Half Moon, Full Heart

Road to Somewhere

Chapter Eight

 Road to Somewhere

With her mind racing

faster than her car, Rachel kept I-40 East, toward Flagstaff, Arizona. She loved Flagstaff. She and David had spent a few days there three years earlier, while he participated in a Pro-Celebrity golf tournament. This was the route east, through northern Arizona, as opposed to I-10, the southern route.

I-40 would take her past Grand Canyon exits. Rachel had considered revisiting the Canyon, which she remembered seeing in late Summer of ’75, during the only out of state trip she recalled taking with her parents. Rachel recalled the lush green, and cooler climate of the surrounding area.

She had fond recollections of the trip, despite it’s length and her mother’s complaints about her father’s driving. Rachel always marveled at how her father deflected the criticism. No matter what her mother said, he would smile and answer: “Yes, dear,” but never alter his driving style one bit.

There were the frequent trips to Phoenix with her uncle and aunt, Dennis and Delores Dozier. They loved loading up the old Winnebago and starting out by visiting San Antonio. It was a curious route, considering they could have easily taken 1-20 and connected with I-10 west, several miles beyond Fort Stockton.

Rachel knew her route would take her past numerous sights: the Canyon, the Painted Desert; the celebrated Meteor Crater, and more. But she was not on vacation; she was no tourist.

Except for fuel and food stops, and an occasional rest area—which she was warned about—Rachel had no desire to do anything but drive until her heart and soul told her where and when to stop.

It was in Flagstaff Rachel had a sudden, overwhelming impulse to leave

I-40. She obeyed without question, taking I-17 south to Phoenix. There was a freedom in giving in to such notions that Rachel found liberating. The drive had gone well, so far. And she felt free, more free than she had felt in recent memory. It occurred to her that at that moment, only she and God knew where she was. She found solace and comfort in that thought.

~

Rachel drove leisurely, reaching Phoenix four hours later. She drove straight through the city, via Interstate 10, and exited at Chandler Avenue, nearly twenty miles east. After refueling at a large Chevron station, she treated herself to dinner at a neighboring Cracker Barrel restaurant then checked into a La Quinta Inn next door.

At 9 P.M., sleep came easily, but dreams escaped her. Rachel always dreamed, and could not explain their abandoning her this night. It was just as well. The peaceful, dreamless night gave her overtaxed mind a deserved rest. However, sleeping in a strange bed, and so far from her home, took some adjustment.

Before 8 A.M. the next morning, Rachel reached Tucson, less than one hundred miles away, having checked out before 6 a.m., even before the continental breakfast. She had not realized how close Tucson and Phoenix really were.

The Mustang showed no strain. Rachel breezed along, with little regard for time or distance. She adopted the slow lane, kept well below the posted 80 miles per hour and lost herself in the soothing sounds of her new-age, and jazz CDs.

Rachel found the open road more beneficial than a shrink’s couch, and far less costly. Despite not knowing where she was going, she felt a sense of peace—a freedom that comes from shedding the burden of the expectations and demands of others; and from escaping the ordinary.

Of course, she allowed as how she may ultimately end up on the east coast—likely Boston. She had friends from college days who still made their homes there. There were also friends from her White House days who lived in Massachusetts and Connecticut. All options were open. Finances were not a problem. And there was a lot of country between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans.

There was also little doubt she would be tempted to spend more than the unavoidable day or two in Texas. Anyone who has driven through the Lone Star State knows it takes a while. Rachel continued to resist thoughts of visiting Rosedale. Nothing but painful reminders of her beloved father were there. While it was also her birthplace, she had virtually no memory of the small town.

All novels obtained from author's site (GeneCartwright.com) ship autographed and shipping free.

All novels and poetry books available as eBooks and print books.