Holland Suggestions by John Dunning Read Free Book Online Page B

anyway. I would try anything that occurred to me, no matter what the odds. But until I knew who he was and what it all meant, I was playing by his rules.
    There were the usual last-minute problems, things that should be expected whenever a divorced man with a teenage daughter and a devotion to his job suddenly uproots for three weeks. Al Harper had half a dozen minor crises and Peggy Harris suddenly reneged on her offer to have Judy as a houseguest because her three cousins were coming in unexpectedly from Illinois. I worked around everything. We found Judy a place to stay just before I was to leave. Linda Coughlin was delighted to have her. The parents seemed okay, Judy was comfortable, and that set my mind at ease.
    Finally there was the matter of the camping gear. Ostensibly, I was going fishing, and I didn’t want anyone to know I was in New York. So I took some camping gear with me. I bought things I had always intended to buy and use but never before had had the time: tough hiking clothes that I could use later in the Shenandoahs; a pair of boots; a large backpack. I took only casual clothes. Four heavy flannel shirts, a knitted skullcap, tough work pants, and a thermal overcoat. I packed thermal longjohns too, and never once stopped to wonder if maybe I was overdoing it. I would stand out in New York like the Midnight Cowboy.
    In my backpack I took some warm blankets, an ax, and, at the last moment, a full bottle of bourbon. I debated the last, then decided to take it, I laughingly told myself, in case of snakebite.
    I was so anxious to be on the road that I knew I wouldn’t sleep at all. In fact, I slept more soundly than I had in months. A feeling of strength came over me as I pulled the blanket up over my shoulders. Yes, I was awake at precisely three-thirty, but it was not an awakening of distress or terror. I got up calmly as though I had set an alarm clock, filled with anticipation and enthusiasm; I could not wait to get on the road! In the three hours before Judy got up I loaded my car, checked the gear, read last night’s paper, and rechecked the gear. I put one envelope containing the mountain pictures in a suitcase and dropped the suitcase into the back seat of the car. I was ready to go; more than that: I was aching to go.
    Then, the parting. We locked the house and I drove Judy to school. We ate breakfast in some noisy little cafe about two blocks from the school building, and there we went through the final checks. I double-checked the Coughlins’ home telephone number, and we passed small talk back and forth for half an hour over our empty plates. “I’m going to miss you,” she said. I assured her that I would miss her too, and I would. Sometime in the next day or two I would call her and let her know exactly where I was and how I was doing. She wanted to walk, but I drove her the last two blocks and watched, with a growing reluctance to let her go, as she disappeared into the building.
    Now I found that some of my initial enthusiasm had burned out. For a long time I sat outside the school. I called it thought organization, but there was nothing to organize. There was nothing left to do but go.
    I know the way to New York by heart. There was no need for a road map and in fact I did not have one. From my home it is a straight shot down to Richmond on Interstate 64; then north to Washington on I-95. Actually, 95 goes all the way to New York and beyond, so there is nothing to remember. Nothing left to do but go. But I resisted going the straight, easy way that I knew so well; I passed the I-64 overpass and continued on out of town. The road came to a dead end at a narrow state highway that cut through a long section of woods and, I thought, joined Route 29 somewhere up the line. Rationale: Just now I don’t feel like facing the hustle of the interstate; I’d rather drift through the country and think about it some more. Logic: Goddamnit. I’ve had weeks to think about it; why not get on with it?