And now they were creeping along the edge of Lake Michigan with the Chicago skyline towering above them.
Kathleen felt she should say something reassuring. “I’m sure it will calm down once we leave Chicago.”
“I hope so or I estimate it’s going to take us at least a year and a half to complete this road trip. Not that I’m in a hurry. Or that I don’t love driving in traffic! It’s great practice.” Martha snatched a breath. “I’m not saying I need practice. I don’t want you to be nervous. Are you nervous?”
Someone in this car was nervous, Kathleen thought. And it wasn’t her.
“Why would I be nervous? You’re an excellent driver.” She had no idea if Martha was indifferent or excellent, but after that encounter with Liza in the car on the way to the airport she’d learned that a little encouragement went a long way.
“You think so?” Martha’s hands were locked around the wheel so tightly that if it had been a living thing it would have been long dead. “If you need me to slow down, tell me.”
If they drove any slower they’d be stationary. “Drive at any pace you wish. I hope you’re finding this car enjoyable to drive?”
“Oh it’s—” Martha licked her lips. “It feels as if it would like to go fast.”
As if the car had a mind and life of its own. “You’re the one in charge.”
Martha sat up a little straighter. “Yes, I am.”
Finally they left Lake Michigan and the buzz and bustle of Chicago behind them and headed southwest out of the city. Martha’s hands gradually relaxed on the wheel. Her mouth still moved occasionally, and Kathleen managed to work out by a determined effort at lip reading that she was saying, Drive on the right.
Kathleen was reassured. A reminder was vastly preferable to a head-on collision.
They drove through the towns of Joliet, Elwood and Wilmington before crossing over the Kankakee River and continuing the journey south toward St. Louis. Each town was studded with nostalgia and quirky attractions. They passed neon signs advertising hot dogs and hamburgers, vintage diners, historic buildings and restored gas stations where they stopped to take photos in front of the shiny red gas pumps.
“I compiled a playlist,” Martha said. “But I’m thinking maybe I’ll get used to the car before adding music. Unless you’d like music. Some people hate silence.”
“Silence is underrated.” Particularly after three cocktails. “But it was thoughtful of you to put together appropriate music.”
“I’ve picked tracks for each place we’re visiting.” Martha’s focus on the road would have made a meerkat proud. Nothing escaped her attention. “Maybe later.”
Kathleen had the guidebook open on her lap, and also a notebook where she scribbled thoughts and observations. Even now, after so many years, it was instinctive to plan how she would present a place to the public. Part of her skill had been to get straight to the heart of the locality, showing what made it unique and special, knowing what would appeal and draw people in.
In her head she recorded a piece to camera.
When you hear the words road trip what do you imagine? Established in 1926, Route 66 has become one of the most famous roads in North America. There’s a reason it’s on the bucket list of so many people around the world. Over the next couple of weeks we’ll be traveling the 2,448 miles from Chicago to Santa Monica, crossing eight states and three time zones. We’ll be tasting food in historic diners, admiring murals, taking a side trip to the Grand Canyon and driving through flat planes, deserts and mountains before finally ending up on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. So join us as we take you on a journey not just through a varied landscape, but through American history.
At that point she’d smile at the camera, Dirk would yell “cut,” and they’d all celebrate with drinks in the nearest bar.
She’d prided herself on rarely needing more than one take. It helped that she always wrote the words herself.
“Are you feeling okay, Kathleen?” Martha glanced at her, the first time her eyes had left the road. “You’re quiet.”
“I was imagining how I would introduce this place if I were recording the show.”
“I’d love to see some of your shows. I’m going to see if I can find them on the internet.” Martha’s eyes were back on the road. “Do you need me to stop? Do you want a coffee?”
Kathleen checked the guidebook. “There are a few recommended stops ahead, one of which includes a particularly interesting historic diner. I presume it’s the building itself that’s historic, and not the contents of their fridge.”
The towns fell away, the road became quieter as drivers chose the faster route and each side of them were fields and farmland.
They stopped for a delicious lunch of fried chicken and Martha ate while she studied the guidebook, tracing the route with her finger.
“When we reach this point we have to decide which road to take.”
“Route 66.” Kathleen smiled her thanks as the waitress topped up their drinks.
“It’s more complicated than that because the route deviates from the original road. According to this book, there have been improvements and realignments. And there are faster routes if we want them.”
“We don’t.” Kathleen was determined to stick as closely as possible to the original historic Route 66. She wanted to savor every moment.
“It says here that there are two choices. We can drive on the road as it was in 1926 or pick the route from 1930.” Martha abandoned the book and returned to her chicken. “This is delicious. I’ve decided this trip might be all about the food. I ate this amazing slice of pizza yesterday, by the lake.”
“You mentioned it.” Five times.
“We should take the route that has the best restaurants.” Martha turned her attention back to the guidebook.
“That plan works for me. I’m enjoying myself tremendously.”
Martha looked up. “You’re enjoying yourself?” A tentative smile formed. “You’re sure?”
“It’s all thrilling.” Kathleen finished her chicken and wiped her fingers. “You have no idea how I’ve longed for this. I’m living the dream.”
“As long as my driving hasn’t turned it into a nightmare.” Martha handed her the book. “You might need to give me instructions. It says here that SatNav tries to take you on the interstate, not the old route.”
They headed back to the car and Martha eased her way cautiously from the parking lot to the road. Her lip was caught between her teeth and her knuckles were white on the wheel.