needing more than one take. It helped that she always wrote the words herself.