The Journey Home by Michael Baron Read Free Book Online Page A

playing an elaborate game of peek-a-boo with him, revealing part of itself for an instant before hiding away again.

    Will turned up the car stereo to play a song that he seemed to enjoy. He had varied taste in music, some of which sounded better to Joseph than others. Music seemed to be something of a passion for the boy, and he moved while he drove, with as much grace as a seat belt and a steering wheel afforded. This latest tune had him playing bass guitar with the turn signal while he rocked his head in syncopation. Joseph grinned at the sight, and even found his right foot moving to the song’s insistent rhythm.
    When the music ended, Will turned down the volume before the next song began. “Was that a great cut or what?”
    â€œI liked it. It was one of the better ones you’ve played. Who was that performer?”
    â€œVampire Weekend.”
    Joseph arched his eyebrows. “The band’s name is really Vampire Weekend?”
    Will threw up his hands. “Hey, I don’t name ‘em; I just love ‘em.”
    Joseph chuckled at the boy’s enthusiasm. He was a fascinating combination of cool and childish. “You’ll let me know if you’re getting tired, right?”
    â€œI’m good.”
    â€œAre you sure? We’ve been driving for a while now.”
    Will glanced over at him with the lopsided grin that Joseph had quickly recognized as his signature. He guessed that girls recognized it as something else. “Are you telling me that you’re tired?”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind stretching my legs for a little while.”

    â€œNext rest stop we come to, okay?”
    About fifteen minutes later, Will turned off the highway and up a long ramp to a stop marked “Frank Capra Memorial Rest Stop.” The name Frank Capra only rang the dimmest of bells in Joseph’s mind, but the rest stop dedicated to him had a remarkable folksy quality. They passed gas pumps on their way off the ramp, but the vicinity around the rest stop was like the main street of a very small town. Trees lined the curb and patrons milled from an ice cream shop to a dry goods store to a restaurant bearing a sign that promised homestyle cooking, the best coffee for miles, and “Bethy’s incomparable pies.”
    â€œAre you hungry?” Joseph said to Will as they got out of the car.
    â€œI could eat something.”
    â€œLet’s go see what this ‘homestyle cooking’ is about.”
    They entered a room with soft lighting and muted colors. Perhaps this was just further evidence of his failed memory, but Joseph had not envisioned this when he imagined going to a rest stop. The tables and chairs were maple with woven, amber-colored placemats at each setting. Moss green drapes hung from the windows, matching the moss and beige rug on the floor. If the cooking was as “homestyle” as the dining room decor, this meal was going to be far more of a treat than Joseph had expected. That would be good. The only time he’d felt truly comfortable since awakening in this place had been when he was eating, but he also hadn’t had a thoughtless meal yet.
    The hostess seated them and handed them
menus. A busboy brought them water as they sat and a waiter took Joseph’s order for coffee and Will’s for a Sprite. Joseph opened his menu and considered the options. Four-cheese pasta sounded appealing, as did the chicken-and-white-bean chili. A box on the righthand corner of the menu told the story of “Randy’s famous spice-rubbed smoked pork loin,” explaining how Randy (whoever he was) had spent years experimenting with spices, woodsmoke, and cooking temperatures before perfecting this dish.
    â€œHey, did you see this thing about the pork?” Joseph said to Will, who’d already closed his menu.
    â€œNah, I didn’t notice it.”
    â€œIt sounds very impressive. I think I hear it calling to me.”
    Will looked down at