The ride to Kandern from the Frankfurt airport had been memorable, punctuated with multiple near-death experiences caused by Gus’s enthusiastic driving. It had taken all the self-control I could muster to keep from throwing my body over Shayla’s as a sort of human shield against the collision I knew was bound to happen sooner or later. Driving on a German autobahn was much like playing bumper-car tag at ninety-five miles per hour, but Gus, Bev, and Shayla had seemed oblivious to the danger. While the two adults had carried on a hearty conversation, Shayla had slept, her body warm and supple against my arm.
“That’s Europa-Park,” Gus had said after a couple hours of driving. “You’ll have to take Shayla there.”
“What is it?”
“An amusement park. Costs an arm and a leg to get in, but it’s great fun. The school goes every year. We put our problem kids on the worst roller coasters and see if we can scare them straight.”
“Gus . . .” Bev shook her head—again—and turned to whisper, “He exaggerates.”
“I’m sittin’ right here. I can hear you, darlin’.”
“Only when you want to, love.”
As we got nearer to Kandern, the Johnsons described in detail every point of interest we passed, but my mind was more on fear of death than on churches, ruins, and distant mountain peaks. Every time Gus turned to point at something, I pushed an imaginary brake pedal and prayed we wouldn’t become the losers in a Porsche-versus-old-beater crash. It was a relief when we finally took the Müllheim exit and merged onto smaller roads that hugged the vineyards.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Bev said. “I’ve got a pot roast cooking and plenty of caffeine to perk you up! Oh, and there are two families in town who have some furniture to donate, if you want it, so we might go out this afternoon and see if it’s your cup of tea or not. How does that sound?”
I smiled at her kindness and reached over to stroke Shayla’s hair, hoping she’d wake slowly from her deep, jet-lagged slumber. “You’ve gone to so much trouble,” I told Bev, moved by the Johnsons’ solicitousness. “If you’d rather just drop us off at our place and let us muddle through on our own, that’s fine too.”
“Nonsense,” Gus said. “You’re our special guests and we take that kind of thing seriously in the South . . . even if this is southern Germany. Besides, if we leave you alone, you’re likely to sleep the day away, and that’s just begging for jet lag to beat you. Nope, we’re going to get you through your first day in style, Shelby Davis. It’s the least we can do for important people like you!”
I observed the countryside as we drove the last miles to the beginning of my new life. The towns were small, some no larger than villages, and it seemed there wasn’t a straight road to be found in them. We curled down main streets that wove along streams and tree lines, crowded at times by too-close homes in various shapes and sizes that made the roads and sidewalks appear impossibly narrow.
I loved the gentle slope of hills, the rhythmic lines of vineyards, and the surprising contrast of ancient and modern. Some barns looked centuries old and on the verge of collapse, but they were often flanked by homes so avant-garde in design and color that the two seemed to belong on separate planets. There were small Gasthaus restaurants everywhere, and I longed to stop at one and try my first German meal in a courtyard under a canopy of rustling vines. But Bev and Gus had different plans for us, and we rushed toward Kandern in a blur of speeding traffic and overlapping narratives to arrive at their home just in time for lunch.
Shayla woke with difficulty from her too-brief nap, clinging to my neck as I pulled her from the backseat and whining weakly every time I tried to put her down. Bev ushered me into their home and directly to an armchair, where I collapsed with Shayla, grateful for the high armrests that helped me support her weight. Though Shay’s eyes were half-open, her mind was clearly still on pause, so I was content to sit there with her in my arms, listening to the Johnsons as they scurried around the kitchen in preparation for our meal. A few minutes later, while a whistling Gus took an electric knife to the pot roast, Bev joined