Carrie And Me: A Mother-Daughter Love Story Part 33

Kyle looks at Charles. "She gets down about the baby sometimes."

Charles nods.

"So anyhow, that dude on Hollywood and Wilc.o.x? The shoe repair guy? He tells me he'll fix my boots if I sweep out his shop for a few nights. Easy trade for fixed boots."

"Yes," Charles agrees.

"No, really, man. These are, you know, special boots. My mom gave me these boots for Christmas. I hadn't spoken to her in about two and a half years. We had some problems. But then she tracked me down a couple weeks before Christmas. I mean, right out of the blue!"

Kate takes this in. Kyle continues. "And she says, 'Hey, Kyle, what do you need?' "

"You could've said a car!"

"No way, Lucy. My mom's not rich or nothin'. I couldn't ask her for a car."

"She bought your brother a car."

"Yeah. But he's not a f.u.c.kup. Anyway, Charles, I asked her for boots. And sure enough, they came about a week after Christmas. They were late, but they got here. New boots. Just shy of a hundred bucks. I had to work 'em pretty good, the leather was stiff. She even got my size right." Kyle looks at his boots. "That was two years ago." Kate takes the plane ticket out of her bag and looks at it for a long moment... .

It's late at night. F.M. is driving. Kate's asleep in the pa.s.senger's seat. It's raining out, the wipers barely making the road visible. The truck radio plays softly. The DJ's voice comes on:

That was Reba McEntire. News and weather is next. Rain all night, ladies and gentlemen. So, bundle up with your sweetie and enjoy Mother Nature's show. By late tomorrow it'll be sunny and hot, and you'll wish it was rainin' again. As for the news, investigators in Ohio have recovered the black box from the site of yesterday's-

The truck dies, the radio goes dead. Right in the middle of the road. F.M. tries to start the engine again. No good. Kate wakes up. "What is it?"

"Not sure." F.M. looks in the rearview mirror. "We should get her out of the road."

Kate has the window down, steering the pickup as F.M. pushes from behind. The rain is whipping hard and they're both getting soaked. After finally managing to safely park the pickup on the side of the road, F.M. and Kate settle in for the night. He's in the front, covered in jackets. She's in the back, with a blanket and her jacket as a pillow. The rain pelts the roof of the car.

"I'm really sorry, Kate. Guess I wasn't payin' attention to the gas gauge."

"It's okay."

"Are you cold?"

"A little, but I'm fine, F.M. Really. I've always loved the sound of rain on metal. The louder the better."

"Why's that?"

"I dunno. I guess it forces you to just listen. And wait."

They are both quiet for a few moments, before Kate adds, "I think when it rains like this, it's the only time in my life when all I do is just sit and breathe."

The truck falls silent again.

Kate wakes up the next morning. Groggy, she sees a note taped to the steering wheel. "Went to get gas and food. Back soon."

She stirs, puts on her jacket, gets out of the pickup, and stretches. A tidy but ramshackle home sits across the road, partly obscured by trees. Smoke rises out of the chimney. Kate takes it in before settling back into the car.

It's damp, cloudy, and cold. Bundled up in her jacket, Kate takes out her pad, wipes it three times, and begins sketching the house across the way. When she's finally finished with her sketch, she sits there, s.h.i.+vering. Not much to do now but wait.

An hour later Kate gets out of the car, crosses the road, and walks hesitantly up the path to the house. She doesn't get far before a woman's voice startles her. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

An elderly woman, clearly blind, with one leg amputated below the knee, moves out of the trees, deftly using her cane for support. "Well, I didn't see you, either! But then again, I don't see much of anything these days. You the one with the broke-down car?"

"Yes."

"Mmmm. I heard it chug-chugging last night. Run outta gas?"

"Yep."

The old lady clucks to herself. "You kids, always in a hurry, but not doin' much plannin' for how to get there. You hungry?"

"Yes, a little. But I don't mean to impose on you."

"Nonsense, I'm glad for the company." Reaching out her hand, the elderly lady says, "I'm Emma Dee."

"Kate."

They shake hands and walk toward the house.

Inside it's clean, spare, homespun. Kate looks around at photos and bric-a-brac collected over the course of a lifetime, while Emma Dee is tending to some biscuits, eggs, bacon, and coffee on the wood-burning stove. A photo of a much younger Emma Dee, with a man and two little boys, catches Kate's eye.

Over her shoulder Emma Dee says, "That's my husband, Robert, and my kids. The tall one's Robert Junior, and the baby is Todd. That was taken back in 1965."

Kate is a little taken aback that Emma Dee could tell what photo she was looking at. "Where's your husband?"

"Oh, he's dead. Since '83."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too. Robert and I met when we were two years old. Our mothers were best friends. Never was any doubt that Robert and I would marry. It was fate. G.o.d's will."

"You must miss him."

"Every day. I can't see the pictures too good anymore, but in my mind I can see him, young and runnin' around, laughing and playing catch with the boys in the yard."

"Where are they? The boys."

"Oh, they're gone, too. Not dead, but moved away. Country living doesn't offer much to young men with stars in their eyes. Robert Junior is in Chicago. Works for a big-time lawyer. Got a wife and three kids of his own now. They come visit 'bout once a year, but the kids get bored here. Think there's nothin' to do. I can't travel too well these days. Diabetes."

"Is that how you lost your leg?"