Cabin Trip

“I’m so glad you survived,” she says, her voice fluctuating through the open car window. I guess that the unusual pitches are her attempts at concealing her emotions. She hops in.

“Same.” I still can’t make the words come. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her and she won’t forgive me anyways, her promise notwithstanding. I drive away from her house.

“You haven’t changed. You just got older.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I lived an entire life.” The bite of her words stung both of us. I pause at the stop sign, probably to the consternation of the blue Camry behind us. Thoughts now collected, I proceed.

“Yes, I know. I did not interfere.” That was the theme of our last time we saw each other. 

She switches to a happier memory. “Do you remember the last time we were in the car together?”

“I was driving you back from the cabin.”

“We had fun that time with Mom and—” She caught herself. "I'm sorry."

“Sure did," I say flatly.

…

Her silence since we merged on the interstate is fine by me, but I can see her fidgeting with her purse.

“There are more options than to interfere or total radio silence, you know,” she says.

“It seemed best,” I say. My objection to her union, all those years ago, still burned in her mind. I did it because she chose someone too much like me, and I did it on her wedding day because that was the only option. When she screamed at me to never meddle in her life, I figured that was that. Now almost thirty years have gone by.

“It wasn’t best,” she says. The traffic is light. The big rig and the small sedan behind me are the only cars around on this stretch of road.

“Are you sure you want to go to the cabin? It’s a long drive,” I said. While I do not mind the conflict, I don’t want her to suffer from me any more than she already has.

“Of course! You owe me, Dad. You owe me a lifetime of family, of being there for me. All I had my whole life after your divorce was Mom, and you know exactly how she is."

"Yes."

"Do you know what it’s like to have a living parent that never once speaks to you for decades? If all I can get is one trip to the old lake cabin, then I’ll take it. I was so relieved that you survived your… your…”

“Gunshot,” I said for her.

“Right. I’m so grateful that you recovered!” Her smile was genuine, according to my training. Behind her, I see that the next exit has a Kwik Trip.

“It’s been a few months, but I’m as good as new—except the scar,” I tap on my chest. She did not seem to notice my wince at the first tap, which reminds me to not wince at the next one as I take the exit.

“And at your advanced age, that’s impressive.”

I laugh. “You’re no spring chicken, yourself.”

She didn’t laugh. “I was. I was young, full of energy, and so ready to start my family the last time you saw me.” I pull into the stall for gas.

“I had my opinions, you had yours. Family members don’t always agree.”

“Maybe not. I’m going to use the bathroom,” she says. With that, we both exit the car.

“Hey,” I call out as she’s about to leave. “Still like licorice?” She smiles, nods, and heads inside as I pump the gas before also heading inside.

…

“Excuse me,” I say to the young man in the hoodie as I pass him exiting the store, sacks in hand. Which stall is my car? Oh right, next to the—whoa, that’s a weird coincidence. It’s next to that blue Camry. That car is empty now and I did not see the driver from before. It has Indiana plates though—487URN. My mind is flooded with paranoid thoughts, or are they reasonable? I was not cautious enough the night I was shot. “487URN, 487URN,” I say as a memory tool.

I hop in the car and hand Lisa her snacks and a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she says. I start the car and head back to the interstate.

…

The silence this time is even longer, which is still fine with me. I am busy with the task of identifying the driver of the blue Camry. It is following us, I am sure of it. When I slow down, it slows down. When I speed up, it always catches up. The driver keeps enough distance to prevent me from seeing them, which has me concerned. I am not armed on this trip.

“Dad, maybe I was harsh on you, but you were harsh on me. You were telling everyone how wrong my spouse was for me on the day of my wedding.”

“I saw myself. I could not believe you would be happy with someone that was so like me.”

“Well, it was my choice, and I was always going to make my choice. I’m as stubborn as you.”

“That’s true.”

…

“Welcome to Minnesota, Lisa.” I point at the sign.

“Almost there!” She says, unaware that the blue Camry is also almost there with us.

“Yes we are. Three states in a day, just like back then.”

“I am so glad you agreed to this trip. This is what we needed. I need you to be my dad again, like when you used to take me here.”

“I don’t know about that.” I sigh. “I’m keeping up a long family tradition of not being there for my children.”

“Shut up,” she laughs.

…

As we exit the final part of the interstate at Eau Claire to take state highways and county roads the rest of the way, the blue car follows. The sun is long gone and Lisa yawns.

“Should we get a hotel room?” I ask.

“No, I can make it if you can. This is a cabin trip, not a hotel trip.”

Perhaps I can lose our guest in these backroads. After a series of speeding up speeding up to take a turn out of sight of our uninvited guest, the same headlights always follow. A confrontation with the driver is inevitable.

“It could be dangerous,” I say flatly.

“What could, the road?”

“I just mean that the police haven’t caught the guy that tried to kill me. He could still be after me.”

“And he would be looking for you in Minnesota?”

“Maybe he is targeting me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, nothing.” My hesitation reveals that I am concealing something.

…

“Only 30 minutes now, Lisa—whoa!” The pursuing car passed us on the left, catching me off guard. I am able to see a short glimpse of the driver’s figure. All I can make out is long hair. It has to be the attacker that tried to kill me before! He had long hair too, although I thought it more likely that he was a burglar than a hitman. Now I know the truth, but I don’t know who sent him. Wait, that does not make any sense. The car is passing in front of me, so it must have been coincidence all along. Can that really be true?

“What? What’s wrong?” Lisa says rapidly.

“That car has Indiana plates, 487URN, see?”

“Right, I see.” The car speeds off ahead of us.

“They have been following us since I noticed them at the first gas station, and I thought they were the same car that was near your house.”

“That is rather poetic, don’t you think? Having fellow travelers come so far together, but not together. Same roads, same origins, but different destinations and not talking to each other.”

“I like the way you put that. But when I caught a glimpse, I thought it was the man that shot me, so I was not thinking of poetry at all.”

She looked at me. “I’m so sorry. That attacker really destroyed your peace, didn’t he?”

I turned on the final road to the cabin. “Yes he did, but he also reminded me of what is important.”

“Look, the cabin!” Lisa said. Its roof is visible from the cars high beams as we make the final approach.

“Just as I remember it. I have only been to it every two years since the last time we went.”

“This is exactly what we needed,” she says as I turn to park.

“I agr—” the words halt in my mouth, which opens wider. The headlights fully illuminate her, the now Mrs. Marie Albers. I can’t believe it.

“Mom?! What are you doing here?!” Lisa asks incredulously.