Page 49 of Ice Ice Maybe
I nodded nonchalantly. “It’s got a 4.4-liter Turbo V-8. 617 horsepower.”
Mr. Dalton seemed impressed I knew that, but that was another thing I learned from the rental agent. At least we had cars and sports in common. It was a universal language for most guys.
Our conversation ended there, but that was more than enough for me. The energy was about to shift, anyway. I’ddownloaded Tina Turner’s greatest hits onto my phone and connected it to the car sound system. A surprise for Mrs. Dalton. As “What’s Love Got to Do with It” played through the speakers, her eyes went wide with delight.
Zena squeezed my shoulder and shot me a radiant smile in the rearview mirror as she and her mother began belting out the lyrics. I cranked up the volume and joined in, keeping my voice low enough to avoid shattering the windshield or causing nearby cattle to stampede. Mr. Dalton remained silent, but after a minute, I noticed his foot tapping on the floorboard, which was more than anyone could expect.
When “We Don’t Need Another Hero” played next, Mrs. Dalton called out, “I don’t need another hero. I have you, Nolan!”
Our laughter filled the car with warmth and happiness as Zena and Mrs. Dalton sang along again. Mr. Dalton would flip down his passenger-side visor. I caught him watching his wife in the small mirror. His brow furrowed as if the concept of unadulterated fun was foreign to him, or worse, something he’d forgotten how to experience himself.
For the next hour, the car became a rolling concert hall, with Zena and Mrs. Dalton as our enthusiastic headliners. They belted out hit after hit, their voices harmonizing over the purr of the engine and the rush of the wind. Their energy was infectious, filling the car with a jubilant atmosphere that even Mr. Dalton’s stoic presence couldn’t dampen.
Mr. Dalton shifting uncomfortably in his seat, wincing slightly. Recognition dawned on me. He needed to use the restroom again.
“Nobody kill me,” I said as a cover for him as I turned down the music for a moment, “but I could use a bathroom break. Mind if we stop at the next exit?”
Mr. Dalton piped up immediately. “Good idea. I could probably go too, since you’re stopping.”
I took the next exit, but instead of the gas station or fast-food joint I expected to see, we found ourselves on a two-lane road surrounded by rural farmland. Cows, horses, and goats watched us pass with mild interest.
Mr. Dalton’s squirming intensified as I continued to drive. “Where are we? I don’t see any restrooms.”
I pointed to an approaching sign. “Apparently, we’re in Zu Zu.”
Mrs. Dalton giggled. “You sound like a baby uttering his first words. Zu Zu.”
Zena followed that up with, “Ma Ma!”
We all laughed, except Mr. Dalton, who was probably too preoccupied with his discomfort.
A few minutes later, he pointed to another sign off the side of the road. “Are you serious? Now we’re in Yum Yum?”
Zena snorted. “Yum Yum, Tennessee! That’s adorable! I had no idea it even existed.”
“You see?” Mrs. Dalton smiled with satisfaction. “This is why I love road trips. Life slows down and you discover new things!”
Mr. Dalton’s patience had clearly run out. “Would someone please find us a bathroom?”
I caught Zena’s knowing look in the rearview mirror.
“I’m sure there has to be one coming up soon,” I said.
We passed a small church and its adjacent cemetery before Mr. Dalton practically yelled, “Pull over. Now.”
It wasn’t ideal, but I guided the car onto the dirt shoulder, partly sticking out onto the road. Mr. Dalton bolted from the car, making a beeline for a tree near the edge of the cemetery as we all stayed put.
Mrs. Dalton’s brow furrowed. “Wow—he really had to go.”
Zena explained my observations from the plane and terminal, suggesting it might be a sign of a more serious issue.
“It most certainly could be,” Mrs. Dalton said, concern etching her features. “I’ll talk to him privately when we reach the hotel in Nashville. Thank you for being so observant.”
When Mr. Dalton returned, we were all staring at him.
“What?” he demanded.
Mrs. Dalton pointed to his pants. “Your fly is open, dear.”
