Rift: Excerpt page three

The overcast sky paints the city in shades of gray, and even the conditioned air in the car feels uncomfortable and sticky. Fifty or so miles from the Gulf, Houston is close enough to draw tropical moisture out of the ocean but too far away to be cooled by any sort of sea breeze effect. That's one benefit of choosing Phoenix as my transmission destination--not a whole lot of humidity in Arizona.

The radio mumbles a conversation I can't quite hear. Misty's speed hovers just below the posted limit of seventy miles per hour, which is interesting when you consider that she drives like a demon most of the time. She's making time to stage one final confrontation, you see.

"Really, Cameron," she says. Her eyes shift but never quite make contact with mine. "Will you please seize this last opportunity to reconsider? I've told you a thousand times that I don't care about the money, and I don't believe the job market in Houston is as bad as you say it is. You could find something. I could make more money. Don't act like this is the only choice you have."

"Honey, we've gone over this. It's not just the money--"

"You're just bored with accounting, that's all. You need a vacation. That's why I think you should go ahead and visit Tom. Fly out there and stay for a week and play golf every day. I know you'll feel better."

"Misty . . ."

"Please just fly. Just take an airplane." One of her hands leaves the steering wheel and rummages into her purse. She pulls out an envelope and shoves it at me. "I bought this for you. A direct flight to Phoenix. It leaves at five-thirty."

"Airplanes go down all the time, Misty. And someone had to try them first. Someone always has to be the first."

"It's a first-class ticket, see! I think they serve drinks before the plane even takes off."

"You don't underst--"

"I understand that you might die!" Her eyes have gone red now, and she just glares at me with them.

"Misty, watch the road."

She drops the ticket into my lap.

"The road. Of course. Don't want to be injured on the way to your death."

Misty already knows I've come to terms with the unlikely botched transmission. I think she's trying to find similar ground on which to stand.

"I'm not having this debate with you again, Misty. It's not just the money. It's not about my retirement or even trying to save the company. I want to do something. I want to make a difference, for myself. For everyone."

Now she looks away from me, out the window. I can't see her eyes, but I hear the tears.

"What about me, Cameron? Why won't you do something for me?"

"Misty . . ."

"Don't think I don't know the real issue here. You're not trying to make a difference. You're just tired of drifting."

"Drifting?"

"You heard me. Sometime after Luke died you lost your way, and now you're a drifter. A lost soul. And I'm the one to blame because I never gave you children."

Now Misty's quiet tears turn to sobs, and I put my arm around her trembling shoulders.

"Please don't cry. We've gone over this a thousand times. It's not your fault."

"Yes it is! I'm the barren one!"

Luke, our first and only child, was born thirteen years ago, two years after we married. He was a beautiful child, but an undeveloped brain killed him after only three weeks. We tried to conceive again, but after two miscarriages and years of fertility specialists we finally gave up.

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