The New Road

By Kath L. Hall

When her teenage daughter disappears, Judith is frustrated by the lack of assistance from the police. The authorities believe the teenager simply ran away. Judith drops everything to search for her daughter, Ariel, and slowly turns to alcohol to cope with her fears and frustration. Soon it's not just her daughter in jeopardy but her job and marriage. After a college student also vanishes, Judith searches for connections. Delving deeper, she discovers a dark side to her scenic small town in Vermont. An emotional tale of a woman's plunge into addiction and her struggle to find, not just her daughter, but the way back to herself. Fans of emotional family drama will want to follow Judith on her difficult journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098367282

Book preview

Chapter 1

Bent over the transportation contract, I missed Merri’s warning cough signaling Nick’s approach. Her desk was a few feet away from my office door. I loved having my own office, even if it wasn’t a lot bigger than my co-worker’s cubicles. The tiny windowless room was originally a closet. I kept the door open to stem the claustrophobia of my mini office. The doorway was angled so I could see Merri’s desk but not someone standing in front of the desk. In this case, it was our boss, Nick, head of the Audit division of the Vermont Agency of Transportation.

I turned back to the contract displayed on my computer screen, knowing it was too late to bolt to the outer office area. He half knocked on the door jamb and took the two small steps needed to be completely inside the room.

Don’t get up, he said. I turned my chair to the doorway but made no move to rise out of my seat.

Just wanted to check on the Sutton roundabout contract, he said, placing his long fingers on the back of my chair. I cleared my throat and leaned forward in my chair, away from his hand.

It definitely satisfies the state requirements, I said. I’m still working my way through the federal regs to make sure it meets those.

Most people would find reviewing contracts all day boring. But it was satisfying for me to work in a world where things were either in compliance or were non-compliant. Everything black and white with little room for interpretation. Unlike the hand on the back of my chair. I didn’t know Nick’s intention. The only certainty was how uncomfortable it made me feel. Was it sexual harassment? Intimidation? A misguided gesture of support?

You okay Judith? he asked. You seem a little tense?

Everything’s fine, I said with a weak laugh. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in the contracts that it’s hard when my focus is broken.

How’s the kid? he asked and leaned the top half of his body over me. Close enough that I could smell his woodsy aftershave and see the flecks of gray in his beard. He picked up the picture of Ariel I kept on my desk.

The picture was an old one, from fifth grade, but one of my favorites. Ariel’s hands on her hips, looking directly at the camera, full of pre-adolescent confidence and sassy fire. Blissfully unaware of the difficult teen years that lay ahead.

"The kid is seventeen now," I said, straining to keep the tension from my voice.

Are you serious? How did that happen?

He put the picture back in a different spot on my desk. He stood back and folded his arms.

She must be a senior this year? Has she picked out a college yet?

I let out a sigh. I didn’t want to get into it, especially not with Nick. He had a way of cataloging his staff’s personal details and bringing them up later to throw you off-kilter. Like when he mentioned Merri’s divorce at a staff meeting and my Mom’s cancer treatment during my annual review.

I didn’t want to share with him the fact that Ariel had left school, moved in with a roommate, and was working on her GED. I wasn’t completely onboard with her new situation, but I’d been swayed by Dean, my husband, and Ariel’s stepfather, to test drive the idea. Dean had convinced me that it was probably just a phase and Ariel would be back home by Halloween. I disagreed but we still had two months to go before Dean’s predicted deadline.

She’s still figuring things out, I said. It felt like the truth.

Aren’t we all, he grumbled. Nick’s two daughters from his first marriage were in college and his young second wife was newly pregnant.

Ain’t that the truth, I said with a stiff laugh.

Well, I’ll let you get back to work. But stop by my office at some point. I’ve got a new project for you that you’re gonna love.

New project? I stole a glance at the stacks of folders covering my desk. I had doubts about my ability to love any addition to the piles.

Sure, I hesitated. Any particular time?

Let’s make it tomorrow at 3:30.

Great, Friday afternoon, when my head would be halfway out the door.

Of course. I gave him a weak smile. Look forward to it.

I watched him walk out the door. Merri looked up from her computer screen, giving him a stiff smile as he passed her desk. She looked my way, slumped her shoulders, and gave me an exaggerated sigh. I shook my head and rolled my eyes. We would probably be Nick-free for the rest of the day. But I was already dreading tomorrow’s 3:30 meeting.

That evening, in the basement, I set the china plate on my worktable. I pictured Nick’s face in the shining reflection. I covered the plate with a cotton towel, raised my hammer and delivered a carefully aimed whack. I peeked under the towel and smiled. The thin plate broke into six sharp-edged pieces. The floral pattern still recognizable in the porcelain fragments. I tried to block out the upcoming meeting in Nick’s office. His visits to my little office were bad enough. Especially when he told me to close the door.

Our tabby cat, Jenga, thumped down the basement stairs and gave me a chirp.

You’re a cat, I said to her. You’re supposed to meow.

It’s what Ariel always says to her. Jenga gave me a blank stare before padding off to the laundry corner of the basement.

I adjusted my safety goggles, lifted the hammer again, and delivered three more short blows, reducing the broken pieces to a clump of jagged triangles. I’ve learned to ignore the superstition that if you break a plate it means trouble is coming. It took only fifteen minutes to break the dishes I bought last weekend at a yard sale. When I found the delicate plates stacked in an open cardboard box, I knew the Charnwood botanical pattern, with its pale mauve flowers and gold trim, would be perfect for my next mosaic project. Mauve is one of Ariel’s favorite colors. She could never pick just one.

By the time the plates were all broken, and the china shards placed face-up on the tray, I forgot all about Nick. I like how meditative mosaics can be. My favorite step comes after I’ve sketched a pattern and I try out different tesserae - bits of glass, ceramic, and stones - to see what will look the best. There’s no glue involved in this practice round. I am always dazzled by the beauty that can come from something broken. Mosaics are like painting with shattered glass.

I picked out the pieces I might use and placed them on a square of plywood. Later I’ll add rows of glass tiles in aqua, amber, and light green. I picked up my wheeled glass cutter to get the tesserae the size I want. Once I start on a new design, it’s hard to stop until it’s finished. The whole process fires my spirit.

Are you down there, Honey? Dean called from the top of the basement stairs.

I jerked my head up. Somehow, I missed the sound of the front door opening. It was easy to lose track of time at my work bench.

Yes, I called back. I’ll be up in a minute. I gingerly picked up each shard, careful not to cut myself, and placed them in the plastic tray.

I took off my safety goggles and hung them on the pegboard that faced my workbench. I turned off the swingarm lamp and clicked off the CD player.

Dean’s footsteps thumped away from the basement doorway and across the kitchen floor. He was easy to hear now that I had stopped working. He opened cupboard doors and loudly pushed them shut.

I let out a sigh and slid off my stool. I took one last look at my mosaics and walked up the steep basement stairs. I flicked off the light switch at the top of the stairs and crossed the Pergo floor to the kitchen counter. I pulled a glass tumbler from the cupboard and filled it with tap water.

Dean leaned against the kitchen counter, his back to the window. It was dark out, the window shade still up. How long had I been in the basement? Looking at the clock on the microwave, I saw it was after nine.

Dean placed his left hand on the counter then raked his palm across the surface. I smiled at the familiar sound of his wedding band on the granite. He smiled back at me; his wire-frame glasses magnified the budding wrinkles around his cocoa brown eyes. He still had a full head of hair, a helmet of wire curls, despite how much his staff made him want to pull it out by the roots. He managed the Copper Lantern, a restaurant here in Hatfield.

How was work tonight? I asked.

He ignored my question, asking his own instead, Have you been down there since you got home from the office?

Pretty much. I ate a sandwich before heading down to my studio. Ariel was the one that convinced me to refer to my worktable in the basement as a studio. My voice still caught on the word sometimes, worried I sounded like someone with an overinflated sense of self.

"Your she dungeon?" he teased.

It’s my happy place, I said with a shrug.

Jenga circled Dean’s legs and almost tripped him when he bent down to give her a tuna flavored treat.

Listen, he said, crossing over to me and squeezing my elbow. I want to talk to you about something. Let’s go sit down.

Ariel? I asked, walking to our farmhouse trestle table that takes up half the kitchen.

What? No, it’s not about Ariel. About the restaurant.

The restaurant? What’s going on?

I went to the bank today and picked up a commercial loan package.

He drummed his fingers on a thick folder resting on the table.

Commercial loan package? I said, feeling a bit uneasy.

You’re repeating everything I say.

Was I? It had been a few months since the last time Dean mentioned buying the restaurant. I hoped he’d changed his mind. Buying the restaurant seemed like such a big risk. But I should hear him out. Things had been great between the two of us since Ariel moved out. I couldn’t think of a single disagreement we’d had in the last two months.

Dean and Ariel were always in a tug of war with me in the middle. Now that Dean and I were empty nesters I had a good relationship with both him and Ariel. The last thing I wanted was this restaurant idea driving a wedge between us. I took a big gulp of water.

Sorry, I didn’t realize I was repeating what you said. I looked down at the folder. Do you really think now is the right time to buy a business?

Jude, you know I’ve been talking about buying the restaurant for months now.

Of course. I know you’ve been talking about it, but I didn’t know you were serious.

He stared at me and then tossed his hands in the air comically. Okay, I did know that.

"I mean I know you’re serious about it. But I didn’t realize you were going to try and make it happen this soon."

Ed’s ready to sell. He wants to move to Florida before winter.

I looked up at Dean. He slid the folder across the table. I opened it and flipped through the pages, stalling while I thought of something to say.

So, he said. Can you fill out the application and I’ll make an appointment with the bank?

What about the financials? Profit and loss statement? Cash flow projections? Do you have any of those?

He paused for a beat before responding. Business is great and it’s only going to pick up with fall foliage and then ski season.

But you still need those documents.

You don’t trust me?

I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not.

Of course I do, I said, closing the folder. It’s got nothing to do with trust. This is what I do for work, Dean. Look over financial statements. Besides, the bank is going to want to see those numbers.

Alright, I’ll talk to Ed tomorrow.

He stood up from the table and yawned.

I’m beat, he said. Are you coming up?

Sure, I said, pushing the folder to the middle of the table. I’m right behind you.

But I wasn’t behind him. At least not when it came to buying the restaurant.

Chapter 2

The wine menu was six pages long. I had no idea how it was organized, certainly not straight alphabetical. I flipped through the different reds before finally finding the pinots. I love the taste of wine but don’t know a lot about it. I decided on one of the few priced below ten dollars a glass. Le Caviste, Montpelier’s new wine bar was my sister Valerie’s first choice for happy hour. I gave the menu’s tastings and pairings a final shake of my head before closing it.

Val didn’t even open her menu. Of course, she already knows what she wants. She always does. In her Tory Burch flats, puff-sleeve blouson dress, and opal choker, she looked like she belonged more at a Paris café than a wine bar in Vermont

Don’t you love this place? she said, looking around. She sounded giddy to be there.

I set the menu down on the table and looked around. With its edgy furniture, floor to ceiling wine racks, and soft jazz music, it felt like somebody was trying too hard.

The waiter arrived at our table with two crystal water glasses. Val smiled at him and said, I’ll have a glass of the Chateau de Sancerre.

He nodded with approval and then turned to face me.

I’ll have a pinot noir, please.

He folded his hands behind his back and cocked his head to one side.

Um, which one, ma’am?

I forgot which one I picked out and started to re-open the menu. I think it was Chev-something.

May I suggest the Domaine Dujac? he said with a slight smirk.

I’m sure his suggestion was probably the most expensive wine on the menu.

She’ll have the Lafond, Val said.

I started to protest but she ignored me and kept her focus on the waiter. Did she just wink at him?

We’ll also have the charcuterie board.

Of course, he said with a quick bow. Right away.

He scooped up the menus and walked away. I leaned across the table and whispered,

That wasn’t the one I wanted.

Oh Ju-Ju, I know you. You probably picked out the cheapest pinot on the menu. He’s going to bring you a very good, mid-priced glass. Not the high-end one he tried to saddle you with.

Thanks, I said weakly and took a sip of water. Val has always acted like she’s the older sister. Always certain she knows what’s best for me. I hate that something as simple as going for a drink after work can make me feel inadequate.

Besides, this is on me, so the price doesn’t matter.

I opened my mouth to speak but she cut me off.

You seem a little off. Everything alright in Ju-Ju Land?

I wasn’t about to unload everything going on with me. Like the fact that I missed seeing Ariel every day and Dean is set on buying a restaurant we can’t afford. I chose to limit my complaints to the work variety.

Oh, you know, just work stuff.

What kind of work stuff?

My boss-, I paused and looked around the room. Probably at least half the people in here bar work for the state. I listened for a moment to the sound of clinking wine glasses and the low laughter of people starting their weekend. The crowd was somewhat subdued, celebratory without bringing too much attention to themselves.

He just dumped a new project on me when I’m already swamped. It’s going to take me a week to finish the contracts I already have. There’s a deadline for these bridge projects and if I don’t-

Ju-Ju, she interrupted. If you don’t have the guts to stand up for yourself, you’re going to get stomped on. Know your worth. No one can take advantage of you unless you let them. Monday morning you need to go straight into his office and-

I hate having to go into his office because he’s just so . . . I trailed off, unsure how much I should say or where to even start. The loud pop of a cork behind us made me jump.

He’s just a bit of a creep, I guess, I finally settled for.

How can I help?

By not making me feel like it’s my fault, I thought, but kept to myself.

It doesn’t matter, I said as the waiter returned to our table. He carried two glasses of wine on a small tray. On his other hand, he balanced the food tray and small plates. Val raised her eyebrows at me.

I don’t want to talk about work. It’s happy hour on Friday, I said and raised my glass. Let’s toast to the weekend, cheers.

Valerie smiled and raised her glass. She was a good sport and didn’t complain that owning her own high-end clothing boutique meant her weekend was going to be full of work.

Cheers, she said, and we gently clicked our glasses together.

She closed her eyes and took a deep inhale of her wine before taking a small sip.

How is it? I asked her.

Divine, she said, licking her lips. How is yours?

I pinched the stem of the wine glass, swirled the wine, and raised it to my nose the way Val had. I took a slow sip. It was tart and peppery, surprisingly good. I took another sip, letting this one linger in my mouth before swallowing. She watched me across the top of her glass. Told you, right? She said with her eyes. Right again, Miss Know-It-All, I smirked back. We perfected our silent speech as kids, after years of practice at the dining room table.

Delish. Thanks for suggesting it.

Wouldn’t you love to have a wine cellar in your house? she asked. I shrugged. I could think of a dozen things I’d rather have. A three-season porch, hardwood floors, a new boss, Ariel home again.

"Well, at least you’ve got the space for it," she said with mock jealousy. I had to bite my tongue because there’s no way she thinks my old farmhouse in the Hatfield sticks is better than her lakefront condo in Burlington.

She picked up the smallest piece of cheese on the plate and bit off a corner.

Throw some crusty bread on there, I said. And you’ve got the plowman’s lunch from the brewery.

You’re not turning into a snob on me, are you?

Ariel says you can be a snob about anything.

How is our girl by the way?

Val had no kids of her own but loved playing the part of Ariel’s cool Aunt Vee. I tried not to be jealous of the way Ariel asked Val for advice on everything from clothes and make-up to boys. As if perpetually single Valerie was any sort of expert on relationships.

Ariel is good. I miss her like crazy, though.

So, are you and O.C. Dean having sex all over the house now that you’ve got the place to yourselves?

Don’t call him that, I said, trying not to smile. And it’s none of your business what we’re doing now that we’re empty nesters.

I’ll take that as a no. She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward. Any big plans for the weekend?

I took a drink of water. The smell of Val’s perfume mixed with the pungent cheese was enough to make me lightheaded without tossing alcohol into the basket.

Actually, I’m spending tomorrow with Ariel. A mother-daughter shopping trip.

Sounds fun.

I’ve been looking forward to it all week. How about you?

A feminist poetry reading at Middlebury College.

Now who’s being a snob? I asked and we both laughed.

Saturday morning was warm and sunny. Summer still hung on even though we were a week into September. A few miles outside of Hatfield the road snaked through a large stand of pine trees and opened into a small valley. I slowed down to take in the view. On the hills beyond Sally’s Pond, open fields were dotted with dairy farms. I passed two vehicles pulled over on the side of the road, the occupant of the first car lifted a tripod out of his trunk while another man was already taking pictures. Wisps of fog hung across the plowed fields. One field looked as though it should be hayed one more time this season. The grass was so high it bent over then curled on top of itself, leaving a cove of clumps. At the edge of the field stood a row of staghorn sumac, the sharp leaves a vivid red.

I continued to Franklin and Ariel’s new apartment. I couldn’t bring myself to think of it as her home. It took me about forty minutes to reach the outskirts of Franklin, passing green fields on both sides of the road. I pulled into the picturesque village. Ariel and Andrea’s apartment was in a converted carriage barn. The building faced a small park with vintage cast iron street lamps and a gazebo.

Ariel sat on the carriage barn’s front steps, bent over her phone. Her head popped up when she heard my car. She shoved her phone in her corduroy hobo bag and stood up. She teetered on burgundy wedge heels partially hidden by boot-cut jeans. I cringed at the footwear she chose for a day of shopping but knew I wouldn’t mention it.

She slid into the front seat and leaned over for a half hug. I breathed in the scent of her coconut shampoo. She flicked her long blond hair over her bare shoulder.

Do I smell apples? she asked, pulling away from me to buckle her seatbelt. I reached behind her seat and lifted a bag of apples to the front. Ariel cradled the bag in her lap. She picked up an apple, closed her eyes, and smelled it, before placing it back in the bag. She set the bag down at her feet.

I forgot you and Dean went to Crow Hill last weekend, she said.

There’s plenty more where those came from. We picked a whole bushel.

I wish I could have gone apple picking with you guys, she said, adjusting the strap of her tank top which had slid down her arm.

We missed you, I said. It felt like months since the three of us did anything together.

I turned on to Cold Stream Road which everyone calls the New Road ever since the dirt road was paved a decade earlier. The New Road runs north-south from Redington to Howley. Geographically the road is in Hatfield, but everyone thinks of it as part of the no man’s land between Howley and Redington. Some locals wanted to rename the road, making its nickname official. It was even on the ballot at Town Meeting one year but failed to pass. So the signs still read Cold Stream Road, and everyone continued to call it the New Road.

We headed south toward Howley and the back way to Barre.

How’s my Jenga-Jingle?

Good, I smiled. She misses you, though. She follows Dean around like he’s a fish monger on the docks.

How is work going? Ariel asked as she dug through her purse. She flipped down the visor above her. She adjusted the angle of the visor mirror then pulled out a cosmetic bag. She applied foundation with a makeup sponge in long sweeping motions from her chin to her ears.

It’s fine, I said. Same old, same old. More contract audits and there’s a big grant coming in for bridge work.

Bridges? asked Ariel. How about that little nightmare one on Crooked Brook? I think every time I go by it a new chunk of concrete has fallen into the river.

You’re right. And it’s so narrow, it’s unsafe.

She and I once came upon two tractor-trailer trucks stopped near the narrow Crooked Brook bridge, one on each side of the road. They had knocked each other’s side mirrors off when they crossed the bridge.

It should definitely be on the list to be fixed, Ariel said with a laugh. Tell your boss I said so,

Alright, but I don’t know which specific bridges they’ll work on with this grant money.

I glanced out my side window. A lone elm tree stood in the middle of an open field. The tree was covered in yellow leaves. I wanted to talk to Ariel about her moving back home but I didn’t want to spoil the day. I stuck to the topic of work.

I’m actually thinking about applying for another job, I said.

It was the first time I had said anything about it to anyone. I considered mentioning it to Val yesterday, but I knew she’d tell me exactly how she would go about it, and then give me a list of things to do or not do.

I was used to sharing things with Ariel. I think it came from those years of being a single parent. I tried to be both mother and father to Ariel after her father died. Roger was killed in a car accident three years into our marriage and I channeled all my grief into helping Ariel overcome the loss. Before I married Dean, my relationship with Ariel seemed as much a partnership as parent-child. We’d split dessert when dining out and finished each other’s sentences like an old married couple.

It would be a step up, I continued. I would be overseeing audits of different state departments. I’d report directly to the State Auditor. More money, more responsibility. The biggest downside would be that I’d have to supervise people. I don’t like being anyone’s boss.

Oh, come on, said Ariel with a smile. Not even-?

She stopped her make-up maneuvers and looked at me. The hand with the make-up sponge suspended in the air. I glanced down and saw a pack of cigarettes poking out of her open purse. I was disappointed but knew there could be worse things in that purse. Drugs or a home pregnancy kit were the first two items that came to mind. Our eyes met briefly before I looked back at the road. I decided not to mention the cigarettes.

Yours? I asked.

No, she said with a lazy grin. I was thinking Dean’s.

I laughed stiffly, not sure if she was being serious.

I’m not Dean’s boss, I said quietly.

Yeah, right, Ariel chided. I’m sure he’d agree.

If anything, he’s -

Here we go! Ariel sang out.

We approached the narrow Crooked Brook bridge.

Hang on! I said as I slowed the car. We both took a deep inhale and let our breath out with a laugh when we reached the other side. I