alone. I’ll just go there and wait for one hour and see if she comes.”
“We have to get you there,” I remind her.
“I’ll have you drop me around the corner,” Renie says. “It’s at 77 Lafayette.”
“How will you recognize each other?” I ask.
“I said I’d put a rose on the table. It’s stupid, but it’s all I could think of. I’ll find a rose somewhere.”
“That’s not stupid,” I say.
We stop to gas up, and Lise puts the address in the GPS. Then we’re all quiet, listening to NPR, until Renie says, “You know that saying Be kind, for everyone is carrying a heavy burden? It’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” I say.
“Not necessarily,” Joni says.
“Depends on how you define burden,” Lise says. And then, “Oh, look, cows. Riley, look! Look at the big dogs!”
I pull over and Riley stands to look out the open window and regard the cows. He wags his tail slowly.
“Let’s see if they’ll let him sniff them,” Renie says.
“We’ve gone seventeen miles,” I say. “Do you really think we should stop again already?”
“Stopping for gas doesn’t count,” Joni says.
Renie says, “And then after this, I need to pee.”
“I told you not to get that huge-size coffee at the gas station!” Lise says. She snaps on Riley’s leash.
“Oh, okay, I won’t,” Renie says and takes Riley’s leash from Lise. “I’ll take him. You won’t let him get close enough.”
“Don’t let him get hurt,” Lise says. “He’s an old dog. Be careful. Don’t let him get hurt.”
“They’re not bulls,” Renie says. She brings Riley over to the fence and he takes a leisurely pee, pointedly facing away from the cows. Then he walks over to the one nearest him, his tail low and still.
“Riley, this is Elsie the cow,” Renie says.
Elsie lowers her head and Riley sniffs her, then licks her nose. The cow’s head jerks up and Lise leans out the window to say, “Okay, that’s enough, back in the car. Come on.”
Renie turns around. “How about if I just take his leash off and let him stampede a little bit?” But she gets back into the car, and after I pull onto the road, she says, “Seriously, though. About the burden thing? Some people have no more burden than an avocado going bad.”
“That’s not true!” I say, and so we pass the time until we come to a truck stop–type gas station, where Renie says she’ll find some clothes and change in the ladies’ room. The rest of us walk Riley. Again.
“I can’t believe she walked into that store wearing pajamas,” Joni says.
Lise shrugs. “Everybody wears pajamas outside now. When Sandy was in high school they had to ban kids showing up for class in their sleepwear.”
“Yeah, well, Renie’s not a kid,” Joni says, and Lise says, “Oh?”
“I’M THE PERSON YOUR MOTHER WARNED YOU ABOUT?” Joni says, when Renie gets back in the car, about what’s emblazoned across the front of the T-shirt she’s wearing over a pair of surprisingly not-bad jeans.
Renie shrugs. “It was this or HOW CAN I LOVE YOU IF YOU WON’T LIE DOWN?”
“See, you’re just being provocative right off the bat,” Lise says. “This is how you get when you’re scared.”
“What?” Renie says. I tell her I’ve got a plain white blouse and a black blazer she can wear, and she goes back inside to change. I’m nervous for her. I wish she wasn’t the first stop. I wish I could know that her daughter would show up and give her a chance. But I suppose that’s what this journey is about for all of us: finding out.
ABOUT TEN MINUTES outside of Winona, there’s a sign for homemade pie. It’s tacked onto a rural mailbox in shaky handwriting. “Ohhhhh, look, look, look, look!” Joni says. “Let’s go!”
I pull into the driveway and Renie says, “No, no, don’t stop. We have to get there.”
I look at my watch. “We practically are there. And it’s only ten-forty.”
“Too close,” Renie says. “These roads aren’t nearly as fast as the freeway. And what if we run into a train crossing? Plus I have to buy a rose. And I have to comb my hair and put on some … I don’t know, ChapStick. I have to get centered, take a walk by myself, I’ll take a walk before I go in. I have to calm down. I really have to calm down and think about what I want to say to her, I have to get ready, you guys, come on!” She sighs. “Sorry.” She closes her