“Sitting on the recliner, yes, fine. And it’s wonderful. It’s wonderful because we know what’s expected of us. But here… out here, I don’t know.” He sighed as he slumped in his seat. “We might not even make it. It was just an estimate of how long we have left. Maybe it’ll end today. Tomorrow.”
“We have to try,” Don said. “I couldn’t stand it if we didn’t.”
“I know,” Rodney said. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
“Nothing about him has ever been easy.”
Rodney looked at him. Don stared back. Rodney smiled quietly. Don nodded.
They moved on.
Before they came across the girl lying in the middle of the road, they hadn’t seen much of anyone. Making their way through Iowa, they’d marveled at how flat everything was, how linear. No hills or mountains interrupted the landscape. Halfway through Iowa, a fierce storm blew in, winds whipping the spring blooms on flowers and trees. The rain fell in sheets, sideways, the sky a mass of gray-and-black clouds, thunder rumbling loudly, lightning tearing through the sky. Some houses with lights on, some houses darkened as if no one had lived there for years. Cars, but not many. Once, they went a full hour without seeing any other vehicle.
But now a storm came in, rocking the RV side to side. They parked at an abandoned gas station, the windows cracked, the letters on the sign above the building reading:ICE LOTTO GAS REPENT WHILE YOU STILL CAN. GOD’S GRACE IS INFINITE.
They sat in the RV, pot bubbling on the small stove. Canned stew. Slightly stale bread. The last of their apples for dessert. And it was while Rodney was cutting the apples that Don said, “Don’t you think it’s funny?”
Rodney grunted without looking up at him, flicking out the apple seeds with the tip of his knife. He handed over a slice, and Don bit into it, the snap crisp.
“It’s funny,” Don said as he chewed. “This is probably going to be the last time I have an apple.”
The hand holding the knife trembled slightly.
“I like apples,” Don continued. “Red ones. Green ones. Pink ones. I read once they can make a single tree that has many different types of apples. Who did that? Why did they do it? I don’tknow. But I like apples. I like the way they taste. The texture. And then I start thinking of everything I’ve never gotten to try.”
“Like what?”
Don thought for a moment. “Snails.”
Rodney grimaced. “Out of everything, you picksnails?”
Don shrugged as he bit into another slice of apple. The wind moaned around the RV. “Some people like it. Maybe I would have too. You?”
“Ice cream.”
“You’ve had ice cream. Lots of it. More than you should.”
“But I haven’t had every kind,” Rodney said.
“Apple ice cream.”
“Snail ice cream.”
They laughed.
Rain splashed against the windshield. Thunder loud. Lightning bright.
“Where do you wish we’d visited?” Don asked.
Rodney said, “Italy. I always thought we’d make it. Eating the food. Drinking wine. Looking at old buildings.”
“In the countryside, a handsome man as our tour guide.”
“He’d flirt with you and I’d have to put him in his place.”
“You would, wouldn’t you? Giacomo, his name would be Giacomo.”
Rodney nodded. “Knock him to the floor.”