Home for the Holidays

“Still mad?” Rashaun’s voice came from the passenger’s seat, husky with sleep.

“Nope,” Renee said tersely. She was still mad but didn’t want to talk about it. She’d rather make the last hour of their trip from Detroit to Baltimore pleasant. Instead of casting a plastic smile at Rashaun, she focused intently on the darkness, guiding their blue Ford with plates that said “MTRCTY” quietly down I-80.

“If you’re not mad, why are your lips still tight?” Rashaun never knew when to leave well enough alone. He sat up in his seat, yawning loudly.

“You’re gonna wake them up,” Renee complained, glancing into the back seat where four-year-old Sydney and her two-year-old brother, Marcus, snoozed in their car seats.

“Where are we?” Rashaun asked, squinting into the night. The car's solitary headlights made darts of snow appear like magic.

“I don’t know. Hagerstown, maybe.”

“Maryland? Jeez, how long have I been asleep? I gotta pee.”

“Can’t you wait until we get there? You’re worse than the kids.”

Rashaun sulked. “Yes, Mother.”

“Oh shut the h— up.” This is it, Renee thought. After we make nice at Mom’s this Christmas, no more pretending. It’s over.

Renee squinted through tears and adjusted the rearview mirror. There was a car behind them — maybe a truck — with lights that seared her retinas. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice singing “Baby It’s Cold Outside” lilted from the radio. Rashaun sang along. Renee’s heart quieted. His voice was like the sky whispering her name. Like wind lifting a kite.

When the song was over, the tension in the car had shifted. “You want me to drive?” he asked tenderly.

Renee hesitated. “That truck has been following us,” she said instead of saying that she was sorry. “For the past fifteen minutes, every time I slow down, he slows down. When I change lanes, so does he.”

Rashaun turned off the radio. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Their car was awash with light as the truck suddenly gunned forward in the thickening snow, flanking their little Ford. The truck waffled close to Rashaun’s door, then swerved back into its own lane.

“Geez!” Rashaun whispered. “Drunk idiots!”

That’s when Renee saw their faces, white and laughing. Instinctively, she reached into the back seat and touched Sydney’s warm leg, then did what her heart begged her not to do.

She slowed down.

The truck beside them slowed, too. The driver rolled down the window. “Hey, n—! Go back to the Monkey City where you belong!”

“Ignore them, baby,” Rashaun said. “Just keep going.”

Renee sped up. The truck sped up and fishtailed in front of them. “Careful — they might stop short,” said Rashaun. He put his hand on Renee’s thigh, tethering her. She could hear Marcus’s tiny snores in the back seat.

Out of the night, a road sign appeared, its arms wide open: “Next Rest Stop 1 Mile.” Silently, Renee weighed the options. What if the truck followed them to the rest stop? What if no other cars were there to help them? Renee imagined the police on her mother’s porch on Christmas Eve, bearing the horrible news.

As the exit appeared, the truck zoomed past it, but not before a man leaned from the passenger side and threw something. An open can of beer crashed against the windshield, sudsing the car. Renee shrieked as their Ford three-sixtyed on the icy ramp. The children woke screaming as the car skidded to a stop. 

Rashaun unbuckled his seat belt and leapt into the back seat. Clutching the children tightly, he kissed them into calmness.

Panting, Renee slowly guided the car to the rest-stop parking lot. She parked, jumped out, and started walking in the snow.

Behind her, she heard the passenger car door open. “Stay here — Daddy’s got to use the bathroom.” There were footsteps, then a hand took hers. Rashaun pulled her stiff body into his arms.

“It’s OK, baby,” he said. She felt her legs buckle as she sobbed into his shoulder. “We’re safe now,” he whispered. “You and I…we’re going to be OK.”