WE GATHER TOGETHER by Edward L. Woodyard

We Gather Together Chapter Twenty-Six

Scott McCulloch passed the I-5 exit for Sacramento. The Bimmer was handling beautifully and making the drive smooth and relaxed. Maya was busy texting as she searched for Wi-Fi on her iPad. When she and Scott drove over the Bay Bridge, Maya told him that her sister had driven her to the airport, but that the car had broken down, which was why she was sitting on the concrete Jersey barrier when Scott found her on the 101. While he listened to her, Scott thought that it should be Wendy sitting there in that passenger seat next to him, not Maya.

After the Bimmer crossed the Bay Bridge, Maya contacted both her friend in Hoboken and her new employer in Manhattan. She said that her friend was more understanding of her situation than her new manager. Scott heard Maya reassure the manager that she could get work done while on the road and that she would be in New York by Thanksgiving. The manager had no choice but to agree with Maya's plan; as Scott reminded Maya, neither of them could do anything about it unless they offered a solution to the national transportation crisis and could resolve three major union strikes.

Maya saw the sign for Sacramento. "I was born there. My grandparents had a nursery south of the city. They specialized in bonsai trees. I'm even bringing one with me to New York. I have it packed very carefully in my bag. It's safe, believe me. It's twice as old as the two of us combined and then some."

Maya then told Scott that her paternal grandparents were third-generation Californian, that both of their parents were Issei. She also told him that her grandmother's family had been incarcerated at Manzanar during World War II which was where her grandmother was born. She then mentioned that one of her great grandfathers was with the 100th Infantry Battalion and had fought in Italy. She then added that she wasn't one-hundred percent Japanese-American; her maternal grandmother was French Swiss. She considered herself "a mutt. It makes me truly American."

Maya put her phone and iPad aside. "Let me know when you want me to drive."

"Maybe when we get gas. That should happen around Reno. Gas'll be cheaper once we hit the eastern Sierras."

Maya then asked Scott about Radiance Press. "You've got an excellent company."

"It started from nothing."

"For my money, I'd say you're the best specialized printer in the Bay Area."

"Thank you. 'What a long strange trip it's been' for the past eight years."

"How'd you and the Grateful Dead get into it?" she asked, alluding to his lyric reference.

"It? I got on a plane in New York and flew west."

Maya laughed at his comment. She clarified herself, "Printing."

He smiled and then said quickly, "I wanted to prove my father wrong."

"That's different. I mean, I guess it's honest."

"Did you want me to say 'for love or money?' I came out here and became fascinated by intaglio printing and photogravure. All the old-fashioned stuff. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't going to go back to Guttenberg, but I still like to think that there's some craft involved in printing, even with all the computerization. I was looking at direct-to-plate. I fooled around with masks on flatbeds. As much as I wanted to stay with copper, it got too expensive, so I started playing with polymers and that all worked out pretty nice. I still like to use copper for all the high-end work."

"Like all the work you did for the San Francisco Opera."

"Had to cut costs. Used polymers but wanted to make it so you couldn't tell."

"And now you tell?"

"I'll tell you one thing. Your mechanicals were excellent, Maya. You made my work easy."

"My turn to say thank you," she answered, then returned to the original discussion, "So, did you prove him wrong?"

"Him?"

"Your father."

He thought for a moment and decided to answer her, "Actually, I proved him right."

"Right?" Maya peered over at him.

He took his eyes off the windshield. He turned to her quickly, then back to the traffic on the interstate. "I proved that ink, not blood, flows through the McCulloch family veins."

"So, why are you going to New York? You have family there?"

"I like driving thousands of miles. It makes me feel like Jack Kerouac."

"Then, you're going home for Thanksgiving?"

"I don't have a home anymore," Scott said suddenly, sharply.

Maya gave him a long look. Scott continued to drive, refusing to return her look. She put in earbuds, checked her playlist and opened her iPad. She knew that she shouldn't approach that subject again. There were other things to talk about. They had a long drive ahead of them.