WE GATHER TOGETHER by Edward L. Woodyard

We Gather Together Chapter Seventy

Scott McCulloch drove the Bimmer past the exit sign for Kearney, Nebraska. In his rearview mirror, he saw that oranges of the setting sun had shuffled with the purples in streaks of clouds, the colors slowly dissolving in the western vista. He put on the headlights and watched as the heavens revealed an explosion of stars in the night sky, extending from horizon to zenith and back again. A bag with trash from dinner was on the floor behind Scott, the cold night air in the car having dissipated the pungent spices from their Italian sandwiches.

Kevin Metzger was sitting in his hoodie next to Scott while Maya slept in the back seat, her head on Kevin's backpack. Scott noticed that Kevin's left foot was twitching and that he seemed anxious.

Kevin lurched back into his seat when a sedan swerved in front of them, then veered back into the passing lane, "What a jerk."

"They're everywhere."

Scott opened a can of Pepsi and offered it to Kevin, who declined. Scott sipped from it.

"So, in all your driving, Scott, who do you think are the worst drivers?"

"Easy answer. New Jersey drivers once they cross into New York. I speak from experience from when I lived there. When they're in New Jersey, they're fine. But once they cross the state line, something happens. Especially in the city."

"I see both of them license plates in Florida all the time. They're not too dangerous there. The most dangerous car on the road is a Cadillac with Florida plates. It means that the driver is older than eighty and can't see over the steering wheel."

"Avoid at all costs. I get you," said Scott. "I'll remember that when I go there."

"You thinking about going to Florida?"

"Maybe. I don't know where the road's going to take me."

"Not back to San Francisco?"

"At some point. I need to get Maya to New York first."

Through the windshield, Scott and Kevin witnessed the Bimmer's headlights reveal a mileage sign from a dense darkness on the side of the road: Davenport, Iowa 483. They knew that it'd be another eight hours before they crossed the Mississippi River. They should get there by dawn.

"Thanks for sitting up with me," said Scott.

"My turn to keep the driver awake," answered Kevin. "It's okay, for sure. My mind's way too restless. I ain't been sleepin' for days."

"So, you never told me where's your car."

"In Tampa. I flew to Idaho. And then I left Idaho in a hurry. Don't get me wrong. I'm not wanted by the police. It's just that my money's in Florida and. . ." Kevin let his thoughts drift and then caught himself, "It's a long story."

Scott sensed that Kevin wanted to talk, so he cautiously prompted him. "We've got a few hours left in Nebraska. And then there's Iowa."

Kevin shifted in his seat, slipped his hands inside the sleeves of his hoodie and turned to gaze at the stars guiding them outside his passenger side window. "Ever think about the Garden of Eden and all the trouble Adam and Eve had with their boys?"

"Not often," Scott said dryly. He thought Kevin meant his question to be humorous.

But Kevin wasn't trying to be funny. "No. Serious. Y'ever give it a thought?"

"I always thought that the reason why Cain slayed Abel was because he wanted to get his father's attention," Scott replied, seeking some levity, but Kevin didn't balk.

Scott glanced over at Kevin staring straight ahead through the windshield; he then looked in the rearview mirror at Maya fast asleep. Kevin caught Scott checking on Maya and peered over his left shoulder at her in the backseat. "I guess she likes my backpack for a pillow."

Scott nodded and sipped from his soda.

Kevin pulled his hands from the sleeves of his hoodie and stared out the passenger side car window again. Scott knew Kevin needed to talk, but he would be patient until Kevin felt comfortable enough to reveal his anguish to him. "Is today still Tuesday?" Kevin asked.

Scott glanced at a digital clock on the dashboard. "For about another hour."

"Then it's almost not yesterday anymore," Kevin said. Scott was confused by Kevin's statement until Kevin blurted, "On Monday then, my father passed."

"I'm. . ."

Kevin immediately interrupted Scott. "My mother phoned me last Thursday in Florida and told me that he was going, for me to get to Idaho and I did. I panicked, man. I mean, I couldn't get there fast enough. He couldn't die. I had to get there before. Y'know? I hadn't seen my dad in over eight years. Left in a real bad fit of temper. Left home and swore I'd never go back."

What Kevin had just said about what he had done to his father was almost exactly what Scott had done to Sam. Scott couldn't say anything to Kevin; instead, he stared at the taillights of the long-haul moving van in front of him as he came up behind it and decided to pass.

Kevin went on, "But there I was in the Tampa airport, yelling at these people that I had to get to Idaho quick. And they did. They got me there quick. Strike and all. My Aunt Jean picked me up in Boise and said that it weren't gonna to be too long before he'd pass. It was just Mom and me and my Aunt Jean there at the house."

Kevin breathed in, becoming upset, "I waited by his bed. I didn't leave the room just in case. I had to hear it. Once. Just once before he passed on. He was conscious and his mind was right and all. But I had to hear it. I'd talk to him and he'd talk to me and I told him that I loved him. But he never told me. I waited there by his bed for four days and nights and he never said it. Never once. He never told me that he loved me. Was that too much to ask?"

Scott saw Kevin's tears drop from his chin. He didn't bother to wipe them away as he exposed a guilt in his soul. "Now it'll never happen, man. What did I ever do to make him hate me so much? I packed my stuff and left. My Aunt Jean went with Mom to pick out the casket. Me? I had to split. Jumped up on the interstate and stuck out my thumb. His funeral's supposed to be tomorrow afternoon. I'm telling you, man. It only counts when he's alive. Because when he's dead, it's silence. A ghost can't talk. A ghost can't hold you. You'll never know. And you gotta know. Y'know?"

Kevin turned to his right again to stare at the stars. He used the sleeves of his hoodie to wipe his face, then put his head against the glass of the window. He thought about putting his buds into his ears and listening to his playlist, but he instead closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Kevin falling asleep was fine with Scott. He needed his own quiet time, to be alone now. The silence of the night and drone of the wheels let Scott clear his own mind. Although Kevin could never know it, he had ripped open a wound in Scott's heart that Scott believed Wendy had helped to suture and heal.

No one who was there that Thanksgiving could forget what happened when Scott stomped out of the house in an alcohol-fueled fury.