Journeys

By Lisa Colodny

Caren Rivers never really considered the busy lives of the drivers who passed through her toll booth. Some she encountered frequently, daily, as they moved from place to place along their journey. Others, she doubted she’d ever see again. 

She’d always wondered what made them chose one route over another. Was the ob

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kingston Publishing Company
• Release date: Jun 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781970068870

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Copyright

Journeys is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

JOURNEYS: A NOVEL

Copyright © 2018 by Lisa Colodny

All rights reserved.

Editing by Michelle Areaux

Cover design by KP Designs

Published by Kingston Publishing Company

The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

For Aunt Carol as you make the journey home.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About the Author:

Chapter One

What a mess! She thought gathering up the various fast food wrappers and mostly empty Styrofoam cups before tossing them into the small overflowing trash can next to the door of her booth. Caren Rivers dropped the top of the trash can harder against its base than she intended before noticing the young operator at the toll station nearby. 

She glanced at her watch and waited as he stuffed several large text books into a worn backpack. Sharrone isn’t here yet, she advised.

The young man, stood wearily to his feet, scraping the metal chair across the tiny space of the floor. My shift ends in three minutes. I can’t wait for her.

Caren looked at the growing line of traffic waiting at the toll booths to pay. She hated when the line was so long, hated to waste their time when there was so much more they could probably be doing with the time. Can’t you wait a few minutes? I’m sure she’ll be here.

No, he shook his head and rubbed a smooth hand across the stout hairs that protruded from his face. I work the night shift because I have classes all day. He rubbed his chin. Don’t even have time to go home and shave. He pointed across the traffic lane to the service pavilion before pulling his orange backpack higher on his shoulder. Gonna grab a bite really quick. Then I’m out of here.

She watched as he slid out of the booth and ran across his lane and then hers, just as a car slowed to a stop at her window.

Morning, the driver said with a thick British accent as he handed her a dollar bill. 

Caren fumbled to open a roll of quarters, to give him his change. Just a minute, she said, tearing at the paper around the rolls end. We start each morning with sealed rolls, sorry.

Take your time. He leaned away from her, closer to the passenger seat and rearranged the white laboratory coat draped over the head rest. His long, slender fingers caressed the fabric as if to erase away any wrinkles or creases. The line was horrible, yesterday. He crinkled his nose as he finished the statement, his wire glasses, moving further up his nose until they collided with the bridge between his eyes.

I’m sorry, she answered, handing him a quarter. I’ve been under the weather for a few days. Her eyes traveled back to the service pavilion where the young man’s figure was easily discernible at the table finishing his breakfast. We don’t always have a replacement when someone calls out.

In any event, I’m glad to have you back. He’d barely finished the sentence before rolling up his window. Have a good day. See you tomorrow! he said as his car pulled past her window.

She watched until it merged with the traffic before sliding atop the tall stool, noticing his license plate for the first time. Customized, she thought, with the logo of a nearby medical school. She’d wondered over the years what type of role he had in healthcare. It was a small comfort to know at least that little piece of his life. She’d remember to inquire what hospital he worked at when he passed through tomorrow.

Thank goodness, she said to the next driver as several of the cars moved from her line to the other lane that had just opened. Morning Sharrone, she called out across her shoulder to the operator in the booth recently vacated by the student.

Sharrone was a tall, meaty African American woman with slick back hair that she styled into several braids atop her head.  As usual she was dressed to the nines with half a dozen gold bracelets and rings adorning nearly every finger. She held up a hand, bracelets jingling against her wrist. before dumping a new roll of quarters into the cash register. I can never get back into the groove after a long weekend.

She took the fare quickly from the hand of the driver. You had a really long weekend? She called to Caren as several other cars stopped and paid the toll. Was it that flu that’s going around?

Caren motioned for the next car to pull forward. No, wasn’t the flu. She smiled to the driver, a middle-aged man with a handsome smile and a splatter of hair around his ears and neck. Beautiful morning? She said quickly before noticing several brightly wrapped presents all but belted into his passenger’s seat. Is that grandbaby finally here?

He smiled to her and handed her a dollar bill. Any day now.

This is your first, right? She asked thinking, after all the years he’d been driving through her booth, she’d never seen anything that inferred he had grandchildren. 

Yes, he took his change from her hand. My son, Andrew and his wife are about to be parents. He paused before adding quickly. Do you have any grandchildren?

Yes, her voice was low, faint. But I don’t get to see her very often.

Doesn’t live locally?

Actually, she stuttered, fumbling with her hands. She lives nearby. I just don’t get to see her often. My daughter and I haven’t spoken in many years.

I’m sorry, his words seemed genuine.

Not working today? She changed the subject, noticing he wasn’t wearing the polo shirt he usually wore with his engineering company logo on it.

No, I’m off for a few days; driving to Ohio. He pointed to the pile of presents. Wanted to pick up some things for the baby and my daughter in law.

You just have the one son? She asked, not bothered by the line of cars building behind him.

No, my youngest son, Ben is still in college. He paused, before looking up into the rear-view mirror at the agitated driver behind him.

Don’t mind her, Caren said, reading his thoughts.  A minute here, a minute there. She’ll get where she’s going eventually. Everyone does.

You have a good day, Caren. He said, raising his window and pulling away.

You too, she said leaning through the window to acknowledge the next driver.

Why is it that the half hour we get for lunch, goes by so quickly? Sharrone asked, wiping her Tupperware container clean and dropping it into an isolated lunch bag.

Caren smiled. I think the time goes by quickly here. And I enjoy interacting with familiar faces and engaging new ones.

That’s true but I’m glad you’re back. It’s so boring when you aren’t here. Sharrone paused. Seizure again?

Caren looked around their immediate areas to ensure no one was within hearing distance. Yeah, I had a bad one Thursday night.

Still don’t remember anything about the event?

No, I have flashes afterwards of faces, people but nothing ever makes any sense. Kind of like a dream. She thought of her husband, alive and well before the fire, before her world went up in flames.

You need a ride home? Save your bus pass for a day I’m not working. Sharrone knew what Caren was thinking, she knew how it felt to miss someone you loved so.

You’re a good friend, Sharrone. Caren squeezed her hand. I appreciate how you’ve helped me since my husband died. She considered how foreign the words still sounded. It was easier to pretend he was away on business or fishing with his brother. That was easier than remembering how the fire illuminated the night sky or how the wood smelled as their house burned to the ground.  She braced herself for the familiar gut pinch as the guilt swallowed her whole.

That’s what friends do, right. I know you miss him. Mine’s been gone over fifteen years but I still miss him as much as the day he died. She smiled thinking of him in his conservative gray suit standing in front of his congregation to deliver God’s word.

Caren closed her eyes as if she could erase the burning memories. Is your daughter coming home from college anytime soon? She looked out the window, hoping for a driver as a distraction. I mean I know how lonely it can be coming home every night to an empty house.

She comes when she can.

Sharrone watched a car approaching her booth. I’d hoped your daughter would come around. It’s been so many years since your husband died.

She’s never been able to forgive me. Caren’s words were slurred, almost a whisper.

Forgiveness isn’t hers to give. Sharrone spoke as if she were reading from a bible. It was an accident.

If I hadn’t been drinking, didn’t turn the space heater on before we went to bed. Caren saw him in her mind, sleeping peacefully, snow falling lightly with the moon as a backdrop.  She could only imagine her young son sleepy upstairs in his bedroom, oblivious to what was coming.

I still hear his screams, you know. She said to no one in particular.

It was an accident, Caren. Nothing more. Your husband went back inside the house to get your son. Sharrone whispered before clearing her throat. Did your doctor make any changes to your medications?

No, he said my seizures are a normal part of epilepsy and I have to be more consistent with taking my medications. She stopped talking, then added quickly. Speaking of doctors, guess who came by this morning?

Sharrone shook her head, before tossing her lunch bag into the bottom of her locker. 

The guy who always has his white coat hung over the passenger’s seat.

A lot of people who pass through here wear lab coats, Sharrone reminded her.

The skinny blonde guy with the British accent.

Ichabod? Sharrone laughed.

Caren didn’t respond.

Sharrone went on. Ichabod Crane, that’s what we call him.

Caren didn’t smile. Instead she shook her head. We should get back. Lorene will have a fit if we’re even a minute late.

Ever since she was promoted to supervisor, she’s become impossible.

She’s just doing her job, Sharrone. Caren snapped her locker door closed and secured it with a tiny padlock. Isn’t that why we’re all here?

Caren saw the shiny sports care approaching, knowing the car would swerve at the last minute and enter into her lane of traffic.  She smiled as the red car screeched to a halt and the pretty, young blonde rolled down the window.

Afternoon, Caren called out, without really looking up from the register.

Hi Caren, the blonde said, her voice thick with tears.

Caren looked up from stacking her quarters, holding her hand out to collect the money. Everything okay, Honey? she asked, seeing the red, swollen eyes of the blonde woman.

Just found out my grandmother died. She choked on the words.

I’m sorry, she handed the blonde her change. Had she been sick?

She’s struggled with diabetes for many years. The woman rummaged through her purse searching for a tissue.  Caren handed her one through the window as the blonde went on. She’s been better with giving herself insulin but she forgets a lot.

Were you close to her?

When I was younger, yes. I used to love to accompany her on her cosmetic route. I’m not able to get home as often as I’d like with work and all. She pointed to her briefcase laying in the backseat. I made partner at my law office last spring. She wiped at the tears that ran freely down her cheeks. I will miss her.

My husband died many years ago. Caren explained. Sometimes I forget and still make his morning coffee. She didn’t need to mention how many times a day she thought of her son.

The blonde wiped her eyes dry, I’m sorry. She paused. Was he ill?

He was diagnosed with cancer the summer before he died but his death was accidental, Caren explained.  The driver of the car behind the blonde honked the horn, but neither Caren nor the blonde reacted. Instead, Caren went on. He was such a big fan of the forty-niners; he’d just come back from a game when he died. She smiled. I buried him in his black suit and red forty-niners tie.

I’m so sorry, the blonde explained looking behind as the driver honked again. I’ve got to go. She pulled away from the booth. See you next week. 

Caren?  Sharrone called from her booth and pointed to the sports car as it pulled away. We call her pretty blonde lawyer.

Caren smiled, You’re incorrigible. Her amusement died as she watched Sharrone fixate on an old Chevy truck as is slowed to a stop at her window. Sharrone? It came out as a warning.

I see him,

Should I get Lorene? Caren’s hand hovered on the panic button inside her booth near the window.

No, it’s okay. If he doesn’t have the money for toll, he’s not getting through the gate.

The truck slowed to a stop, Caren watched as Sharrone waited for the young man to offer the fee.