Redwood Bend

to help,” he said.
“And I love you for it. But I’m going to do this my way.”
And he backed off! “All right, fair enough.”
Katie was momentarily shocked into silence. “Wow,” she finally said. “Who are you and what have you done with my big brother?”
“Very funny.”
“Although I have the utmost respect for you, I give all the credit for this change to Leslie. Tell her I owe her.”
When Katie had escaped to Vermont in March, she had left behind her minivan with the license plate that could identify her. It was to be sold and Conner had arranged for a late-model Lincoln Navigator SUV to be waiting for her in Vermont—a mammoth vehicle that she could barely park. As any carpooling mother might, she had grieved her minivan—it was light and easy to handle and felt like an extension of her body. But she came to quickly love the big, gas-guzzling SUV. She felt like queen of the road—invulnerable; she could see over everything and everyone. She looked forward to some time on the road for reflection, to consider her options. The act of seeing the miles vanish in the rearview mirror was a good way to leave the past behind and welcome a new beginning.
It didn’t take Katie long to get out of town. She had UPS pick up her boxes on Monday, phoned the school and arranged to have the boys’ kindergarten records scanned and emailed to her, invited the landlord over to check the condition of the house, and asked her neighbor to come over and help herself to the perishables that would otherwise be thrown out. She arranged to have the Lincoln picked up in Orlando and moved to Sacramento while she and the boys did a little Disney. She packed not only clothes, but the cooler and picnic basket. Her tool belt, which was pink and had been given to her by her late husband, Charlie, went with her everywhere. Armed with portable DVD players and movies, iPads and rechargers, she loaded her monster SUV and headed south.
They got off to a great start, but after a few hours the boys started to wiggle and squabble and complain. She stopped for the bathroom for one when the other one didn’t have to go and fifteen minutes down the road, had to stop again for the second one. They picnicked at rest stops every few hours and she ran them around to tire them out, though the only one who seemed tired was Katie. She repaired a malfunctioning DVD player, set up some snacks and loaded them back up to hit the road again.
She couldn’t help but wonder how parents did this sort of thing ten, twenty, thirty years ago before portable movies and iPad games. How did they manage without fifth-wheel-size cars with pull-down consoles that served as tables to hold games and refreshments? Without cars that, like cruise ships, had individual heating and air-conditioning thermostats? How did the pioneer mothers manage? Did they even have duct tape back then?
Most women, at times like this, would be reduced to self-pity because they were left with these high maintenance, energetic boys, but Katie just wasn’t that kind of woman. She hated self-pity. She did, however, wish Charlie could see them, experience them.
Katie met and married Charlie when she was twenty-six. They had a romantic, devoted, passion-charged relationship, but it had been too short. He was a Green Beret—Army Special Forces. When she was pregnant with the boys, he deployed to Afghanistan where he was killed before they were born.
How she wished he knew them now. When they weren’t in trouble they were so funny. She imagined they were like their father had been as a child; they certainly resembled him physically. They were large for their ages, rambunctious, competitive, bright, a little short-tempered and possessive. They both had a strong sentimental streak. They still needed maternal cuddling regularly and they loved all animals, even the tiniest ones. They tried to cover up their tears during Disney movies like Bambi. If one of them got scared, the other propped him up and reassured and vice versa. When they were forced together, like in the backseat of the car, they wanted space. When they were forced apart, they wanted to be together. She wondered if they’d ever take individual showers.
And just as she’d always griped at Charlie for never closing the bathroom door, she still longed for a little solitary bathroom time. The boys had been in her bubble, no matter what she was doing, since they could crawl. She could barely have a bath without company in the past