“What’d you say, honey?” Mom asked.
“Nothing.” I smiled gaily, causing her to frown.
“What’s this?” I asked quickly, pointing to the arch above us. It seemed to distract her as she checked her brochure.
“The danse macabre,” she explained. “See the little skeletons walking next to their earthly bodies? They’re supposed to represent death’s supremacy over mankind.”
“Cheery,” I said.
“I know.” She mused, “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out these old Freemason dudes were once Deadheads.”
It was useless to point out that the chapel had been built over six hundred years ago, while the Grateful Dead and their Deadhead followers had come into being only forty or so years ago, not the other way around. Mom had a whole different way of dealing with that pesky space-time continuum thing.
And who was to say she wasn’t right? I thought, staring at the perky little carved skeletons. In my current state, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see them pop out of the wall and start grooving to “Iko Iko.”
And now that I thought about it, that carving of the last prince of Orkney, William St. Clair, over in the corner near the entrance to the baptistry, bore a striking resemblance to Jerry Garcia.
Oh, good. More hallucinating.
We caught up with Dad downstairs in the sacristy, an austere space with none of the ornate carvings found in the main church. Here, six feet below ground level, was where a number of tombs of the Rosslyn barons and Orkney princes were located. If there were any ghosts in Rosslyn Chapel, I figured they slept here at night.
“Who’s ready for lunch?” Dad said, not a moment too soon.
We all blinked like baby possums as we stepped outside into the glaring sunshine. After wandering around the lovely grounds for another twenty minutes, we decided to buy sandwiches and tea and water for Dad in the café and eat in the car.
On the drive back, I sat with Robin in the front seat while Mom and Dad started a songfest in back. Dad wanted to start with sixties hits, but Mom insisted on Scottish tunes. She began to sing “ Loch Lomond ” and we all joined in.
On the chorus, my father’s tenor voice filled the car and made my eyes sting with pride.
“Oh! Ye’ll take the high road, and I’ll take the low road,
And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,
But me and my true love will never meet again,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.”
Mom kissed him on the cheek and I saw that her eyes were damp, too.
“Second verse is yours, Helen,” Dad said jovially.
“But I don’t know the words.”
So they just sang the chorus a few more times, and Helen laughed a lot, making me smile. I figured Mom and Dad had started the singing to coax her out of her shell, and it was working. She seemed to be her old self again, relaxed and upbeat. Maybe she and Martin would work things out, after all. I hoped not, but that was just me. I would give him the benefit of the doubt if it made her happy.
I turned to face the front window and sighed. Not with happiness, exactly, but I felt good. I thought about Derek and wondered what he was doing today, wondered what might happen tonight if… well, hmm. I’d let the possibilities percolate for a while. Otherwise, I’d be a basket case by the time I saw him next.
I sighed. It felt great to get away from thoughts of killers and falling bookshelves, not to mention one very recent hit-and-run attempt. Cold prickled my arms at the thought of that black car zooming straight at me. I stiffened, causing my back to cramp up, so I slowly stretched from side to side to ease the lower back pain. I was way too young to feel this old.
The backseat group continued their chatter, so I turned to Robin to talk. “How’s it going?”
She gripped the steering wheel with a look of grim determination. “Great.”
“Something wrong with the steering?” I asked.
“It’s the brakes,” she said. “They’re weak.”
“Can you downshift?” I asked.
“It’s an automatic.”
She took the next curve too fast and Mom grabbed hold of the back of my seat.
“Slow down there, Parnelli,” Dad said with a chuckle.
“Sorry,” Robin said, but her jaw was tight and her lips were thin as she held on to the wheel.
We hit a stretch of straight road that ran through flat green fields, and Robin pumped the brakes a few times.
“Nothing,” she muttered, then tried the hand brake.
“Nothing?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Crap.”
Dad caught the vibe and moved forward, wedging himself between the two front seats. “What’s up?”
“Brakes are fried,” Robin explained.
I realized we were heading for a sharp curve to the right, then straight ahead into a more populated area. “Turn off the engine,” I suggested.
“Can’t,” Dad told me. “The steering will lock up if you do.”
“Crap again.”
“Get off the road, now,” Dad said firmly, pointing to the wide field to our left.
Robin’s head whipped around frantically. “But it’s-”
“Now,” he directed, still pointing as if he could guide her along. “You can do it. Ease over the shoulder and keep going, toward those haystacks.”
“Everything okay?” Mom asked.
“Brakes,” Dad explained calmly. “We’re going into that field. Now.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mom said, keeping upbeat as she pulled Dad back. “Seat belt on, Jimmy.”
Robin jerked the wheel off to the left and the minivan bumped and bucked like a wild horse over the low rows of hedges lining the highway.
The seemingly smooth field was full of ruts and mounds, and we were bounced and thrown like a dinghy on a raging sea.
“Oof,” Dad said when his head hit the car’s ceiling.
“Oh, dear.” Mom’s voice trembled.
Helen screamed.
My already aching back was wrenched from side to side; then my head struck the headliner hard and I saw stars.
“Damn it!” Robin swore as she hit one last deep pothole.
The car slammed into a haystack with a jarring thud followed by a deafening explosion.
Chapter 13
News flash: Air bags are a lot louder and messier than advertised.
I can also report that, contrary to popular belief, a haystack is not the fluffy, puffy fun time it appears to be in the comics. Considering the alternative, though, I had to admit it was a relatively soft landing. Not soft enough to keep the air bags from deploying, however. White powder went everywhere, and my ears were ringing from the blast of the release mechanism.
I pushed open the car door and hay fell on my head as I stumbled from the car. I leaned against the door and shook the hay out of my hair, then noticed white powder all over my hands and arms. As I brushed the air bag residue away, I glanced back at the highway and sighed in relief. Robin had managed to avoid careening through a traffic circle surrounded by shops and houses by a mere few hundred yards or so.
“Everyone accounted for?” Dad asked as he helped Mom out of the car.
“Uhh,” Helen groaned.
“Helen, are you okay?” Mom said.
“I’m okay.” But she rubbed her temple where her head had probably hit the side window.
“That was quite a ride,” Mom said, and staggered around the car to envelop Robin in a hug. “You did a good job, honey.”
“We could’ve died,” Helen said, patting Robin’s arm. “You saved us.”
Robin sank down on the ground, holding her forehead. “I think I hit my head on the steering wheel.”
I walked to the other side of the car as Mom knelt down next to Robin and flicked bits of powder from her hair. “Must’ve been before the air bag blew up.”
“I guess.”
An older man walked toward us from the barn that stood several field lengths away. He wore worn blue overalls, a flannel shirt and work boots.