Amy & Roger's Epic Detour (20 page)

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh, opening his door and getting in. I stood outside the car for a moment longer, trying to get my face to cool down and feeling a small smile start to form on my face. Because if I remembered correctly, Roger hadn’t told the guy that it wasn’t true. This shouldn’t have made me happy. But it did.

As soon as Roger steered the car toward Kansas, the landscape began to look much more Kansas-like, even though we were still in Colorado. Soon the mountains were gone, and everything was flatter, dry-looking, straw colored—and we had our big open skies back again. As expected, the land was very, very flat. But it was just as arresting, in its own way, as the mountains had been. There was an expansiveness, a peacefulness to it, and I propped my feet on the dashboard, leaned my head back against the headrest, and just took in the scenery.

When we crossed the state line into Kansas, I noticed that signs with lights attached to the top began appearing at the side of the road, reading
WHEN FLASHING, TURN TO WEATHER ADVISORY CHANNEL
. I hadn’t paid much attention to these at first—I felt that after Colorado, it was going to take a lot to surprise me, sign-wise—until I realized that the weather advisory that the sign was referring to was most likely a
tornado
. Suddenly the skies didn’t seem so peaceful anymore, but at least, as far as I could see, they were still clear.

“Is it a person?” Roger asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Nineteen.”

“Is it a man?”

“No. Eighteen.”

“Is she alive?”

“No. Seventeen.”

“Is she famous?”

“Very. Sixteen.”

When we headed into the Sunflower Mart, without even asking, Roger grabbed a cream soda for me and a root beer for him, then made a beeline for the tiny apparel section.

“Amy!” he yelled, even though the mini-mart was empty.

“What?” I asked quietly, coming over to join him.

“Behold,” he said, spinning the black plastic display, causing the sunglasses, priced at $4.99, to whirl around.
“Sunglasses.”

I tried to figure out if this was his way of telling me that I’d been wearing his too much, even though I thought I’d been careful not to. I resolved not to wear them at all in the future. “Okay,” I said, embarrassed, walking over to the chip section and grabbing some Doritos.

“You can get some! And for a reasonable price, too.”

“I’m okay,” I said, picking up some candy. “But I won’t borrow yours anymore.”

“No, I don’t care,” Roger said, coming to join me by the counter, tossing down two mini Paydays by the register, and plunking down a quarter for them. “I just don’t want you to have to keep squinting into the sun.”

“I’m fine,” I said shortly, and I saw Roger blink at this, then nod and head back to the car as I handed over my credit card.

“Okay. So it’s a she. And she’s dead. And famous.
Very
famous. And she’s not Queen Isabella.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe that was your first guess. Fifteen.”

“How do you do this?” I asked, looking across Roger at the speaker box outside something called a Sonic Drive-In, where we were attempting to have lunch.

“There’s a cherry-lime soda on the menu,” Roger said, staring at the huge, illuminated menu adjacent to the covered area we’d pulled the car under. “I have no idea what that is, but I might just have to try it.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said, also staring at the menu, which was almost too much to take in. There was grilled cheese. There were tater tots. There was chili—
several kinds
. “They have mozzarella sticks. I have to get some.”

A crackling sound came out of the speaker near Roger’s side, then died away again. Roger tapped it tentatively. “Hello?” he asked. “We need mozzarella sticks out here!”

“So,” Roger said. His mix was playing for the third time, and I mouthed along to the lyrics of the Fountains of Wayne song I had already memorized.

Our Sonic lunch had come with two mints stapled to the brown paper bag, and I unwrapped one and dropped it into his palm, then realized what I’d done and sat back hard against my seat.

“To recap. She’s dead, very famous, and not Queen Isabella, Margaret Mead, or Queen Elizabeth.”

“Correct,” I said, staring out the window. “Thirteen.”

When we were an hour outside of Wichita, the skies began to darken. I thought I’d known what cloudy skies looked like. We did get them occasionally in California. But I’d never seen anything like this. There was just so much sky, and all of it started to look cloudy, and I got the sense that things might turn on us, very quickly.

“Um. Roger?”

He glanced over at me, looking stressed. “I’m thinking,” he said. “Don’t rush me. I only have one question left.”

“Not that. I was just wondering … do you know when tornado season is?”

“Oh.” I saw him peer outside, as though noticing the cloudy skies for the first time. “Hmm. No. Do you?”

“No.” I looked out at the clouds, which were now covering the entire landscape, hanging low, and stretching on for as far as I could see.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “the signs aren’t flashing yet. So maybe we don’t need to think about it.”

“Okay,” I said, but I stared out the window, worried about what might be headed our way.

Roger stared at me in disbelief.
“Who?”

“Ethel Merman,” I said, helping myself to some Skittles. “She’s female, dead, famous.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of her,” he said, frowning at the road.

“She’s a renowned actress! She originated most of the major musical theater roles.”

Roger just shook his head. “I think you made her up. I want a do-over.”

“All right,” I said, turning in my seat and facing him. “Your turn.” As I said this, we crossed the city limits into Wichita, and I let out a sigh of relief. Even if a tornado did show up, at least we weren’t in the middle of the highway, totally vulnerable.

“Wichita,” said Roger. “Finally.” He extricated his cell phone from the cup holder, where it had been buried under the collected detritus of the day—candy wrappers, white Sonic napkins, empty soda bottles. “I should call Drew.”

Roger had started talking about Drew more as we got closer, mostly trying to stall as he pumped me for Twenty Questions clues. He didn’t think we’d need to stay the night in Wichita—and we really didn’t have time for that, if we were going to make it to Kentucky—but he thought it would be a good place to take a break. And seeing how tired Roger was looking, how he kept shifting in his seat, I realized that he was probably ready for a rest. I was too, actually. My butt was starting to go numb, and my leg muscles were feeling tight. “Drew’s a friend from college?” I asked.