Inspiration Instigation: How Many Miles

 This was instigated by Abby's prompt. Thanks, Abby!

                        

   My heart fell to my stomach as the pickup truck bounced its way up the path. "This is a lousy driveway," I complained under my breath. "Why'd we have to move out into the middle of nowhere, anyway?" Casting a disgusting glance at a "no trespassing" sign on a tree, I caught sight of Mom's face in the rearview mirror. She'd heard my comment, and judging by her downcast eyes and set jaw, she wasn't too pleased by it, either. I flushed and began fiddling with my seat belt. I hadn't meant to say that; it just slipped out.

   To my chagrin, my little sister took up the cry next to me. "Yeah, why are we moving?" she echoed, her lower lip forming a pout. "I like our old house better. I don't want to live in a tiny little house out here."

   I wanted to shake myself for having let Mimi overhear my griping. She would repeat anything I said. You shouldn't have been complaining in the first place. I brushed the mental accusation aside and huffed out a disgruntled sigh. We'd been just fine in the city. At least I was able to see my friends every week. Living out here, I'd be lucky to even go to a friend's birthday party. I wanted so badly to ask Dad to turn the truck around and return the property to the landlord. But I didn't do it. That might make Mimi say something ridiculous, and then I'd be in more trouble. 

   A unexpected lurch tossed me forward. I gasped and pressed my feet into the floor of the vehicle. "Who on earth made this driveway?" I exclaimed as the truck jumped over a ditch in the gravel. "Whoever did obviously wasn't a professional."

   "Yeah!" Mimi whined, crossing her arms. "Whoever made this was-"

   "Oh hush, Mimi!" I scolded, seeing Mom's expression. I could tell Mimi's words were hurting Mom's feelings. "Can't you be more considerate?"

   "Lydia."

   I looked at Dad through the rearview mirror. His jaw was tight, and his eyes held a mixture of disappointment, sorrow, and frustration I somehow had missed before. 

   "I'm going to need to speak with you privately as soon as we arrive."

   I nodded. "Okay." He probably was going to ask me to help my little sister stop saying rude things. She's had that habit for a while, and no amount of my rebukes can change anything.

   After another five minutes of being jostled, bumped, and rattled, I leaned forward and asked, "How long is it until we get there?"

   "Just a bit more."

   I shrugged and fell back against the seat. How many more miles would it take to find the little house? Hopefully before I get a headache from this crazy driveway. 

   Another blessed ten minutes later, the rocky path gave way to pavement. I craned my neck, eager to catch the first glimpse of what was to be our new home. 

   As we reached the end of the drive, a surprisingly trim blue house came into view. It was at least two stories high, I judged, and probably had at least four bedrooms. The eaves drooped in a graceful sweep toward the middle of the house, where they joined just above a roomy balcony. A decorative pathway trailed from the driveway up to the cream-colored front door. 

   I slapped a hand to my mouth to stifle a squeal of delight. It looked like this house had a wraparound porch! Not only that, but judging by the small circular window up at the peak of the roof, it had a rather large attic, too. 

   By the time the truck drew to a stop in front of it, I could hardly breathe. This was the "tiny backwoods house" we were going to live in?

   "Alright, we're here," Dad announced brightly, turning the key in the ignition. "Let's go look at it, honey." He briefly squeezed Mom's hand before opening the door.

   I punched the seatbelt buckle and nearly tumbled out of the truck onto the pavement in my excitement. I couldn't wait to see my new bedroom. Maybe living out in the boondocks won't be so bad, after all! 

   "Lyddie, help me!" 

   I swung around and planted my hands on my hips impatiently. "What now?"

   "I . . . can't . . . unbuckle it!" Mimi grunted, tugging at the seat belt.

   I rolled my eyes and climbed back in. After I'd freed Mimi, I pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "Don't say anything like what you said earlier ever again! You know Mom doesn't like complaining. You hurt her feelings!"

   Mimi's mouth dropped open. "But you-"

   "No," I interrupted. "No excuses. And make sure you tell her 'sorry' later, alright?"

   Mimi shoved me away and flounced out of the truck. "You're not so perfect, either, Lydia!"

   I gritted my teeth. Mimi gets under my skin more than anyone else in the whole world. I flung myself back out of the truck and slammed the door.

   "Lydia Genevieve."

   I turned to Dad, who had just helped Mom out of the vehicle. "Yeah, Dad?"

   "I need to talk with you." He crooked a finger at me and moved out of Mom and Mimi's earshot. 

   "Now? I thought we were going to explore the house."

   Dad shook his head. "Now." His voice was unusually low and steady . . . a sure sign that a scolding was in order.

   I scurried over nervously. "Yes, sir?"

   He surveyed me silently for a moment before starting in. "Lydia, what is wrong with you today? You wouldn't stop complaining all the way here, and when your sister tried to copy it, you shut her down as if you weren't the example she was following."

   I wrinkled my eyebrows. "What?"

   Dad placed his large, callused hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. "Lyddie, you may not know it, but very nearly everything Mimi says and does comes from you. When you complained about living in the woods, so did she. When you grumbled about the driveway, she followed suit. Do you know why? Because you're the big sister. She follows your example. And for some reason, the example you've been giving lately has not been what it should be. And I know it's not just because of our new fifteen-minute driveway. How many miles are you going to make us go before you realize we're here, too?"

   I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning with shame. I had no excuse to give for that. I'd been selfish and dissatisfied for the last week, and I knew it. I knew my attitude was wrong. But I didn't care, because I didn't like moving, and I wanted to let everyone know it. 

   "I don't believe you realize it, but you are making everyone in the family miserable. Mimi can't copy you without saying something she shouldn't, and your mother is not taking this very well. It's hard enough for her as it is." 

   Something in his tone made me glance up, confused. "What is hard enough as it is? Moving?"

   Dad tightened his grip ever so slightly. "No. We are moving because of her sickness."   

   "Wait, what?" I blurted out. "She's sick?"

   "Shhh," Dad warned, glancing in his wife's direction and then back at me. "I wasn't meaning to tell you this yet, but . . ." He sighed heavily. "Your mother has some form of cancer, and her headaches have been growing more severe and more frequent. Living in the middle of the city . . . not to mention right next to the train tracks . . . has not been helping. The doctor said that if we could possibly live somewhere quieter, we should."

   I felt as though my lungs were the size of a speck of dust. Mom had cancer and I didn't even know it?

   "Besides that, I've been wanting to move our family out into the country for years. I've never been fond of cramped, noisy cities, and neither has your mother. But we stayed there for a while because of my job. We never really found a legitimate reason to pack up everything and move . . . until now." Dad paused and released my shoulders. All of a sudden, he looked extremely tired. "These last few weeks have been hard. Your mother having to pack up the house, say goodbye to old friends, leave everything we've known for the past twenty years . . . all the while having to deal with the new revelation that she has been diagnosed with the disease that killed her father, your Grandpa Edwards. You remember him?"

   I nodded, blinking back tears. I was only five when Grandpa "went to go sing songs with all the angels," as Mom had put it. Mimi never knew him.

   "Your mother needs you, sweetheart. We all do," my father continued. "But you seem bound and determined to make more work for us. Why?"

   I gulped back the lump that threatened to suffocate me. Why, indeed? Because I didn't want to live in the woods? Because I would miss my friends? No, that wasn't the reason, and I knew it. As much as it hurt, I let the truth slip out of my heart and tumble brokenly out my lips. "It's because I didn't care if I was hurting everyone else just so I could have everything the way I wanted it to be." I bit my lip so hard I felt pain. But the ache was nothing compared to the guilt that lay trapped up inside me. "I'm sorry, Dad." I allowed a stray tear to slide down my cheek. "I didn't know. I didn't know."

   "That's why I told you." Dad gently pulled me into a hug. He rested his chin on the top of my head. "But the biggest decision you need to make is: now that you know about it, what are you going to do?"

   This I did know. I pulled away, wrenched a sleeve across my eyes, and took a deep breath. "The first thing I'm going to do is have a talk with God. That's long overdue. And after that, I'm going to set about to fix things up . . . not just in my own little world, but in the real world, too. And I'm going to start off by telling you two things: first, I'm really sorry for my selfishness." 

   Dad nodded proudly. "I forgive you, Lyddie. What's the other thing?"

   I paused and waved my hand toward the house. "I love the house. It's amazing. And . . ." I grinned. "I just realized that the long driveway will be perfect for my daily run."

*This story is mine and protected by copyright*

Signed,

Martha