Last Vestige of Home

The glass jar sat on the old camp table—life burgeoning within the confines of the glass; gooey, airy, a mass of bubbles. Jenny stared, satisfied with its growth overnight – a chemical certainty amidst so much unknown.

The fingers of her right hand stroked the heart-shaped locket that dangled over the thick collar of her sweater. How many times over the past days had she instinctively held it? Her thumb and forefinger pressed hard on the cool metal, massaging as though enticing a genie from the comfort of his magic lamp. Rub, rub. Hard and harder. One wish – take us back home to safety, to normal, to Frank.

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The trailer bumped and jerked behind the small SUV. With each rut, she said a silent prayer, "Wheels, don't fail us now…". Jenny had thought to remove the spare tire from the camper's undercarriage but decided better to risk less clearance than travel with no spare. No stranger to dirt backroads, they'd camped in many a remote place. Narrow, deeply rutted mountain logging roads, however, were a whole other ballgame.

She glanced into her mirror. She could see the boys in Clara's white truck following her lead, navigating the ruts just beyond the trailer. They'd been so grateful for that big old pickup last year – the perfect first vehicle to keep a new driver safe.

Jenny let out a shallow sigh of relief. They'd all left the highway without being seen.

Tight-lipped and stony-faced beside her, Clara's blue eyes were fixed on the narrow, winding road ahead. Despite the apparent tension in her body, she cradled the jar gingerly in her lap.

Jenny winced at the force of a resounding thump – a direct hit with her momentary loss of focus. She slowed to a crawl to manoeuvre the trailer alongside the offending rut. The road narrowed precariously on the ridge to nothing more than a rough double track. She hugged the rocky ledge that flanked their left side as beads of sweat collected below both her breasts. Her shirt dampened where her back pressed against the seat. She inhaled deeply, willing the anxious flop sweat that engulfed her to spare her hands as they gripped the wheel. No luck. She alternated hands, wiping each hard on the denim that covered her thighs. As best she could, she kept her focus straight ahead and away from the steep drop to their right, the river raging below.

She took a hasty glance back in the side-view again. There should be the third vehicle behind the boys. Where was Frank? Her nostrils flared as she drew in a deep breath, shaking off her deep concern. Don't think. Don't think. Don't think—eyes on the road.

Just breathe.

She inhaled deeply again, steadier, eyes forward.

Clara, always attuned to her mother's anxiety, eyed the passenger side-view mirror, "Where's dad?" Her voice was strained but quiet.

Jenny couldn't resist another backward glance. Beyond the trailer, the boys in the white Ford. The red Honda pickup not yet in sight. Their slow pace should have allowed Frank to catch up. Instinctively, she reached for the locket that bounced lightly on the silver chain around her neck as she directed the car one-handed up the left bank to avoid a ditch-sized rut. Jenny rubbed the locket gently, nervously, between her thumb and forefinger, the engraving nearly smooth beneath her touch.

Stifling her growing panic, "I don't know, Clar – he'll be here soon."

A gift on the eve of the birth of their daughter, their third born and youngest child. "I know it's a girl this time." He handed her the tiny silver heart on a chain as he nuzzled her neck. They were reading in bed side by side. They needed an early start in the morning to have her delivery induced in the city. Another complicated birth in a small-town hospital wasn't an option.

She glanced over at her daughter again. The girl's gaze was locked on the image in the mirror, willing the view behind to change.

There had been little time for planning – grab as much as possible. Trailer hitched first and load it up – clothes, food, lots of bedding. Boys take the tents, tarps, bedrolls, sleeping bags, water jugs, extra propane tanks and batteries, axes, all the firewood, Polly and her dog food.

Frank would get to town before everything shut down to get what he could for extra supplies – a couple more bags of flour, cans of food, anything. It would be chaos, but he was insistent.

"We have no idea how long we'll be up there. We need as much as we can." After quick kisses and hugs – too quick, she thought now – they left the driveway at the same time, he in one direction, Jenny and the kids in the other.

The directions were clear: head west, get off the highway on the second turn. Take the gravel road to the logging road above the Sanguine River. Go up, as far as the trailer will allow — to Cobalt Lake if you can. But, carefully, no blown tires.

Cobalt was near. The tree line would end another couple of thousand feet up, but they were still very high. Jenny mumbled a word of gratitude that it was only early July. On the near horizon, the basin came into view – the loose shale and rock slide that marked the western shore. She resisted the urge to step on the gas.

From her periphery, she saw Clara lay her head back on the headrest and close her eyes. Her daughter exhaled, shaky, scared, dread audible in each breath. She gripped the jar that rested on her lap – the precious substance within jiggling thick and bubbly – as though for dear life.

Jenny fought back the tears. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Don't think. Do. Not. Think. Just drive.

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Her eyes welled. She'd seen the roadblock assembling over the rise on the highway as they turned off, well out of sight – her and the boys. But, had they seen Frank? Had he even made it off the highway?

She picked up her mobile from the log beside her and scrolled to her messages. They all had their mobile phones and solar chargers, but reception was inconsistent. She'd hoped for news alerts – few and far between – and contact with Frank. Yet, nothing.

She glanced at the two bags of flour under the canopy stacked against the trailer. Bake bread today. Not tomorrow or the next day. Use all the discard – tortillas tonight. Save, conserve, no waste. It was the same mental calculation as the day before. And keep it alive. That living, bubbling mass was their link to warmth. To sustenance. To the familiar.

The trailer creaked as Clara rolled over. Sounds of restless sleep from one of the boys in the nearby tent. She sipped from the cup she gently cradled. Jenny shivered and tucked in closer to the small flame she'd been nurturing since sunrise.

She inhaled deeply and looked towards the sky. Clear directly above, but from their relative safety high above the valley, she could see the concentration of grey cloud beyond the silhouette of trees on the next ridge. Not rain clouds, not the usual overcast conditions. No, this was something else.

She drew in the fresh mountain air. The crispness cooled the back of her throat. A tear escaped to trail down her cheek. She inhaled again, deep yet shaky with emotion.

She closed her eyes and, with each inhale, attempted to draw into her the years that had passed so fast; breathe in every hug, sticky wet kiss, and cuddle deep into her bones.

Each of them on the cusp of adulthood. And now… Tears flowed freely now. She closed her eyes and longed for Frank. Another breath – drawn deep into her gut to once again feel Frank's hand, comforting, at her lower back, urging her lovingly forward.

Beneath trembling breath, she grasped the locket at her neck. "I need you, Frank. We can't do this without you…".

She squeezed her eyes tight. Just breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Don't think.

Jenny wiped the last of her tears. And, with a sad, exhausted sigh, she rose from her place by the fire. To the old camp table—a purpose at this moment. Inside the trailer, she heard Polly jump up onto Clara's bed. The girl mumbled something in instinctive response.

Jenny opened the jar and turned the jar over a large bowl. She watched, mesmerized, as the oozing, bubbly substance crept down the side of the jar only to drop sticky yet light and full of air into the bottom of the bowl.

For that moment, she was home.