Matthew Costello - Vacation

Kate loved it.

He looked out the window. No one else on the highway. So empty, Simon thought. And the fence… he knew that a fence surrounded where they lived. He’d seen that lots.

But this tall fence with its curled wire at the top seemed much taller.

And every now and then… a sign.

Big red letters.

Simon read the words.

WARNING! THIS PROTECTIVE FENCE IS ELECTRIFIED.

The fence was electric. Why was that? Were the bad people on the other side? Is that why it had to be electrified ?

He wanted to ask his parents.

But instead he just kept looking out the window.

As the car sped down the empty highway, as one sign after the other rushed by, Simon finally picked up his plastic men.

There was danger ahead for his action figures. They’d have to climb, then fight something big and evil.

But Simon didn’t know exactly what yet.

“I’m hungry!”

“Can’t you… shut up?”

Christie reached over and touched Kate’s knee. “Kate, no ‘shut ups,’ please.”

Christie watched Simon turn and make a face at his sister.

Gonna be a long ride, Christie thought.

“And Simon—no faces.”

“Mom, can you please make him stop? I want to read my book and not have him whining about food!”

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.

Contrary, thought Christie. She just likes being… contrary. Must be an age thing, a brother-and-sister thing.

Some kind of thing.

At least I get to experience what families have always experienced on vacation road trips.

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 real food, real taste in a way that almost ached?

“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.

We’re in this together.

“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, I depend on you. And thanks.

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.

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 blew a tire?” Christie said. “You make it sound like it’s an everyday occurrence.”

Jack looked into the backseat to make sure the kids were otherwise engaged.

Which they were.

“Tires blow. Happens.”

“ Used to happen. I did the paperwork for this trip. You’re not even allowed on this highway unless you have those new reinforced treads. Want to tell me how you blow one of those?”

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.

Normally, even the reinforced tires didn’t just blow.

And a trucker doing a long haul on this road… why, that would be the last thing he’d want.

Jack took a breath.

He could worry. Or he could let it go. Things happen. And if he didn’t get out of his paranoid state of mind—

—if it could even be called paranoia—

—it wouldn’t be much of a vacation.

The kids didn’t deserve that.

Another sign.

REST STOP AHEAD.

Jack pulled up to a row of gas pumps. He stopped the car but left the engine running.

“Aren’t you going to get some gas?” Christie asked.

“Can we get some stuff?” Simon said, eyeing the garish sign that announced a QuikMart inside.

“Hold on,” Jack said.

Jack looked at his hands locked on the steering wheel. What am I doing? he wondered. Looking around for what ?

No other cars here getting gas. That wasn’t so strange; after all, the highway had been pretty deserted.

And in the parking areas…

A sixteen-wheeler way in the back, maybe the driver catching some Z’s. Two cars parked on the side, the patrons probably inside the QuikMart. Maybe hitting the restrooms.

“Jack? What is it?”

He killed the ignition.

He smiled. “Nothing.” He pulled the key out and turned toward Christie and the kids. “Look, I’m going to lock the doors when I get out, okay?”