Christie watched Simon turn and make a face at his sister.
“And Simon—no faces.”
“Mom, can you please make him
Christie saw Jack raise his head to the rearview mirror. “You guys chill. Want to watch a video?”
Christie knew that was no solution. The two kids never agreed on a video. Sometimes it seemed as if Kate liked being defiant. She still enjoyed the big animated movies from years ago as much as Simon.
Some
One of the reasons people always looked forward to coming home.
“Okay, you two. How about food? We have some PB&J in the cooler. And those lemon drinks you like.”
“Yuck. I don’t like that stuff,” Simon said.
As if forced to agree, Kate added: “Me neither. Nothing else?”
“Some of that fruity yogurt too … different flavors…”
Christie knew that wasn’t a crowd-pleaser either. The yogurt had been invented using soy solids. And the supposed fruit? Clumps of color and artificial sweetener.
At least the PB&J used some peanut butter. So they said.
“Go on … it’s a long trip. Eat a sandwich. And just think of the great food we’ll have at the camp. Real food, hm?”
She saw the two of them look out the window, almost at the same moment.
As if looking out at this road, they didn’t really believe her. Real food? Something they had at home—what, once a week? Maybe less? The rest of the time it was all the manufactured stuff. Nutritious enough, so they said.
But how long could people eat that and not begin to miss
“Kate, could you dig out a few sandwiches? A couple of drinks?”
Kate slowly turned away from the window and the highway outside.
She nodded, and then reached into a cooler sitting between her and Simon.
Sandwiches appeared. Then drinks in curved plastic bottles, lots of color.
“Want something, Mom? Dad?”
“No thanks,” Jack said too quickly.
Christie shot him a look as if to say this might have been a time for some food solidarity.
“Sure, honey. I’ll have one.”
Though Christie wasn’t hungry.
It didn’t taste very good.
She took the sandwich and smiled at Kate. Simon had already unwrapped his sandwich, half of it gone.
Couldn’t be too bad.
Christie gave her daughter a pat on the knee.
As if to say,
She turned back to the front and waited just a few seconds before unwrapping her own uninviting sandwich.
Which is when she saw something black, sitting squarely in the center of the far-right lane, just ahead.
12
Rest Stop
Christie turned to him.
“What is it?”
It took only seconds for Jack to recognize the debris on the road: a large, curled piece of black tire tread. He slid over into the left lane.
He looked at the chewed-up tire as he drove by.
“Someone blew a tire.”
Nobody said anything for a minute.
Then:
“Someone
Jack looked into the backseat to make sure the kids were otherwise engaged.
Which they were.
“Tires blow. Happens.”
“
Jack looked down at the gas gauge, hoping for a distraction, and said, “Going to need a stop soon. Gas is getting low. There’s a rest stop in about ten more miles.”
Christie leaned close and at the same time lowered her voice.
“You didn’t answer me.”
He looked at her.
“Okay. There are reinforced tires, and some … not so reinforced. We see them in Red Hook. Trucks that have bought them as retreads. They’re listed with all the stats that supposedly make them safe. But now and then … something happens.”
“On its own or with a little help?”
Another look.
“Both.”
Another silence.
“So, which do you think this was?”
Jack laughed. “What do I look like—a cop?”
That made Christie laugh.
“Just relax, Christie. Some trucker with inferior tires. He throws on a spare and he’s out of here. Leaving that back chunk for us to dodge.”
A sign flew by.
NEXT REST STOP 7 MILES.
Then the symbol for gas, and a knife and fork for food.
“Going to stop up here. Fill up before we hit the Northway.”
Jack wondered if she was still thinking about the tire. Everything had gone so smoothly, almost as if they were some family from the twentieth century enjoying a simple summer trip up north.
It’s true enough, Jack thought. There were cheap “certified” reinforced tires, with the “approved” additional steel and nylon belts.
