Journey, The (8 page)

"Ah, come on," Scott said. "We just got started."

"I'm not a peep show, Scott."

Shelly cracked her window and took a look outside. Several high school students went from car to car, raising hell wherever they went and turning the generally tranquil front row of the Rodeo Drive-In into an eastern Oregon Mardi Gras.

"It looks like we've got company tonight, including half of your peer group."

"They're just cutting loose," Scott said. "Last night was a pretty big deal. I can't remember the last time we beat Canyon Creek."

Scott had played no small part in that pretty big deal. He had passed for two touchdowns and run for another as Unionville defeated rival Canyon Creek, at home, 41-24. He had fumbled the ball three times and broken his collarbone in a 54-0 road loss the previous year.

When another reveler pounded on his window and shouted, "Happy birthday, Scotty!" the senior quarterback sat up in his seat, rolled down his window, and shouted back.

"Get a life, you animal. You kick ass!"

Scott called his primary receiver back to the window and commenced a riveting ten-minute discussion on the ineptitude of the Cougars' defense. Canyon Creek had given up 500 yards.

Shelly tuned out their conversation and the sights and sounds of
Butch and Sundance: The Early Days
, which emanated from an ancient screen fifty feet away and a metal speaker that hung from the top of a rolled-up window. She instead stared at smudged glass and thought again about someone who had been on her mind all week.

When Scott finally finished talking X's and O's with Tommy Montgomery, he rolled up his window, leaned back on his door, and addressed the neglected party.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Someone," Shelly said.

"Me?"

"No."

"Oh. May I ask who?"

"Miss Jennings."

"Who?"

"The new attendance secretary," Shelly said.

Scott laughed.

"You have to be kidding."

Shelly turned away from the window and gave him an icy glare.

"I'm not kidding."

"I'm sorry, Shelly, but you have to admit that's funny."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because she's just a lady at school. Who cares about that?"

"I do."

Shelly stared at Scott again, this time more thoughtfully.

"Did I tell you that she looks just like my mother and has her maiden name?"

"No."

"We have the same first name and birthday too. She told me at lunch. She just walked up to my table, sat down, and a minute later told me she was forty-nine. My mom is forty-nine. No woman that old tells people her age. Not in this town. Yet she did. She volunteered it, and I can't figure out why. She even wears her hair in a ponytail, just like me. It's spooky."

"Spooky? Spooky? I'll show you spooky."

Scott gritted his teeth, held up his hands, and wiggled his fingers as if he were a scary monster and not simply an annoying high school senior. He had a real knack for hitting the wrong notes at the wrong time. In this case, though, his juvenile attempt at humor was more than enough to bring a smile to her face.

"You're impossible," Shelly said.

She held the smile for a moment and then stared back out the window. She reflected again on something she did not understand but badly wanted to understand.

"I know I shouldn't get worked up about stuff like this. I barely know this woman. She's nothing to me. Yet I keep thinking about her. I can't get her out of my head."

Suddenly solemn-faced, Scott slid over to the other side of the car and put his arm around his pensive companion. He gave her a gentle hug and kissed the side of her head.

"I don't know what this is all about, Shelly. I really don't. But it's obvious that this bothers you. If this lady's important to you, then she's important to me."

Shelly studied Scott for a moment with serious eyes. She had two boyfriends. One was a pompous, insensitive ass she wanted to strangle at least twice a day. The other was a thoughtful, caring young man who had never failed her when she was troubled or down.

She kissed him lightly on the lips and then asked him to slide back on their seat. Locking her eyes to his, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, took it off, and placed it gently atop the car's ample rear deck. Condensation again covered each of the windows. When Shelly repeated the process with her bra, the one without the Velcro snaps, Scott Richardson cocked his head.

"I thought you weren't a peep show," he said.

"I'm not," she answered in a soft voice.

Shelly smiled sadly and threw her arms over his shoulders.

"I'm your birthday present."

CHAPTER 15: MICHELLE

Thursday, September 27, 1979

Michelle thought about flying crows as she walked from Unionville High School to her apartment on Eighth and Jefferson. Equipped with wings, she would have had to travel barely a mile from her workplace to her home. Equipped with Nike Waffle Trainers and firmly attached to the ground, she had to travel two. But she didn't mind walking across town twice a day. Not yet anyway. She wanted the exercise and winter was still months away.

So when school faculty and staff drove by and asked Michelle if she wanted a lift, as happened often, she always said no. She said no to Ross Anthony, the science teacher, as he began an eastward trek down Riverside Drive and said no to Marsha Zimmerman, fellow paper pusher, as she waited for a light. But she didn't say no to the driver of an orange Volkswagen Beetle shortly after crossing the William Henry Harrison Street Bridge.

"Would you like a ride, Miss Jennings?" the girl behind the wheel asked.

Michelle peered through an open window and smiled at the driver. She had waited days for a greeting like that and gobbled it up.

You still like me.

"I'd love one," Michelle said.

The time traveler opened the passenger door and got in. Settling into a black bucket seat, she searched with her right hand for a seatbelt and, when she found it, pulled it across her waist.

Shelly Preston laughed.

"What?" Michelle asked.

"I've never seen anyone use that seatbelt. It's mostly an annoyance."

"Well, it's an annoyance I can live with."

Michelle turned to face Shelly.

"Are you sure this is no bother?"

"Not unless you live in Walla Walla or Hermiston. I'm just planning to meet April and Brian at Big Bill's. They have amazing root beer floats."

"So I've heard."

"Where should I drop you off?" Shelly asked.

"The Benson apartment complex on Eighth and Jefferson. It's where I live."

"That's where April lives. She's the one who gave me the snow globe."

"I remember."

Her right hand on the 8-ball at the end of her shift stick, Shelly shifted down and tapped the brake pedal as she approached a red light at Second and Harrison. When the car rolled to a stop, the driver turned to face her passenger.

"I'm sorry I haven't been very friendly the past week, Miss Jennings. I've wanted to say hi. I really have. But every time I passed your window, I thought of all the things we had in common. It still freaks me out a bit."

"I understand," Michelle said. "It
is
strange. But the coincidences are just that: coincidences. And you can call me Michelle. 'Miss Jennings' is way too formal. 'Miss Jennings' is what you would call an old lady with thick ankles who sells cosmetics door to door."

Shelly beamed and blushed.

"Don't you have gymnastics practice?" Michelle asked. The question drew a puzzled look from the driver. "I saw in the school paper that you were on the team."

She was learning to cover her tracks.

"We had a meeting today. No practice. We never have a workout the day before a meet, just in case someone twists an ankle or something. My coach is very superstitious."

Shelly glanced quickly at her new friend before returning her attention to the road and proceeding through the intersection.

"You should watch our meet tomorrow. We could use the support. The only people who watch gymnasts are parents without jobs and boys without girlfriends. It would be nice to see someone else in the bleachers."

"I'll be there," Michelle said.

The secretary frowned slightly as she watched Shelly turn east onto Eighth Avenue and then reach across the dash to untangle the pink fuzzy dice hanging from her rear-view mirror. She thought again about her course on this strange, new journey and the impact she had already had on several young lives. Michelle loved helping people. She could not think of a better way to spend her abundant free time. But she wondered whether she had the right to interfere, even subtly and positively, in the lives of people she was never supposed to meet, or at least meet as a middle-aged time traveler from a galaxy not so far, far away.

Michelle looked out her window and laughed to herself as she watched houses and businesses go by in a blur. She must have made this run, from the school to the Benson apartments, a thousand times in the very same car. But for some reason, none of those trips were memorable. She was a driven young woman then, a girl with a plan, a teen who zipped around town with a witty peer and not a 49-year-old woman who looked a lot like her difficult mother.

Where was this going?

Shelly gave her a short-term answer when she drove into the apartment complex parking lot. She pulled into the only available space and turned off the ignition.

"I guess this is where I drop you off," she said.

"I guess so."

Michelle looked at Shelly wistfully as she unbuckled her seat belt and put a hand on her door. The car ride to the apartment had been far too brief.

Shelly returned the gaze. She lifted her hand off the stick, wiggled an extended index finger, and opened her mouth slightly, as if prepared to say something. But she dropped her hand and closed her mouth when her passenger unlatched the door.

Michelle pushed the door open and put a foot on the pavement. She started to swing her other leg out the door when Shelly grabbed her forearm.

"Miss Jennings," she said, in a measured, timid voice. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

Michelle returned to her seat and looked at the girl.

"No. Not at all."

"Have you made friends here? One of my teammates, Sally Ewing, said you just moved from Seattle and that you lost your husband and didn't know anyone. Not a soul."

"She said that?"

"She did. She thinks you're really cool for helping her with her homework the other day. Most teachers and parents wouldn't have done that and you didn't even know her."

"I like helping people, Shelly, particularly teenagers. I know how difficult school can be for kids your age," Michelle said. She smiled warmly and cocked her head. "I was young once too."

Shelly brightened.

"As for friends, I've made a few. I'd like to think of you as one. But, no, I haven't done much socializing or met a lot people since I moved to town."

Michelle stepped out of the car, shut the door, and popped her head in the open window.

"Thanks for the ride. I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Michelle?"

Michelle returned to the window.

"Yes, Shelly."

"Would you like to meet my friends?"

CHAPTER 16: MICHELLE

Thursday, September 27, 1979

There was nothing small about Big Bill's Drive-In. The burgers were big, the chicken baskets were big, and the famous root beer floats were big. Even Big Bill was big. A colorful statue of a farmer in overalls the size of the Lincoln Memorial greeted drivers and pedestrians who frequented the fast food restaurant on the corner of Eighth and Jackson.

The bills at Big Bill's, however, were quite reasonable, unless you ordered food by the truckload, which is why Michelle had no qualms about picking up the tab for her party of four.

"Thanks, Miss Jennings," Brian Johnson said as he finished a bite of a double cheeseburger. "I didn't eat lunch today, so this is definitely a bonus."

"You're welcome, Brian. I'm just doing my part to fight world hunger."

April and Shelly laughed.

The girls sat opposite Michelle and Brian in a booth that featured padded vinyl seats and half the colors of a rainbow. More than twenty others occupied similar tables in the air-conditioned dining area of the fast-food restaurant, while, outside, drivers of cars stated and repeated their orders to speakers embedded in lighted plastic menus.

Michelle's transition from authority figure to high school buddy had been pleasantly seamless, thanks in part to fast thinking. She had answered open mouths and skeptical glances, during the introductions, with an offer to be as sparing with her judgments as she was generous with her money. She knew that a quick wit and a friendly smile did wonders in situations like this and knew that teens could be surprisingly accommodating when someone else paid the bill.

Michelle smiled at the sight of April laughing. She had missed that face and the delightfully complex personality behind it.

"Shelly tells me that we are neighbors," she said to April as she sampled her root beer float. "I just moved into Apartment A-6, the studio."

"We're in C-6, just across the parking lot. It's the Taj Mahal."

"You don't like it?"

"It's all right," April said. "I have a big bedroom and the living room's pretty nice. We even got cable last week. But it's not the same as a house. I'd really like to have a house someday, with a large yard, and not have to move every time my mom changes boyfriends."

Michelle considered a follow-up but let the matter drop. She knew April's story as well as her own. Following the shooting death of her father in Yakima, April, then nine years old, had followed Delores Burke and a slick-talking man named Earl Pratt to Unionville. The adults had found jobs in a food processing plant and a slice of paradise in a double-wide on the outskirts of town. But their union in Unionville had lasted less than two years. By the time April had reached the eighth grade, she had lived in five different homes with five different men she could never call Dad.