Jennifer zipped in front of the truck on the left and merged onto the highway. She waved her hand as thanks to the honking she received, then pointedly ignored the glare of the driver behind her and tuned the radio to NPR. She adjusted the air, unbuttoned her jacket, and pushed her hair out of her face. Looking back at the road she figured she had moved about 10 feet.

She huffed as she watched a green sedan let three cars in from the next on-ramp, stopping her lane and drawing more honking from the irate truck.

“God Bless America!” she muttered through gritted teeth. Last year’s New Year’s resolution to swear less had taken a strange patriotic bent, but anything was better than hearing her darling boy say “Mother Trucker” when his sweatshirt wouldn’t zip.

The clock on the dash sprinted as the cars crept. She calculated how long ago Sam’s bus would have dropped him off. ‘Does he remember the garage code?’ she wondered. She drove under a bank of boiling black and grey clouds as traffic heading West finally loosened up.

 She imagined Sam soaking wet and crying. ‘Why didn’t I let him have a cell phone like his friends?’ she thought. ‘Then I could call and make sure he was alright.’

She slid into 4-count breathing to not go all monster truck on the vehicles in front of her.Inhale through the nose 1,2,3,4, exhale through the mouth 1,2,3,4. A few rounds of this steadied her enough to get to her exit, but nearing home increased the urgency to get to Sam. She careened around roundabouts and splashed through puddles as she made the last turn into the neighborhood.

Warm relief poured over her when she spotted Sam through the rain smiling on the porch swing, backpack at his feet. She hit the garage door opener, pulled in and parked with a jerk. Leaping out of the car, she hustled to the porch in a crouching attempt to stay dry. With a deep shuddery breath she sat down next to him. ‘Don’t freak him out. He seems fine,’ she thought.

“What are you doing out here?”
“Garage code didn’t work.”

“What did you try?”

“1234”

“We changed it, remember. When you turned 8.”

“That’s right! It’s 8888 now.”

“Yup. You ok? It was pretty stormy. I thought you might be scared.”

“Nope.”

“Let’s go inside and get dinner on, then.”

“Ok, Mom.”

Thirty minutes later the sauce was hot, the noodles were boiling, and Jen set her wine down and looked at Sam doing homework.

“Five more minutes, then you need to set the table, ok?”

“Yeah, Mom.” He laid down his pencil. “Hey, where were you today when I got home?” he asked.

Guilt laid an arm over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I was held up. I’m so glad you were ok.”

“Mom. I have a secret.” Sam set down his pencil and turned serious eyes her way. “I was scared of the storm, but then a nice lady came and sat with me.”
“Oh. Who was that?” Jen asked.

“I said I couldn’t talk to strangers but she said she was a grandma and they are always safe.”

“So she talked to you?”

“She sat on the porch with me until right before you came.”

“Did she tell you her name?” Jen asked praying it was a neighbor she knew.

“She said to call her Grammy. That everyone did.”

“And you just talked? About what?” she asked trying not to spook him. Fear coiled back into her stomach like a returning snake.

“The storm. How I like living here. What sports I like.”

“That sounds nice. Was she wearing a raincoat or did she leave it in her car?” Jen asked, visions of Sam being abducted flashing through her mind.

“She didn’t have a car. She was just walking until she saw me. Then she came over and asked if I was ok.”

“Why would she ask that?”

“I may have been crying a little. There was big thunder.”

“Oh babe. I’m sorry. I guess I’m glad she was here for you. I just wish I knew how to reach her and thank her.”

“Oh, I can do that.”

“How?” Jen asked.

“She told me her address.”

“She did? What is it?”

“6723 Forest Drive, Walker TN.” He sang.

“How did you remember that? You didn’t remember the garage code.”

“She had me memorize it to Mary Had a Little Lamb. Said to visit whenever I wanted. She sounded lonely. Can we visit her Mom? Can we?”

“We’ll see” she answered shakily. “Right now you can visit the table with napkins and forks and…”.

“We’ll see means no” he interrupted.

“It will if you don’t set the table,” she replied.

“Fine.”

It was Saturday before she could go check out the address. Sam was at his flag football practice and Jen had Googled up the directions. She vacillated between what-ifs and worrying about what to say to this woman the whole way. As she drew close she looked around. There must be a mistake. She had driven through suburbs and was now past the edge of town. She crested a hill and took the only right turn there was. Her phone chimed “You have arrived at your destination.” She put the car in park and stared at a field of tombstones. She glanced at the sign by the gate, reading the address and hearing Sam’s sing-song voice. This was the place.