Page 93 of The Roads We Follow

“Once we see the park signs, I believe we take the second entrance into the park,” Mama speculates from up front. She’s been a chatty navigator on this short stretch of coastal highway, and Micah’s amused gaze has flickered to find mine in the rearview several times. “Although, hmm, on second thought, perhaps I better reference the pictures in this map book again. Things look a smidge different now than they did in the seventies.”

“I hate to break it to you, Luella, but this beast isn’t exactly known for its tight turning radius. We may only get one shot at finding the location you’re after once we get into the park.”

“Don’t you worry your handsome head about that. I’ll find it. I just need to make sure this map matches my memory is all.” Mama goes back to studying the guidebook she picked up, and Micah gives me a wink in the rearview.

Cheyenne plunks down beside me and sets a spiral seashell as big as my palm on the table between us. “Aunt Hattie and I went shell hunting this morning. She found a few treasures for Anabelle and Aiden, and I found this one for you. It didn’t seem fair you were stuck in your bunk while we got to experience the ocean.”

The guilt is creeping in again. Cheyenne knows nothing about my call with Chip. The tangled web of omissions is more difficult to manage while stuck on a three-hundred-square-foot bus. “Ah, that was sweet of you.” I tip my head to hers. “I love it.” I run my finger over the cool inside of the pink shell while Cheyenne hums a chorus she came up with during her beach walk. She’s only strung a few words together as of yet, but her melody is so addictive I can’t help but harmonize.

Mama flips around from her jump seat. “Bring your guitar along with us today, sweetheart. We’re going to need it.”

Cheyenne’s eyebrows scrunch into a V. “On the hike, Nonnie?”

“We won’t be walking too far,” Mama says before she turns to face front again.

“Okay, I’ll bring it.” My niece looks to me, but I can only shrug. I have no idea what Mama has planned.

Hattie joins us at the table, showing us the videos she took for her kids at the ocean, and then the videos they’ve sent to her from Greece so far. A stone balcony with a view of a jewel-tone coastline and a sky at sunset linger in the background like a tempting visitor. I know I shouldn’t be awed by it, but it’s stunning. The kids are goofy and giddy, and even though they appear happy and well cared for, I watch my sister’s chin quiver just before she shuts it off.

I wish I had the words to soothe her heart, but I touch her hand instead, hoping to remind her I’m here just the same.

A second after Mama scares us all to death with a shriek over her discovery of the spot she’s been searching for on the map, Adele cracks the back bedroom door open with her laptop in hand.

“Mother,” she hollers to be heard, “did you know Travis Knight was asked to replace Jim Labarro at the festival?”

Mama twists back and frowns. “I heard that was a possibility, seeing as Jim’s been in and out of the hospital.”

“It’s official now.” Adele groans and comes out to plop on the sofa. “Here’s hoping his agent has finally retired—or better yet, been blacklisted from the industry.”

“The Gorge is a ginormous venue, darling. It will be easy to keep our distance.”

“That’s much easier for you to say when I’m the one who will be stuck with him behind the scenes while he ogles and comments about every young female in proximity.” Adele gives a full-body shiver, and I don’t know whether to be alarmed or intrigued by her comments. I’m not often privy to shop talk when it comes to themusic label, but this conversation feels more personal than professional.

“Who’s Travis’s agent?” I ask.

“Troy Rigger,” Adele provides with an eye roll. “He’s an old ex-business partner of Daddy’s and a real piece of work. I don’t know how he still has clients willing to be represented by him.” Her eyes flit from me to her daughter. “Actually, now that I think of it, I want you to steer clear of him, Cheyenne. There’s some bad history between Papa and Troy, and it would be best for you to keep your distance.”

The familiarity of his name surfaces quickly. Two weeks ago, the only thing I knew about Daddy’s life as a talent agent in the ’70s and ’80s was the name of the label he once represented at TriplePlay Records. But Lynn’s journal entries had painted the once gray-scale history of their past in vivid color. This man was the one supplying diet pills to Lynn for nearly two decades, the same one obsessed with keeping my mother’s sex appeal and desirability first and foremost, even after she was married to my dad.

“There it is!” Mama exclaims. “That’s the entrance for the trail we need.”

Adele closes her laptop and perches on the sofa as Micah traverses the tight curves and slows for the speed bumps. It’s only been minutes since we were on the highway, yet I feel as if we’ve been transplanted inside another universe altogether. It’s as if each of us has shrunk to the size of one of Mama’s woodland figurines and been placed inside a garden bed. Only, it’s not that any of us have shrank, but that the nature around us has been magnified by a factor of ten or twenty. Even from the outskirts of the forest, the massive size of these tree trunks makes it seem like we’ve entered a fantasy set in a land of giants.

Minutes after parking, we trail after Mama, gobsmacked by our surroundings. Cheyenne has her guitar strapped to her back, and my sisters seem to be doing exactly what I’m doing: straining our necks to glimpse the top of the redwood trees. It’s not possible. Istumble over roots and debris more times than I can count, but thankfully, Micah’s arm is always in the right place at the right time for me to steady myself on.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” His voice is hushed as we circle a fallen tree trunk wider than the length of my SUV. Maybe even the length of our tour bus.

“You’ve been here before?”

“About a decade ago. It was my mom’s idea, actually. Unusual since she was such a homebody. She didn’t often accompany us on the road,” he says. “We set up camp not too far from here.” He slows and glances around the forest. “She went off on a long walk one afternoon. We were afraid she must have gotten turned around out here, as much of the forest looks the same. The three of us split up to search the area. I remember it well because I was the one to find her.” He stops and points to the place where my mama has stopped. “Right there.”

Near the base of a small wooden bridge arched over a slow but steady stream of water is Mama. For close to a minute, we watch her ... until one by one, the five of us gather behind her in anticipation of what’s to come.

When she finally rotates to face us, her cheeks are damp, and her voice tender. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize how I would feel seeing it again after all this time.” Her gaze sweeps over my sisters until it lands on Micah. “Lynn and I cowrote our first song together while sitting right here, on this bridge. There were many choices for us in those early days and years, some we took, others we skipped. It’s what ‘Crossing Bridges’ is all about: friends who love each other enough to cross them together or not at all.”

“My family will always cherish the award you sent her, Luella,” Micah says quietly.

Mama shakes her head. “She deserved so much more than that trophy. I wish I would have taken that step decades sooner.”

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