“Who are you?”
“You have to name me.”
“How about ‘Sweetie-Pie’?”
Knowing they would have to stop for gas within an hour’s driving, Donna allowed herself three cups of the dark hot coffee with breakfast.
When Sandy’s plate was clean, Donna asked if she was ready to leave.
“I have to make a pit stop,” the girl said.
“Where’d you pick
Sandy shrugged, grinning.
“Uncle Bob, I bet.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I have to make a pit stop, too.”
Then they were on the road again. Just north of San Luis Obispo, they pulled into a Chevron station, gassed up the Ford, and used the toilets. Two hours later, in the bright heat of the San Joaquin Valley, they stopped at a drive-in for Cokes and cheeseburgers. The valley seemed to go on forever, but finally the freeway curved upward to the west, and the air lost some of its heat. The radio began to pick up San Francisco stations.
“Are we almost there?” Sandy asked.
“Where?”
“San Francisco.”
“Almost. Another hour or so.”
“That long?”
“Afraid so.”
“Will we spend the night?”
“I don’t think so. I want to go far, don’t you?”
“How far?” Sandy asked.
“The North Pole.”
“Oh,
It was after three o’clock when Highway 101 sloped downward into a shadowy corner of San Francisco. They waited at a stoplight, turned, watched for signs marking 101, and turned again: up Van Ness Avenue, left onto Lombard, finally up a curving road to the Golden Gate.
“Remember how disappointed you were the first time you saw it?” Donna asked.
“I’m still disappointed. If it isn’t golden, they shouldn’t say it is. Should they?”
“Certainly not. It is beautiful, though.”
“But it’s orange. Not golden. They ought to call it the Orange Gate.”
Glancing out toward the open sea, Donna saw the front edge of a fog mass. It looked pure white in the sunlight. “Look at the fog,” she said. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“It’s okay.”
They left the Golden Gate behind.
They passed through a tunnel with a mouth painted like a rainbow.
They sped by the Sausalito off-ramp.
“Hey, can we go to Stinson Beach?” Sandy asked, reading the sign for the turnoff.
Donna shrugged. “Why not? It won’t be as fast, but it’ll be a lot prettier.” She flicked on her turn signal, followed the curving ramp, and left 101 behind.
Soon they were on the Coast Highway. It was narrow: far too narrow and far too crooked, considering the steep drop just across the left-hand lanes. She drove as far to the right as the road would allow.
The fog lay just offshore, as white and heavy as cotton batting. It seemed to be moving slowly closer, but was still a good distance away from shore when they reached the town of Stinson Beach.
“Can we spend the night here?” Sandy asked.
“Let’s keep going for a while. Okay?”
“Do we have to?”
“You’ve never been to Bodega Bay?”
“No.”
“That’s where they filmed that movie
“Oooh, that was scary.”
“Should we try for Bodega?”
“How far is it?” the girl asked.
“Maybe an hour.” She ached, especially in her back. It was important, though, to keep going, to put more miles behind them. She could stand the pain for a while longer.
When they reached Bodega Bay, Donna said, “Let’s keep going for a little while.”
“Do we have to? I’m tired.”
“
Soon after they left Bodega Bay, fog started to blow past the windshield. Fingers of it began reaching over the lip of the road, sneaking forward, feeling blindly. Then, as if they liked what they felt, the whole body of fog shambled onto the road.
“Mom, I can’t see!”
Through the thick white mass, Donna could barely make out the front of the hood. The road was only a memory. She stepped on the brakes, praying that another car hadn’t come up behind them. She steered to the right. Her wheels crunched gravel. Suddenly the car plunged down. 2.
An instant before the stop threw Donna into the steering wheel, she flung an arm across her daughter’s chest. Sandy folded at the hips, knocking the arm away. Her head hit the dashboard. She started to cry. Donna quickly turned off the engine.
“Let’s see.”
The soft dashboard had left a red mark across the girl’s forehead.
“Are you hurt any place else?”
“Here.”
“Where the seat belt got you?”
She nodded, gulping.
“Good thing you had it on.” Her mind pictured Sandy’s head breaking through the windshield, jagged glass ripping her body, then the last of her disappearing into the fog, forever lost.
“Wish I hadn’t.”
“Let’s undo it. Hold on.”
The girl braced herself against the dash, and Donna unlatched the seat belt.
“Okay, let’s get out now. I’ll go first. Don’t do anything until I say it’s all right.”
“Okay.”
Climbing out, Donna slipped on the fog-wet grassy covering of the slope. She clung to the door until she found her footing.
“Are you okay?” Sandy asked.
“So far, so good.” Holding herself steady, she peered through the fog. Apparently the road had curved to the left without them, and they had nose-dived into a ditch. The rear of the car remained at road level: unless the fog was too thick, it would be visible to passing cars.
Donna worked her way carefully down the slippery embankment. The Maverick’s front bumper was buried in the ditch. Steam hissed from the crevices of the hood. She crawled across the hood, got down on the other side, and climbed the slope to Sandy’s door. She helped the girl out. Together they slid and stumbled to the bottom of the ditch.
“Well,” Donna said in a voice as cheerful as she could muster, “here we are. Now let’s have a look at your wounds.”
Sandy untucked her plaid blouse and lifted it out of the way. Donna, squatting, lowered the girl’s jeans. A
