Amy & Roger's Epic Detour

“Don’t interrupt me, Mom,” I said. The words were out of my mouth before I even registered what I was saying. I held the phone away from my face as I stifled a shocked laugh.

“Amelia Curry,” she said, saying the two words that inevitably meant a serious consequence was coming after them. “You are on very thin ice, young lady. This is not some sort of … pleasure cruise. This is not a vacation. You had one simple task to do. As though we haven’t been through enough, you decide to …” her voice shook, and trailed off for a moment, but a second later she was back, sounding as in control as ever. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “You’re making my life much harder—”

“I’m making your life harder?” I repeated, feeling like I’d lost all sense of perspective, just feeling an overwhelming anger that seemed like it might take me over. “I’m making your life harder?” I could hear my voice coming out, loud and a little uncontrolled, sounding nothing like my normal voice. Tears had sprung to my eyes, and my hand that was holding the phone was shaking. I was furious, and the depth of it was scaring me. “Seriously?” I asked, feeling my voice crack and two tears slide down my cheek.

“Let me talk to Roger,” my mother said. “You’re clearly getting hysterical.”

“He’s sleeping,” I said sharply, a tone I’d almost never used with anyone, and certainly not my mother. “It’s six a.m. here. And I’m not getting hysterical.”

“You will come home right now—”

“I don’t think we will,” I said. The scary, huge anger was beginning to ebb and was being replaced by a kind of recklessness that I hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever. “I’ll be there soon, but there’s some stuff we want to see first.”

“You will not,” said my mother, and she was using the voice that usually ended any discussions. But now it just seemed to be egging me on. “You will come home immediately—”

“Oh, so you want me to turn around and go back to California? Because we can do that.”

“I meant,” she said, “come to Connecticut. You know that.” She now sounded mostly tired and sad, like someone had let all the anger out of her voice. Hearing this shift, I suddenly felt guilty, on top of angry and scared and sad myself.

“We’ll be there soon,” I said quietly. I was crying now, and barely even trying to hide it from her. What was so terrible was that this was my mother, and she was so close, just on the other end of the phone. All I wanted to do was to just open up to her, tell her how I was feeling, and have her tell me it would be all right. Instead of this. Instead of how hard this was. Instead of any of the conversations we’d had over the past few months. Instead of feeling so far away from her. Instead of feeling so alone. “Mom,” I said softly, hoping that maybe she’d feel the same way, and maybe we’d be able to talk about it.

“I am calling Marilyn and letting her know what her son has been up to,” she said, her voice now clipped and cold. Taking care of things. I knew the tone well. “If you want to do this, good luck. Just know that you are totally on your own. And when you do get here, know that there will be serious consequences.”

“Okay,” I said quietly, feeling worn out. “All right.”

“I am very,” my mother said, and I heard her voice shaking a little now. With anger, or suppressed emotion, I had no idea. “Very disappointed in you.” Then the phone went dead, and I realized my mother had just hung up on me.

I stared down at the phone and wondered if I should just call her back and tell her that I was sorry and we’d be there as soon as possible. I’d still get in trouble, but probably less trouble. I didn’t want to do that, but I also didn’t want to go the rest of the trip feeling guilty. I played with the room key, turning it over in my hands. And that’s when I saw the message printed in white on the purple card.

WANDERING IS ENCOURAGED.

“Checking out?” the girl behind the front desk asked cheerfully. Roger and I nodded at her, both of us a little blearily. After I’d returned to the room, I’d gone back to bed but hadn’t slept much at all, just staring at the gradually lightening ceiling and replaying the conversation with my mother. I must have drifted off a little, though, because the wake-up call at nine—the one I’d forgotten I’d left the night before—had startled me from sleep. When I had started to get dressed in the bathroom after a quick shower, I’d remembered that I no longer had my own clothes. I’d stared down at my suitcase, with no idea how to put outfits together like Bronwyn could. I’d finally just grabbed whatever was on top—a long black tank top and gray pants that were like a combination of jeans and leggings.

But it seemed that Bronwyn’s clothes were magic, as I could see in the mirror behind the desk that I somehow managed to look more pulled-together than I had any right to. I yawned, feeling exhausted, and even though I covered my mouth, I saw Roger yawn as well about three seconds later.

“Okay …,” the girl said, typing on her computer. I wondered how many cups of coffee she’d had to be this awake, and this friendly, this early. Her name tag read KIKI … HERE TO HELP. “So no charges except the one night’s stay, is that correct?”

“Right,” I said, stifling another yawn.

“And was everything to your liking?”

“Fine,” I said, figuring I should take this one, since Roger hadn’t been conscious for almost any of the stay.

“All right,” said Kiki, fingers flying over her keyboard. “Excellent. So I’ll just put that on the card I was holding the room on?”

“Yep,” I said, mentally rolling my eyes at myself, but feeling resigned to the fact that I was, apparently, going to occasionally speak like a cowpoke from now on. Kiki nodded, smiled, and headed off to the small room behind the desk. I turned to Roger, leaning my elbows on the counter. “Breakfast?”

“If breakfast involves coffee,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “then yes.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Curry,” Kiki said when she returned, looking a lot less friendly than she had just a minute before. “I’m afraid your card has been declined.”

I blinked at her. “What?” I asked, flummoxed.