“Rivington” by Andrea Donderi (fiction, ’14)

An excerpt from “Rivington” by Andrea Donderi (fiction, ’14), published at The Catamaran Literary Reader:

Rivington

For a while there hadn’t been much out the window but skunks and fog. The last audiobook ended this morning as we’d crossed down into California. Now there was nothing on the radio but talk shows for getting riled up or ballads for crying and by this point even those were sputtering out.

Rivington’s email had mentioned two roads. They’ll both get you there, he said, but the one you want cuts straight across the pass. The wrong one squiggles up into the mountains. I must have mixed them up, because the farmland gave way to forest twenty minutes ago. Now things were getting narrower and steeper and twistier. The first few spatters of rain were steadying into a down – pour. It was getting dark fast and there wasn’t anywhere to turn around.

I’d hoped we could make it through this last stretch without stopping, but in the seat behind me, Tupper was whimpering and panting a little. He probably had to pee. I did too. The headlights lit up a diamond-shaped sign, warning yellow, with the silhouette of a leaping deer. It had been a couple of months since my job had evaporated. Our whole company had folded.

I hadn’t been attached to the work and I wasn’t panicking yet about money, but “folded” was the right word for me too. I had no idea where to go next. My parents had owned a garden center near Louisville when I was growing up; sometimes I missed it. I’d posted something about maybe working with plants again. […continue reading here]