© Copyright 2005
by Elizabeth Delayne


The road around them was long and straight as they headed across Texas. Out, away from the cities, the only lights came from the car. The brights pointed straight, highlighting the edges of the road.

The world, Deána thought, seemed suddenly so small; just her and Josh and the long, open road.

"You're awfully quiet."

Deána only lifted her eyebrows. The drive had been long, as long as the evening had felt. There and back. One long day.

She looked out into the darkness. "It's late."

"Yeah ... but I thought ..."

"What?"

"I don't know. I thought you would ... have comments, at least."

He sounded angry, a step up from the discomfort she'd seen in him since the day he'd asked her to go with him. The invitation had been for a dinner to honor his parents anniversary, but it hadn't been much of a celebration of anything.

"They're your family, Josh. You've done nothing but prepare me."

"Look, I can't help that they're the way they are."

"I know."

"My mother didn't say two words to you."

"I know."

"And my brother—"

He didn't say it. He didn't, or couldn't. Or maybe, he was asking. Maybe he wanted her to fill in the details that he could probably guess. His brother was married, had flirted with her, propositioned her in the corner of the kitchen. Josh hadn't been there, but he'd warned her; so he knew.

"Why do you want to fight with me about it?"

"I don't want to fight with anyone," he said, even as he slammed his fist against the wheel.

The car hummed efficiently. He took care of it like it was a religion. Deána thought that Josh had gotten such need from his parents. She could see them in him now, in bits and pieces.

Controled bits and pieces.

But he was loosing control quickly, running, she thought, from the life he was leaving behind. The car picked up speed.

"Josh," she said quietly. "Stop the car."

"What?"

For a moment he looked at her, and for a moment, she was afraid. The look in his eyes was slightly wild, slightly panicked.

"Stop the car," she said again, quietly.

"Here?"

"Yes. Please."

Impatient, he jerked the wheel so that the car moved to the side of the road. For a moment, they swerved on the edge as he slammed on his brakes. When the car came to a stop, his jaw muscles tensed even as he took a deep breath. Just as she'd thought, he pushed himself out, slamming the door behind him. The car shook.

He walked out, to the edge of the headlights, his back to her. His fists rested on his hips, his breathing labored.

Deána gave him a few minutes. The overhead light dimmed. She folded her hands in her lap and prayed. She'd never seen this side of him. She didn't know what to do, how to handle him.

College had opened a door of escape for him. He'd found a new family, through friends first, then through the people at church. In the midst of building a new home for himself, learning to lean on his new family, they'd met. He was no longer alone—no longer trapped in the house they'd drive from a few hours before.

He'd hidden his past from her for a long time, he hadn't talked about it—not until the night that he'd asked her to go with him to meet his parents. He'd met hers, of course, within their first few weeks together. He'd taken to her mother. Deána thought she understood now why he had—so easily, so perfectly.

His own mother seemed ... well, incomplete...not like a mother ... cold and distant. It wasn't that she hadn't talked to Deána, but that she hadn't asked more than a few surface questions of her own son—a son she hadn't seen in more than two years.

Maybe, Deána thought, his mother wanted to pretend that everything was natural and normal. That, Deána could have understood, and would have believed if Josh had not painted a much different and telling picture. She'd thought he'd been exaggerating. If anything, he hadn't been able to tell her everything.

She watched him standing mostly in the shadows until his head dropped forward and his shoulders sagged. She opened her door and slowly slid her legs out. She'd worn a new skirt, a flowing blue and white floral print that hit right at her knees. It had cost her a fortune, but she'd thought—or at least hoped—it would create a good impression.

She could have worn a paper bag and created much the same impression; and given his mother something to talk about, to boot. At least then she would have seen some type of real emotion.

The gravel crunched beneath her feet as Deána walked toward him. She stopped, just behind him.

"I'm sorry," he said without turning around.

"For what?"

"For letting it bother me." He lifted his arms, let them fall back to his side. "For all of this."

Deána stepped forward, placed a hand on his arm and let it slide down. "It should bother you."

"Not anymore."

"You don't face them everyday," she reminded him. "I understand that now."

Josh turned around slowly, studied her even though she knew she stood mostly as a silhouette to the bright lights behind her. "Can you understand that I'm ashamed of them? That I had hoped ... prayed for you to see a different side to them? That maybe, if I showed them someone that truly made me happy, they would be happy?"

"You have family now. You have me. My mom, my dad ... Luke, Peter, Snickers ..."

He smiled a bit when she mentioned the little dog he'd given her—one he'd found that had looked much like the one she'd grown up with—but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

He looked away from her and she fought back the hysteria. "Look at who you are—the man you are—"

The man I love—she thought, the words nearly spilling out because of the panic. She hadn't told him yet. Now was not the time. Their emotions seemed to far gone, too high pitched. No, it wasn't the right time. She wasn't sure he would take it anyway, that he would understand. Not tonight.

"We choose who we become," she told him. "We don't choose our families."

For a moment he stared at her, then lifted a hand to touch her cheek. "No, you're right, we don't always ... Still, you must know why I finally broke down and took you there."

"You've met my family."

"I met your family a year ago. I knew that ... before I could ... I knew that I wanted you to see, before things progress any further between us."

"Did you think it would change my mind?"

"I don't know. Part of me was afraid I would change mine," he turned, looked into the darkness. "I've taken other girls home. I've heard them cut my parents down. Deep inside, it hurt. They were only repeating the words I said—they were only speaking the truth."

"But they're your family."

"Their mine. For worse and worse."

She smiled. "So you wanted me to say the things you were thinking. Make you feel better."

"Maybe then I wouldn't need you so much."

"Maybe so," she took his hand. "But you might still need my mama's chicken pot pie."

"Probably."

"You won't get any if you go and break up with me in ... where are we?"

"I wasn't going to break up with you—I hadn't thought that far."

"That's good then."

He smiled. Finally

"So where are we? You know this strip of road better than I do."

Josh turned, took her hands in his, and for a moment, just looked at her.

"Josh?"

"We're somewhere," he said at last, "Somewhere, I guess ... close to home. For both of us."

HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!







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