This short story started as a writing prompt: a photo of a family gathered around a map.
Maddie
sighed and leaned back against the too-firm headrest. Her husband Ray clenched
the wheel, glaring down the road. In the backseat, their three sons snapped,
whined, and shoved one another, mirroring the tension they felt from Mom and
Dad.
“Look at that!” growled Ray, jerking
a nod toward a passing sign. “Pine Ridge Road. I told you that idiot at the gas
station didn’t know anything. According to him, we wouldn’t have hit that for
miles.”
“Maybe you just didn’t understand
him,” Maddie said in a low voice. “You already said the map must be
wrong.” The bite of sarcasm tinged her words.
“The name of that road back there
was different.”
“Or it was a different road.”
Ray’s knuckles turned white.
“Alright, that’s it!”
The bickering in the backseat
stopped instantly, replaced by worried silence.
Maddie cringed. Oh, God, this was
supposed to be our great vacation, our healing time as a family. It’s just
making it worse. We can’t even find the campground.
Ray pulled the car over to the side
of the road. He turned a weary, dark-eyed look on his family. “Okay, we’re
going to get some fresh air.”
He stepped out and slammed the door.
Maddie and the boys slowly followed. Peter and James, the younger two,
immediately ran to the guardrail and looked out over the forest vista. The
eldest, Matthew, leaned against the car.
Ray and Maddie stared at one another
for a long moment. “Alright, get out the map,” he grumbled. “We’ll try one more
time to figure out where this place is, and if it doesn’t work—we’re turning
back.”
Peter gave a yelp of dismay.
“Quiet,” Ray warned.
“Be gentler!” Maddie snapped.
“Just get the map.”
They huddled around the sheet of
paper, fingers tracing the ink lines, the air between them thick with anxiety.
Maddie was aware of each member of her family. Peter swallowing back sobs.
James rubbing his eyes while his lip quivered. Matthew glaring. Anger and
frustration coiling in Ray—a spring winding tight, ready to explode.
Maddie was holding back tears. Her mind
whirled with all the things she wanted to pour out on her husband—how he was
crushing the boys’ spirits, how he was setting such a horrible example, how he
didn’t listen to her or anyone…
Maddie turned away from the map.
With a mumbled excuse, she left her husband and sons to pore over it—his voice
sharp, theirs pleading—and walked over to the guardrail.
God, we’re so lost, she
prayed. I can’t do this. Please, show us the way to go.
“Maddie,” said Ray in a brusque
tone, “let’s get moving.” She turned back and he waved the map. “We’ve been
reading it backwards, or something. Idiot map-makers.”
She saw the weary expectation in his
glance. He was waiting for her to chastise him, as she always did. But this
time, Maddie waited, and listened to a quiet voice inside.
“I suppose you want to check the
route?” Ray grumbled, fingers crinkling the edges of the map.
The quiet voice spoke, and Maddie
followed its lead. “No, that’s alright.” What the voice said next was hard. But
in a few moments of inner debate, she realized it couldn’t be worse than the
exhausting tension. She took a deep breath and met Ray’s eyes. “I trust you.”
He was still for a moment, and then
averted his gaze. “Okay.”
They got in and drove.
Ray muttered to himself about stupid
roads and maps and people, but Maddie kept silent, and prayed. At every turn,
she prayed. Ray’s muttering fizzled out into sighs.
“Hmph,” he grunted suddenly, “nice
trees here.”
Then Peter gave an excited cry.
“Mommy, Daddy, look!”
A huge wooden sign ahead welcomed
them to Peace River Campground.
