Road Trip
by Pamela Schaff

She sat on her suitcase waiting for a taxi. The hell with him. Two could play this game. She’d had just about all she could take, and this morning’s scene was the last straw.

“Here’s your birthday presents. Sorry they’re not wrapped.” He’d thrown them on the bed while loading his duffel bag, flung them with the same hostility that powered the boxer shorts, socks, and t-shirts into the green satchel.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know, Columbus maybe. What do you care? Enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“You’re driving to Columbus?”

“Sure, why not? See Jim and the guys.”

“You’re actually going to drive from Oakland to Columbus?”

“Don’t see why not, Daisy. Thanks for the suggestion.” In the mirror over the dresser, she saw his mouth smile but his eyes were hard.

Suggestion. Right. He’d yelled and carried on about one thing and another, smacked the dog for yipping and yapping, and she couldn’t take any more of it. What she’d said was, “if you’re so sorry-ass miserable, why don’t you just leave?” She didn’t think he’d actually get up and go.

She’d like to see him navigate his way to Columbus. He couldn’t find the dry cleaners’ half the time. Last week, he’d called her from Doug’s place when he forgot what errand he’d left the house for. If he weren’t so nasty, she’d probably feel sorry for him.

He left around noon. She was in the garden, watering the fruit trees. One nice thing about California, you could grow just about anything, any time. The dog was running around the yard, happy to play outside.

“Bye, Daisy,” he hollered from the vestibule. “I’ll call you from the road. Have a nice whatever.” Before she could answer, she heard the slam of the front door, the secondary crash of the screen door, and the screech of his tires. He even drove angry.

She fixed herself a sandwich and sat down at the kitchen table. The dog had worn himself out, and whined in his sleep at her feet.

When the phone rang, she half-expected it to be him, maybe cooled off, and a little sheepish. It was his son, Doug, though.

“What’s up, Daisy? Dad just called me from some diner near Livermore. You guys have a fight or something?”

She tried to explain it.

“Columbus. That’s a good one. Going home, huh?”

“I guess so.”

Now she waited for the taxi. A few days in L.A. with her sister would be nice. Let him wonder when he didn’t find her home. Two could definitely play this game. Where was that cab? She unlocked the door and picked up the phone in the den. That’s when she saw that the antique globe on his desk was missing. She remembered the old days when they used to drive cross-country, poring over maps from AAA, plotting blue-highway routes. She brought the suitcase and the port-a-doggy back inside, sat down on the sofa, and waited for his call.