nest.
“Only promise me one thing, Mitch.”
His eyes grew warm as he looked at Mom. “Anything.”
“Please don’t take him out on your Harley.”
“Aw, Mom!” Christopher groaned.
Dawn chewed her lower lip. Her mother was going to Merced for a week. Just because she’d agreed to leave Christopher home with Mitch didn’t mean she wanted to take her daughter with her. Dawn remembered how Mom and Oma would have afternoon tea on the wisteria-covered patio in Paxtown. Granny never sat with them, and when Dawn had, the conversation felt stilted. Mom and Oma always seemed to have things to talk about. And Mom was one of the most reticent people Dawn knew; she hardly talked to anyone, except Mitch, and then mostly in quiet voices or behind closed doors.
While Christopher came up with a dozen more ideas on how he wanted to be entertained for a week, making Mom and Mitch laugh, Dawn spoke up. “Can I go with you to Merced, Mom?” She held her breath as her mother considered it.
“I think it’s time you did.”
29
Mom wanted to leave early. Dawn packed shorts and tops, sandals and toiletries in a duffel bag and set her alarm for five. She didn’t want Mom leaving without her. She lay in bed wide-awake thinking about Jason. He’d be working right now, stacking cans on shelves or sweeping and polishing the floors of the grocery store. He’d probably met some pretty checker a couple of years older and wiser, some fast girl who’d promise him a good time and know how to keep herself out of trouble. Rolling over, Dawn punched her pillow. She hoped Jason had been listening to Pastor Daniel. She hoped he’d run like Joseph did when Potiphar’s wife tried to seduce him.
Bleary-eyed in the morning, Dawn dressed and took her duffel bag into the kitchen. Mom sat with a cup of coffee, a pensive look on her face. She glanced up in surprise. “I thought I’d have to wake you.”
“I set my alarm. I didn’t want you sneaking off without me.”
Her mother gave a soft, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t do that. Would you like breakfast before we leave?”
“I’d rather eat along the way. Could we?”
Mitch came out in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his red hair sticking up all over his head like a little boy’s. Mom’s eyes softened and glowed.
“Didn’t want you going without a kiss.”
Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’ll be in the car.” She grabbed her duffel bag. One thing hadn’t changed in the eight years Dawn had known Mitch. He still couldn’t keep his hands off her mother.
It would be nice if Jason felt that way about her. Just thinking about him made Dawn’s blood warm.
Mom followed her out. “I thought we’d take our time and use country roads. Do you know how to read a map?”
“Not really.”
Mom opened a California map and refolded it. “We’re here. Just follow the yellow highlighted roads. We’re going to follow this little black line to Calistoga and meet up with Highway 29 through Yountville and Napa.” She traced the route with her finger. “We connect here with Highway 12 and then head east through Rio Vista.”
“Great.” Dawn tried to make sense of the map. “Have you gone this way before?”
“Yes, but you haven’t.”
“We could end up in Sacramento with me as guide.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Christopher probably talked Mom’s ear off when they went on their excursions. Dawn didn’t feel much like talking. She kept thinking about Jason, trying to figure out a way to see him before school started. She looked out the window at the hedgerows of blooming roses. Mitch had rosebushes all around his vineyard too. He told her they drew bees for pollination, but were sensitive to disease and gave vintners early warning so they could take preventive measures if necessary to save their vines.
The road went through Napa and took them south of town onto Highway 12. Dawn watched for signs. “There’s the turnoff to Interstate 80.” The road snaked through the hills and curved onto the interstate. Dawn warned of the exit to Rio Vista.
Mom smiled as she took the off-ramp. “Good job.”
Dawn felt inordinately pleased. “Thanks.” She gave her mother a bright smile. “I can relax now, right? We’re on the road to Lodi.”
“Oh, Lord, stuck in Lodi again.”
Dawn looked at her, wondering what on earth her mother meant.
“It was a Creedence Clearwater song.” Mom shrugged. “Way back when.”
The road narrowed and took them over undulating hills covered with dry grass. A C-130 military transport took off from Travis Air Force Base and flew overhead. Dawn leaned forward, watching it make a wide circle. “Practice landings, probably,” Mom told her, eyes straight ahead.
“Didn’t you and Mitch take Christopher to an air show at Travis while I was at Jenner last summer?”
“We didn’t think you’d be interested.”
Dawn hadn’t been asked, but then bringing that up would only build a thicker wall between them. They crossed over a delta slough and drove on to Lodi, where they found a small diner. Dawn ordered waffles and scrambled eggs with bacon.
“You must have Oma’s metabolism.” Mom ordered a small bowl of fruit and a cup of coffee. The waitress went off to place the order.
Dawn toyed with the menu and tucked it back into the stand that held the sugar dispenser, salt and pepper shakers, and a bottle of ketchup. “Did Papa teach you how to read a map?”
“No. I learned on my own.” Mom put her hands in her lap like a schoolgirl. “I once drove from San Francisco to Bethel, New York, and back again.”
Dawn stared at her, amazed. “By yourself?” That sort of an adventure didn’t fit her mother.
“I was with a friend.”
“What was in Bethel, New York?”
“Woodstock.”
Bemused, Dawn pictured the little yellow bird in a Charlie Brown cartoon. “Woodstock.”
Her mother looked amused. “Ancient history, I guess. It was a rock concert.”
Dawn laughed in disbelief. “You drove thousands of miles across country to go to a rock concert?”
She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Me, Chel, and lots of other people from around the country. It wasn’t just a rock concert. It was a happening.”
Chel seemed an odd name. “Was Chel a guy?” Her father, perhaps?
“Rachel Altman. She was my best friend.”
“Oh.” Then why didn’t her mother ever talk about her? Why hadn’t she ever heard the name? Dawn played with the silverware. “How was it?” She glanced up. “Woodstock, I mean.”
“Great. The music, at least.”
Talking to her mother was like trying to scrape burned spaghetti out of a pot. “What wasn’t great about it?”
“Well, it rained. The field turned to mud. There wasn’t any shelter. The few outhouses overflowed. The food ran out.” She shrugged. “The organizers didn’t think any more than two hundred thousand would come. Five hundred thousand showed up.”
“Five hundred thousand?” Dawn tried to imagine that many people in an open field and couldn’t.
“Everyone came to celebrate the music.” Mom’s expression became distant. “We all talked of peace and love, though it was already too late. We were so naive.”
Naivete had never been one of the faults Granny laid at Mom’s feet.
