Lay Down The Highway

“Lori, I don’t…,” Andrew trails off, sighing heavily. This is miserable. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to say no to her in this moment– if he ever did.

He had called her from a motel room outside of San Antonio, accepting the charges without even asking how much they’d be. He just wanted to hear her voice. 

“Where in the world is Andrew Brown?” she’d asked as soon as she picked up the line.  

For a moment, he’d considered lying to her. He could be vague, distract her with stories from the road until she’d forgotten she asked. “Actually.” He knew he didn’t have it in him. “I’m in your neck of the woods. Greetings from Texas.” 

“No shit.” Her excitement was obvious through the phone. “How long you been here?

“I only got in today. I’m just passing through. Movin’ east.” 

“Andrew, you gotta come see me!”

He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d planned for this. He’d played it on loop, the last time he was in Texas and they had gotten drunk in the flatbed of her truck on his last night in town. She had been laughing as she said, “Andy, you better stop dropping in on me if you’re gonna keep making me see you off,” but it had struck him so hard he had sat there stone sober for another hour while she lazed beside him. He’d stayed away ever since. 

“Aw, Lori, you know I would, but you’re gonna be too busy for it with your whole family coming to town.”

A few years ago, Lori moved to the place that her family had been calling home for only one week at a time every summer. She always said she loved it so much she never wanted to leave, and made good on that sentiment with a small house only ten minutes from the beach that had been the first waters she ever swam in as a child.

Lori didn’t even skip a beat. "Join us, then!”  

What does a person say to that? Andrew wished he had someone sitting next to him that could whisper the answer into his ear. “I don’t… Lori, I’m not sure. It seems last minute. Wouldn’t the others want to know that someone is gonna crash their vacation?” 

“You’re not just someone. And you wouldn’t be crashing, Jesus, Andrew. I’ve always wanted you to come.” 

Andrew blinks. “Really? I didn’t know that.” 

“Mm. I just… You’re too far away to reach sometimes. And, I don’t know. I guess I figured you’d think it was lame. Being forced to spend a week with a family and it ain’t even yours.” 

“I like your family. They’re good people.” 

“They are good people. Which is why you should come. It’s a week of drinking beer and pretending to read whatever book you pack and drinking some more beer. How bad could it be?”

He hears the smile in her voice. He can picture her so clearly it’s like he’s in the room with her: twirling the green phone cord around her finger as she talks, standing in that shaft of sunlight that always comes into her kitchen at this time of day. 

Andrew feels his resolve crumbling at the sound of that smile, weak thing that he is. “When is everyone getting in?”

“I’m goin’ after work tomorrow to pick up my cousins from the airport. We’ll all head over to the rental together.” She sounds smug, like she already knows he’s going to give in. 

“You’re not taking Friday off?”

“Nah, not since I’ll be out all next week. I gotta squeeze as many dollars as I can outta half a paycheck.”

“Money been tight for you?”

“No more than usual. Don’t worry. Besides, what would you do if it was? Being a drifter pays well these days?”

“I do alright. I could take care of you.”

“You already do.”

— — —

The Saturday bus takes him most of the way, but Lori still has to drive thirty minutes to pick him up in Angleton. He feels bad making her do it. He knows the rush hour traffic of all the men coming out of the chemical plant makes this time of day a headache, bumper to bumper of old shitty pick-ups, never moving fast enough for the AC to kick in. 

But when her truck comes grumbling into the empty station parking lot and she hops out without turning the engine off, she’s beaming, her usually dark brown hair a blazing red-gold in the setting sun. 

“I’m sorry I’m sweaty!” she says into his shoulder, her arms wrapped tight around his neck. “Goddamn humidity!” 

He digs his hands into the damp fabric at the small of her back, closing his eyes against the feeling of her nose digging into his jaw. “Goddamn humidity.” 

They drive with the windows down, listening to one of the Joni Mitchell CDs he’d burned for her a few birthdays ago. Blue Motel Room plays from the tinny speakers. 

Lori lets one of her arms hang out the side of the car, her fingers riding along the wind like dolphins in the wake of a ship. “This song always makes me think of you.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She glances over at him for a second and smiles. “You and your road maps from two dozen states,” she quotes just as Joni sings the same words. 

Andrew huffs, tipping his head back to rest against the seat. For a while, he watches farmland go by, cows and horses and a sky turning more purple by the second. Then, a thought occurs to him. “The walls in my room were blue,” he says, “where I was staying in San Antonio.”

Lori laughs, bright and loud. 

“Will you still love me when I get back to town?” Joni croons. 

— — —

By the time they’ve stopped at a drive through for greasy burgers and fries, ate them in a parking spot while swapping stories of months and months worth of missing out on each other’s lives, and drove the rest of the way to the rental, it’s been hours and the house is dark. The porch light has been left on for them.

Andrew collapses onto a deck chair. Lori drops into the seat next to him. 

“Shit,” Lori mutters, “I shoulda asked my mom where we were gonna put you.” 

“I don’t wanna be taking up space that y’all don’t have. I can sleep on the couch.” 

Lori doesn’t even grace him with a response. She stretches her legs out, kicking off her flip flops. “Man, it’s nice out tonight. All the wind’s been keeping the mosquitoes away.”

“It feels good.”

“Doesn’t it?” 

Andrew closes his eyes. The drone of the waves is like a lullaby, soothing enough that he sinks more heavily into his chair. “Maybe I’ll just sleep out here tonight,” he murmurs. 

“Maybe I’ll join you,” Lori says, sounding just as close to sleep as he feels.. 

— — —

The next time Andrew opens his eyes, it’s to the sun shining right in his face. He flinches against it, digging his knuckles into his eyes. He peeks over at Lori and she’s still slouched in her chair, just as he left her some ten hours ago. 

He sits up and his back feels like murder. He groans his way through a stretch, leaning over to shake Lori’s knee gently. “Lor. Hey, c’mon, time to get up.” 

She goes to swat at him, but cuts herself off with a groan of her own. “Lord Jesus,” she moans, “When did we get too old for this?” 

It’s quiet when they shuffle inside, only two people in the kitchen.

Lori’s mom, Luz, abandons her place at the stove. “There you are! I was wondering what happened! Leo said you never went to bed last night.” 

Leo sits at the counter, shoveling eggs into his mouth, shrugging at his little sister’s accusatory glare. “Well, you didn’t. For all I knew you could be dead.”

“Yeah, you seem real broken up at the thought,” Lori bites. 

Stepping between her bickering children, Luz gathers Andrew up in a hug, kissing his cheeks. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

Andrew blushes. “Thank you for having me, ma’am.” 

She pulls back, resting her hands on his forearms. “Okay. Here’s the deal. We’ve got a bit of a full house. I know you’re going to say you’ll just sleep on the couch, but that thing is already covered in sand and dog hair. So,” she draws Lori forward, “what do you two think about sharing a bed? Leo said he’d swap so you can have the bottom bunk since it’s bigger.” 

“My saintliness knows no bounds,” Leo says. 

“You’re sharing a bunk bed with your brother?” Andrew asks, unable to hide his amusement. 

Lori digs her elbow into his side. “It’s a bunk room, asshole. There’s like six of us in there.” 

“Seven now,” Luz says, looking pointedly at Lori. The kind of look that says she was asking before, is telling now.  

“Seven now,” Lori agrees, nodding. She looks up at Andrew. “Do you mind? I’m sorry. I should’ve thought about it before.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” He says it to convince himself as much as her. 

Pleased with their compliance, Luz kisses him again. The next hour is filled with greetings and fawning and fussing as people wake up, a million questions about where he's been, why it’s been so long, hearing how lucky everyone feels to have him for the week. 

It’s flattering and exhausting. By the time Leo and Lori are itching to go down to the beach, Andrew joins only to peel off to take a walk along the shore. He’s not used to this much company.  

Lori watches him go, arms folded, knee deep in the surf. He glances back once and she’s still there, still watching. The second time he does it, he watches her tackle Leo into the waves.

— — —

By the time he makes his way back, two of Lori’s cousins, Alejandra and Carmen, are under the tent. Alejandra is poring over a book of Greek myths while Carmen naps on a towel. Leo attempts to bury her legs in the sand without waking her up. Lori is laying out in the sun, tan skin glistening with salt water.  

Andrew sits, careful not to disturb the peace. He’s content to not talk, just listen to the omnipresent static of the waves and smell the salt the wind draws up from the sea, little whiffs of Lori’s coconut-scented conditioner reaching him every so often, too. 

Alejandra scoffs, the sound loud enough in the bubble they’ve created that Andrew cracks his eyes open. He sees Lori shift in her chair, blinking awake and squinting out at the water. 

“What’s up?” Leo asks, not looking up from the grooves he’s drawing in the sand to make it look like Carmen’s legs had been replaced by a mermaid’s tail. 

“It’s this story I’m reading. Orpheus and Eurydice. You know it?”

“Is that the one where he shouldn’t look back at her but he does? And his girl gets stuck in Hell forever or something?”

“That’s it. It’s so stupid. I hate that he turns around. He went through all that, and for what? He almost had her!” Alejandra shakes her head, flipping the page. “So stupid,” she mutters again, more quietly. 

“They should’ve sent you down to get her,” Leo teases. 

“They should’ve! I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t have turned around.”

Andrew glances over at Lori. She’s wrinkling her nose, brow furrowed, but doesn’t say anything. The wind drags her hair across her face and water drips from her legs. Like she can feel him staring, she tips her chin towards her shoulder to look at him, grinning when their eyes meet. 

“Hey, you. I didn’t see you come back,” she says, ignoring her cousin. “You wanna go get a snack with me?” 

They take requests from the others on what drinks they should bring when they return, and begin the trek up to the house. Andrew jogs up ahead to test the heat of the boardwalk, calling back to Lori that she should be okay to go across barefoot. It’s too narrow for them to walk side by side, so Andrew leads the way. He wants to talk to Lori while they walk but the insects are so loud in the dunes there’s no point. 

Halfway across, Lori yelps. Andrew is turning around before he can even think about it, doubling back to check on her. “You alright?”

Lori waves her hand. “Yeah, sorry, I just stepped on a nail head. It freaked me out more than it hurt.” She lifts up her leg to inspect the bottom of her foot and her shoulders drop in relief. “It didn’t even scratch me. I’m alright.” She giggles a little, like she’s embarrassed of herself. 

“That’s a good thing,” Andrew asserts, “Can you watch where you’re stepping when you got no shoes on, please?”

“Sir yes sir.” Lori salutes. 

They finish their walk without further interruptions. As he chops up lettuce to go on their sandwiches, Andrew thinks about Alejandra and her gripe with Orpheus. He doesn’t think Orpheus is so stupid. Or, he is, and Andrew is, too. 

— — —

Despite the lingering ache in his muscles, Andrew can’t resist the allure of sitting out on the deck to watch the stars again that night. For a while, the whole gang sits with him, chatting and pointing out tiny satellites moving fast. One by one, they retire inside. 

Lori sticks it out with him the longest, but eventually even she hauls herself to her feet. “I’m headin’ to bed.”

“I think I’m gonna stay up a little bit longer.”

“Alright.” She pats his shoulder heavily, squeezing once.

Andrew can’t stop looking at the long curve of Scorpio in the sky, how it’s so obvious to him that it’s hard to fathom that the stars didn’t do it on purpose. He stares up at it for another hour before he can tear himself away. 

When he creeps into the bedroom, Lori’s already laying down, head turned away from the door. He eases himself down onto the edge of their bed, tense and slow in an attempt to not wake her or any of the other sleeping residents. He sits there for a minute in the vast quiet, listening to the even breathing around him and gazing mindlessly out of the window at the porch light still on from the house across the street. It casts the bedroom in a dull white glow.

A rustle from the sheets snaps him out of his inattention.

“Andrew?” Her voice is so low, thick with sleep. He wants her to say his name again. He feels bad for having woken her up. A brief tug at the back of his shirt makes his eyes flutter.

“Come to bed,” Lori says and now his eyes close entirely, shutting tight from the force of his want. “Come to bed” not “go to bed,” a beckoning closer rather than a dismissal. The domesticity of it almost bowls him over, in hearing it mumbled half-asleep.

He shifts again, sitting sideways so he can see her. She’s asleep again, or at least her eyes are closed— if they were ever even open.

As slowly and carefully as he can, he picks up the corner of the blanket and slides underneath.He rests on his back, staring up at the underside of the top bunk. For a minute, all is still and his eyes grow heavy.

Then Lori stirs again, twisting onto her side. He glances over to find her blinking against the weight of her slumber. She makes a small noise in the back of her throat, an acknowledgement to him lying there beside her, and her hand bridges the gap between them. She runs it down his arm once before resting it on the crook of his elbow.

“Good night,” she whispers, and she’s gone again.

He sinks into the both claustrophobic and miraculous prospect of sleeping beside her for the entire night— for each night he’s here. It makes his chest ache in a way it has been a lot lately. He takes a deep breath through his mouth and lets it sit in his throat for a while before pushing it back out again.

Later, he’ll wake up with Lori’s knee over his thigh.

Later, he’ll overhear her Aunt Sarah say to Luz, “I’ve been meaning to ask…Are Lori and Andrew dating? Or no?” and he’ll watch Lori hide flushed cheeks behind her dog-eared copy of The Hobbit. 

Later, they’ll drive back to the bus stop without talking, only the commercials on the country station filling the silence, and with his fingers curled around the door handle, Lori’ll blurt out, “Hey. Why don’t you come stay with me for a bit?” 

Later, one week will turn into two, will turn into him kissing her for the first time in her kitchen while she spoons coffee grounds into the moka pot. It’s a normal morning except for how it’s the best day of his life.

Later, the gnawing desire for long drives will feature Lori in the passenger seat, in the driver’s seat, in the backseat when they pull over and he pulls her on top of him, and he’ll realize he’s an idiot, and that thing he’s been searching so far and wide for had been on the other end of the line the whole time, twirling a green phone cord around her finger. 

But it’s not later yet. And he can’t see any of that coming in the here and now. He can’t see anything past her hair against the pillowcase. 

“Lori?” he whispers. 

“Hmm?” 

He opens his mouth to speak again, and nothing comes to him. He doesn’t remember what he was going to say. Whatever it was, it can wait ‘til morning.