his cruiser thinking, as usual, that it was the towns in the southern part of the state that got all the action, and that was just the way he liked it!
“Good luck finding your rust-red Ford pickup, McCormick,” he said as he started up the cruiser, backed around, and pulled out into the street.
II
I t’d be a great day for a drive, Dale thought, if they weren’t driving north for the funeral of their best friend.
After packing, they took off just before noon, driving up Route One, stopping for a quick lunch at Burger King in Bangor, and then continuing up I-95 to Houlton. North of Bangor, though, the highway got pretty monotonous, just pine trees and open fields punctuated here and there by maybe a swamp or lake thrown in for variety. Between the boredom of the drive and the sadness they both felt, any pleasure they might have felt at having some time together quickly evaporated.
Larry’s death left Dale with an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was a physical emptiness that made him think of the dull concussion of a gun going off too close to his ear. But what was worse was seeing his own loss reflected in Angie’s face. She looked pale and aged beyond her years, and he found himself worrying how much of her youthful vigor would be lost forever. Through much of the ride, she sat silently, her head leaning against the window, her eyes staring blankly at the road unscrolling in front of them.
Several times along the way he had tried to talk to her about it, but after a few empty-sounding platitudes, variations of “Larry wouldn’t want you to be this way,” he fell silent, deciding that first of all, she had to absorb this loss at her own pace; and second, they would have plenty of time during this week and the months ahead to share their memories and feelings. He tried to resist the thought that he was simply avoiding dealing with it; but after losing Natalie, he knew emotional shock when he felt it.
They got off the Interstate at Exit 62, crossed the Meduxnekeag River, and after a quick “pit-stop” for gas and rest rooms at LeDoux’s Mobile station, started south toward Dyer on Route 2A.
The road wound through thick, green-shaded pine forest. Dale had the impression that they were driving through a twenty-mile-long tunnel from Houlton to Dyer, but at last they hit the north end of town. It had taken them longer to get there than Dale had expected and it was almost six o’clock when they pulled into an empty parking spot right in front of Kellerman’s restaurant.
“Looks like the local pizza-and-beer joint,” Dale said as he leaned over the steering wheel, regarding the restaurant.
Angie smiled weakly and nodded. “Looks like they serve breakfast here, too.”
Dale nodded. “Well, I guess it’s too much to expect to find a McDonald’s around here. Do you want to get something to eat now, or should we find a place to stay for the night and then come back?”
Angie let out a long, whistling sigh as she looked at the dirt-streaked front window of Kellerman’s. Sun-faded posters in the window announced the local fair and a variety of church suppers and social events.
“Let’s look for some place to stay, first. Maybe we’ll see a better restaurant,” she said tiredly.
Dale backed out into the street and started back up Main Street. He figured they called it Main Street around here because it didn’t look like there were too many other streets in town. They passed a church on the right and a combination town hall and police station on their left and came to an intersection with a blinking yellow light. Across the intersection, Dale saw the Mill Store with its stand of gas pumps. An overweight man in faded bib coveralls was slouched by the gas pumps when Dale pulled in.
“Excuse me,” Dale said, easing up to the pumps but positioning his car so it would be obvious he didn’t want gas.
The snoozing man snorted and, shaking his head, looked up with a furrowed squint. He
“Good luck finding your rust-red Ford pickup, McCormick,” he said as he started up the cruiser, backed around, and pulled out into the street.
II
I t’d be a great day for a drive, Dale thought, if they weren’t driving north for the funeral of their best friend.
After packing, they took off just before noon, driving up Route One, stopping for a quick lunch at Burger King in Bangor, and then continuing up I-95 to Houlton. North of Bangor, though, the highway got pretty monotonous, just pine trees and open fields punctuated here and there by maybe a swamp or lake thrown in for variety. Between the boredom of the drive and the sadness they both felt, any pleasure they might have felt at having some time together quickly evaporated.
Larry’s death left Dale with an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was a physical emptiness that made him think of the dull concussion of a gun going off too close to his ear. But what was worse was seeing his own loss reflected in Angie’s face. She looked pale and aged beyond her years, and he found himself worrying how much of her youthful vigor would be lost forever. Through much of the ride, she sat silently, her head leaning against the window, her eyes staring blankly at the road unscrolling in front of them.
Several times along the way he had tried to talk to her about it, but after a few empty-sounding platitudes, variations of “Larry wouldn’t want you to be this way,” he fell silent, deciding that first of all, she had to absorb this loss at her own pace; and second, they would have plenty of time during this week and the months ahead to share their memories and feelings. He tried to resist the thought that he was simply avoiding dealing with it; but after losing Natalie, he knew emotional shock when he felt it.
They got off the Interstate at Exit 62, crossed the Meduxnekeag River, and after a quick “pit-stop” for gas and rest rooms at LeDoux’s Mobile station, started south toward Dyer on Route 2A.
The road wound through thick, green-shaded pine forest. Dale had the impression that they were driving through a twenty-mile-long tunnel from Houlton to Dyer, but at last they hit the north end of town. It had taken them longer to get there than Dale had expected and it was almost six o’clock when they pulled into an empty parking spot right in front of Kellerman’s restaurant.
“Looks like the local pizza-and-beer joint,” Dale said as he leaned over the steering wheel, regarding the restaurant.
Angie smiled weakly and nodded. “Looks like they serve breakfast here, too.”
Dale nodded. “Well, I guess it’s too much to expect to find a McDonald’s around here. Do you want to get something to eat now, or should we find a place to stay for the night and then come back?”
Angie let out a long, whistling sigh as she looked at the dirt-streaked front window of Kellerman’s. Sun-faded posters in the window announced the local fair and a variety of church suppers and social events.
“Let’s look for some place to stay, first. Maybe we’ll see a better restaurant,” she said tiredly.
Dale backed out into the street and started back up Main Street. He figured they called it Main Street around here because it didn’t look like there were too many other streets in town. They passed a church on the right and a combination town hall and police station on their left and came to an intersection with a blinking yellow light. Across the intersection, Dale saw the Mill Store with its stand of gas pumps. An overweight man in faded bib coveralls was slouched by the gas pumps when Dale pulled in.
“Excuse me,” Dale said, easing up to the pumps but positioning his car so it would be obvious he didn’t want gas.
The snoozing man snorted and, shaking his head, looked up with a furrowed squint. He
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