Excerpt: Black Mountain Light

Running off the road was a real possibility when he was like this. Away from home for a while, a two hour drive ahead of him, Alder was prone to daydreams, to having conversations inside along with the flashing roadside distractions. With the scenery, whatever season happened to be, the number of road kills in a ten mile stretch, counting crows and wondering what it meant, spotting visible obelisks watching over hill cemeteries. He might need to pull over for something so why miss it? A two hour drive could easily end up being three.

He wasn’t the type to keep glancing at you when you were talking, like those that look like they’re reading your lips, but he did spend more time with his eyes off the road than on what might be sneaking up on the repetitious asphalt horizon. He could eat up time quick this way, especially when alone. Make a long drive short or a short drive long. Time was flexible like that when you believed it could be.

When Alder got restless he’d drive. A lot. The more restless he got, the more he drove. Heading down the road, to anywhere, did something for him he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it quieted him for a time for sure. And he was more than 40,000 miles restless so far in the last year, effectively killing off his three year warranty. His brakes were sounding strange, the tires were worn, but his mind was clear enough. At this rate the car would run into the ground before half the lien was paid off. Just a little more in debt, that’s what he needed.

He was heading down the main highway into the pointy corner of southwest Virginia, toward places with which he was vaguely familiar. Seldom venturing off the main roads in this part of the state he was just familiar enough to get good and lost. He’d drive east and then northeast, through Lee County for a time and then, as this thinnest point of Virginia expanded to a width of two counties and then three and four, the state thinned again. But he wasn’t going that far. He only needed to get to Wise County. From there he’d figure out what he was going to do.

He checked his voice mailbox, fumbling with his cell phone as he tried keeping the car in the road. He’d lose reception further out.

This is Amy, at the Mountain Sun. I wanted to touch base on how the column’s coming for this week. Give me a call when you can and let me know if we’ll have it on time, thanks. Then another, Alder, you’ve not called me in days. I thought we were going to talk. You know, about us…I’ve not made the bed since you left…it still smells like you…call me. Lord, couldn’t she get a hint?

The problem with voice mail was you were expected to return the call. And what did “touch base” mean? And what wouldn’t Sara have made the bed? He deleted them, folded his phone up and tossed it in the passenger seat across some newspapers and a library book he kept meaning to read and turned up the radio just to be doing something.