Read The Goodbye Quilt for Free Online Page B

No need to cut the day short.”
    “Come on, Moll—”
    “I’m driving, Mom. You said I could. That means I get to pick where we stop. Find a stopping place in the Triple-A guide and pick a motel.”
    For a moment, I feel disoriented. Who is thisperson in the driver’s seat, telling me what to do? A small laugh erupts from me.
    “What’s funny?” asks Molly.
    “You sound like your mother.”
    “And that surprises you?”
    “Yes. A little. I guess.” Bemused, I take out the Triple-A guide. It is something I recall from my own childhood. We used to go on grim road trips each summer, with me and my three siblings fighting in the back seat, our dad hunched doggedly over the steering wheel and our mom flipping pages in the triptych while reciting facts and figures from the guidebook.
    “Grady, Nebraska. Population 4,500,” I tell Molly now. “There are four possible motels, two with two-diamond ratings and two with three.”
    “Go for the three.”
    Finally, something we agree on.

Chapter Four
    We make our way to the Star Lite Motor Court and Coffee Shop. I’m not sure what the three diamonds in the auto guide signify. There’s a pool, but a suspicious-looking green tinge stains the tiles, so Molly and I decide against taking a swim. The coffee shop looks promising; it’s open late, and features a grill hissing with frying burgers, and a revolving glass case displaying pies of mythic proportions.
    We let ourselves into our room, wondering what three-diamond amenities we’ll find there. The carpet smells faintly of mildew and ancient cigarettes, so we open a window to let in fresh air. Ugh, I think with a twinge of disappointment. Given the nature of this journey, I’d hoped for betteraccommodations. I’d pictured the two of us sharing a charming suite in a B&B, or working out in the fitness room of a modern hotel. As usual, there’s a gap between expectation and reality.
    Molly flings herself on one of the beds, bouncing happily. “I love road trips,” she crows. “I love staying in motels.”
    And with that, the disappointment is gone, lifted away by the grin on her face. I am forced to notice this small but significant shift. Molly’s mood has the power to determine my own. This was never apparent when she was at home, but once she’s gone, where will the happiness come from? I need to make sure I remember how to find it.
    “What’s this?” She indicates the metal Magic Fingers box on the nightstand.
    “You’ve never heard of Magic Fingers?”
    “What?”
    “Move over.” I dig some quarters out of my jeans pocket, drop them in the slot and lie down next to Molly. “Your education’s not complete until you’ve experienced Magic Fingers.”
    Nothing happens. “I guess it’s broken,” I say. “The thing is probably thirty years old if it’s a day.”
    “Just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s broken.”Determined, Molly reaches across me and gives the box a shake. Still nothing. She messes with the cord. And then: “Whoa. Did you feel that?”
    I lie very still. There is a mechanical hum, then a faint vibration buzzes upward, penetrating through me and increasing in strength. Molly relaxes next to me, supine.
    “Okay,” she says. “This is weird.”
    “It’ll stop in a few minutes.”
    “Weird in a good way,” she amends.
    “I can’t believe you never tried this before.” Through the years, we’ve stayed in dozens of motels together but this is the first time we’ve found Magic Fingers. “I guess they’re a thing of the past,” I tell her.
    “Good thing we decided to stop here, huh?” She sighs with contentment.
    A kinder way of saying “I told you so.” We lie side by side, the bed humming beneath us for long minutes. When the vibrations stop, I am startled to feel more relaxed, the rigors of the long driving day eased from my muscles.
    “What are you thinking about?” Molly asks.
    The question catches me off guard. “You, I suppose. I’ve always liked