The serpentine road would probably make him nauseated, but Eric shifted his weight and leaned toward the window and back again, catching the rhythm of the twisting road – arching, bending – like a rubber raft in white rapids. He was wide-awake now, daring fate and refusing to decrease his speed.

     The little dog beside him stirred and whined. Eric took his hand off the steering wheel long enough to touch her. “Hold on, Beast! We’ll be at my mom’s soon.”

     But then, Kate wasn’t with him. “Perhaps I’ll join you later,” she had said. “I planned this trip months ago. My family is expecting me to be there for Julie’s graduation.”

     The speed had been exhilarating, but it failed to lift his depression. He eased off the accelerator and a terrible emptiness enveloped him. He elbowed the dog to wake her up. “How about our calling Kate?” The Shih Tzu sat up and nudged his arm. He pulled his cell phone out of its case and, using his thumb, punched in Kate’s number.

     All he heard was static from the mountains and the weather. He glanced at the clock, glowing a blueish-green on the dashboard. It was nearly midnight. Just as well he hadn’t reached her. He would have to confess that he had broken his promise to stop for the night in Johnson City. “Oh well, we would just worry her.”

     The dog’s ears popped up, and she twisted her head to give Eric an inquisitive glance. “You know, hound, you are pretty good to talk to. No cautioning me to take care of myself and no nagging.” His voice wavered like the phone static. Eric was surprised at the weariness he heard in his own voice.

     The dog sat up and gently nosed Eric’s hand as if she too wanted the pain to go away.

     Eric shoved the phone back into its case. He let his hand linger on the dog’s small warm body, and, strangely, it was a comfort to him to have her with him. “We don’t need to fret. The dialysis support group warned me of mood changes, little friend. I’m okay. I suppose.”

     The car skidded onto the gravel shoulder and came to a shuddering halt just beyond a guard rail. Eric glanced back at the highway, realizing he had neither passed nor met a vehicle since he left Hampton.

     A sudden lull in the storm brought the scent of ozone. Eric took a deep breath. He and the dog were the solitary travelers because sensible people were smart enough to stay out of the storm. Sulfurous lightning and the murky gloom created an eerie surrealism

     Eric crossed his arms on the steering wheel and rested his head on them. The idea of Clay being a kidney donor for him was out of the question. He wouldn’t allow it, nor would Dr. Young – if his fear about the family history proved true.

     As he stepped slowly out of the car to inspect it for damage, the rain intensified. Eric moved, head bent against the storm, to the trunk to get a flashlight and umbrella. Finding no damage that he could see in the rain, he started around to the passenger side – but there was no room to walk. Indeed, during a flash of lightning, he saw the right front tire, slowing its spin, hanging into space.

Eric leaned against the car. Another few inches and he would have been airborne. He glanced across the black canyon but he instead of a prayer of relief; he voiced stinging regret. It would have been such an easy escape.

     He could excuse a dog, but he had been the dumb one. He should never use a phone while driving and he had already broken a promise to his wife since he hadn’t stopped for the night. But, he reasoned, he was less than seventy miles from home.

     He should have let his brother Joel to meet him at the Tri-City Airport.

     He grabbed the door handle to haul himself out of the car to go look for the dog, but she waited patiently by the door– a little wet cream-colored mop, her tiny, flat face lifted up expectantly. He reached under the dog’s middle, lifted her, again surprised by her weight. He brushed more water off his soaked knees. “You are pitiful; do you know that? And you got your pink ribbon wet. How in heaven’s name am I going to tie a new ribbon on you?” The dog answered with a throaty, chortling reprimand.

     To the dog, he said, “I didn’t mean it, Beast. You smell – well, you do smell like a wet dog, but I like it.”

     The dog cocked her head to stare at him. She offered a tenuous, growled complaint. Then, apparently reassured, she lay down, snuggling close to his leg.

     “Well, good, a truce. I hope you know, little one, how much Kate hates to give you up – but she promised you to Mom. She said Mom needed you more.”

     Kate’s eyes had filled with tears when she put the dog in her crate for the taxi ride to the airport.. “Honey, if you love her so much, keep her and we’ll get another one for Mom,” Eric said.

     “No. I trained her for your mom. It would take time to find and train another dog, and ... you just never know ...”

     He eased the car backward into the road and stepped on the gas. He wouldn’t tell Kate anything about this night. Kate seemed preoccupied about death lately. They were all getting sick of dialysis clinics. He understood Kate’s depression, but she didn’t help his misery when, at La Guardia, she boarded a flight for Kentucky to her niece’s graduation just minutes before his plane left for Tennessee. He suspected she wanted to forget about the clinics for a few days, and he guessed she needed a little relief.

     The thought of the dialysis clinics made him think of his son Clay, and he felt wretched, suddenly too tired to go on to North Carolina. The curves he had just maneuvered were nothing compared to the switchback turns in Avery County, and he had better stop driving while he was still alert – at least partially alert.

     He couldn’t rouse the night watchman in the first motel but stopped at the next, a small rustic place that he would never have stopped at had Kate been with him. The attendant came to the door, shoving his shirttail into his trousers. His tousled hair made him look like the dog Eric cradled in his right arm. He had caught the dog in another escape attempt and forgot he still held her.

     The sleepy-eyed man studied Eric’s wet blond hair and slowly brought his eyes down to rest on his damp clothing.

     The clerk jumped back a step and stuttered, “Oh, no, sir. I didn’t know it was raining that hard. I was just thinking – as skinny as you are – you would have to stand twice to cast a shadow.”

     Eric laughed. He was used to corny jokes about his height, but hadn’t heard one about his build – but he had never been this thin before. “Sorry to be so late tonight,” he said.

     “Actually ... you’re early.” The clerk gazed at the clock above the desk that registered 1:05.

     “Or early,” Eric repeated, also gazing at the clock. Perhaps he could squeeze in four or five hours of sleep.

     Pointing to the dog, the man said, “Is that thang real? Looks like a toy. I’ll have to charge more for a dog – owner’s orders.”

     “Okay. I understand. She’s a belated gift to my mother for her 84th birthday. Wanted a lap dog.”

     “Wal, she sure ain’t no sheep dog! She housebroke?” He giggled like an embarrassed teenager. “The dog, I mean.”

     “They both are,” Eric said, deadpan.

     “Then, fergit the extra charge. For the dog, I mean.” He scrunched up his eyes trying to read the name on Eric’s credit card. “Thank you, Mr. String, er, ah, Mr. Walsh..”

     Eric was too tired to appreciate this latest attempt at humor. He pulled his traveling case down the hall to the room and flipped on the light. He fell across the bed, then turned on the radio. It was set on a country music station and he lay silent, listening. “Amazing,” he said to the dog. His own brother Joel was serenading him on the country station.

     “Life is like a mountain railroad, with an engineer that’s brave ...” Joel sang.

     Eric listened to the end of the song.

     “Keep your hand upon the throttle, and your eye upon the road,” Joel concluded.

***

     Eric came home from high school when he was fifteen to see the white lace tablecloth and his mother’s best china on the dining room table. His younger sister Betsy explained that neighbors were coming to dinner to watch the television show with them. “Do you think they will do a closeup of Joel?”

     “If he has a solo, they probably will. Does Joel have a solo?”

     “Yes, yes, yes! His first national show!”

     When their mother announced supper, the mouth-watering aroma of country ham and spicy stewed apples beckoned them to the table. Pastor Earl, a retired minister, gave the blessing in his rich, baritone voice that revealed an obvious familiarity with the Deity. “My dear wife used to fix apples like these,” he remarked and scooped spoonfuls of the cinnamon flavored fruit onto his plate.

     The family tried to talk about news other than the Nashville Television Special; it was just too exciting for dinner-table conversation, his father insisted. Betsy and her grandmother were already hyper-active. Brother Earl tried to keep the conversation relevant. “I took a long hike up to where my great grandparents had a little cabin. There’s nothing left of the structure since even the logs have rotted. The old chimney is standing, though. Nothing left of the cabin, only the gray stones.”

     “Did you ever leave the mountains, Pastor Earl?” Betsy asked in her high-pitched voice.

     Then Pastor Earl turned the conversation to Eric. “I see you’re making progress on the stone wall. Are you also working on a new painting?”

     Eric’s dad replied, “The boy should have been his grandfather’s son. He’s the kind of son my father always wanted. One who could draw pictures.”

     Grandma clucked softly. “Now, now, son.”

     Before Eric had a chance to tell Brother Earl about his new work, they moved to the living room and Betsy found a place on the floor directly in front of the television set. Grandma pulled her rocking chair up as close to the screen as she could and not block the view for others. Expectancy filled the room.

     The Nashville Special was more than half over before they announced Joel’s number.

     Betsy gave a squeal of joy when Joel stepped lightly to the microphone. The band played a harmonious introduction as Joel began to strum his guitar, and for all the world, it was as though he was right there in their little living room. Eric caught his breath as his brother began to sing his own composition, “Mountain Glory.”

     Joel closed his eyes and a strand of dark hair slid down on his forehead, accentuating his youth. The cameras captured the wistful homesickness in the face of the lad as he sang of blue mountains. The music was full of emotion, flowing and sweet sounding, and it was as though he was singing only for his family. Twice, the camera broke away to focus on a panorama of snow covered mountain peaks then panned back to Joel, catching the motion of the lock of dark hair swaying back and forth in rhythm with the melody. His home audience sat absolutely still, hypnotized, straining to hold on to every word, eyes glued to the singer. Eric felt goose-pimples on his arms.

     For a while no one else said a word. Even though a different musical ensemble occupied the television screen, Joel’s song seemed to linger in the room, like the fragrance of sweet honeysuckle on a warm day. Eric’s chest hurt, like your heart could really ache from missing someone. He had almost forgotten how Joel looked and how much his eyes and hair were like their father’s. He tried to lock in the memory of Joel’s voice so he wouldn’t forget it. “Like a dulcimer,” his grandpa had said, but Eric knew Joel’s voice had a lot more richness to it. It had grown deeper in the years he had been away.

***