from my original route—in other words, crazy things that happened to me while getting lost.
But my latest attempt to find my way in unfamiliar surroundings has landed me in hot water. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it here, but then, when have I ever held anything back from you, my faithful readers?
I lost my license.
I don’t mean I’ve misplaced the thing and can’t find it. I mean it was taken away from me. Pulled. I’m no longer a legal driver.
I was driving the wrong way down a one-way street and…And the traffic court judge took one look at the points on my driving record and confiscated my license. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t racked up all those speeding tickets, too. And if I hadn’t been cited two other times for carelessness behind the wheel. Can I help it if I make a few wrong turns sometimes?
Maybe it’s like my friend Susan says. I need to carry a compass. Of course, then I’d have to learn to actually read a compass. A Girl Scout I was not….
Just thought I’d share that update. Now, real life beckons.
Real life in the form of two projects that needed to be finished by Friday, four phone calls to return and a handful of mail to open. Not to mention Susan’s wedding to deal with. Marlee Jones sighed and signed off from her Travels with Marlee Web site. What had begun as a way to teach herself HTML code had turned into a guilty pleasure. Her Web log, or blog, pulled in several hundred hits a day and she actually got fan mail. Most of it from nice ordinary people. Of course there was Dave, who wrote to her from Cellblock Sixteen at the state pen, but he at least was polite, and safely locked away for life, or so her contact in the criminal justice department had assured her.
She shook her head and picked up the heavy cream-colored envelope she kept propped against her monitor.
Mr. and Mrs. Anthony St. John request that you join them in celebrating the marriage of their daughter, Susan Elisabeth, to Bryan Fredericks, son of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne Fredericks and Alison Reynolds.
Susan would have a fit when Marlee told her the latest. She ought to be calling any second now….
The phone rang and Marlee picked it up on the second ring. “Hello, Susan.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I’m psychic.”
“No, really, how did you know? Did your cheap-ass boss finally spring for caller ID?”
“Gary isn’t cheap, he’s frugal. After all, we are a nonprofit organization.”
“That’s his excuse for everything. But I notice that he isn’t doing without the finer things in life, while you labor away in that little closet of an office.”
Marlee glanced around her office, which had, in fact, been a storage closet in another life. Yeah, it was small and dingy and out of the way, but that had its advantages. Nobody ever bothered her back here and she was pretty much free to do what she liked.
“You’re not answering my question,” Susan said. “Since when are you psychic?”
“I know you’ve got Travels with Marlee linked to your home page. You read the new post, didn’t you?”
“What’s this about losing your license? How does a grown woman lose her license?”
“It’s not my fault,” Marlee protested. “Some people are born without a sense of direction. There’ve been studies.”
“You’re a study all right. The big question is, how are you going to get to my wedding? Don’t think I’m going to go through this without you. Besides, there’s a groomsman I want you to meet.”
“Susan!” Marlee rolled her eyes. Though Susan fancied herself a matchmaker, the truth was, her fixups always ended up broken. “I’m coming to be with you at your wedding, not to meet a man.”
“But this one would be perfect for you.”
“Right. Like that accordion player—what was his name, Terry?”
“Larry. And I thought you’d appreciate his quirkiness.”
“He was a horrible accordion player. And his idea of a hot date was a visit to the Air and Space Museum, to look at every single exhibit.”
“So I was a little off with that one. This guy I know you’ll like. But first you have to get here to meet him. Without a driver’s license, how are you going to do that? I know you won’t fly.”
Marlee shuddered. Looking at all those planes at the museum had been bad enough—no way was she getting on one. “Maybe I could take a bus.” She glanced over at the computer on her credenza. A chorus line of chimpanzees tap-danced their way across the monitor screen. Could she look up bus schedules online?
“Ick. It would take a week. You’d be a wreck by the time you got here. I don’t want my maid of honor looking like she slept sitting up for a week.”
Marlee sighed. She didn’t particularly want to try sleeping sitting up. Now that she was on the downhill slide toward thirty, even a couple of nights of less than blissful slumber made fine lines and dark circles appear out of nowhere. “What about the train?”
“Hello? Have you ever checked an Amtrak schedule? To get from D.C. to San Diego you have to change trains umpteen times and it takes like four days. It would be as bad as the bus. And way more expensive.”
“I guess I could try to catch a ride with someone else. Any other guests driving from D.C. to San Diego for the wedding?” Susan and Bryan had met in the capital city, so it stood to reason other wedding guests were from here. Though most of them were probably flying. Let them trust their lives to a heavy metal tube floating on air. She’d stay firmly on the ground, thank you very much.
“That’s a brilliant idea!” Susan sounded thrilled.
“It is?” As ideas went, it didn’t sound particularly spectacular to Marlee. She spent every day designing wildly creative ads for non-profits. Using rappers to promote the Reading Is Fundamental program—now that was a brilliant idea, but this…?
“Craig Brinkman is driving from D.C. You can ride with him.”
“Uh-huh. Who is Craig Brinkman?” She picked up a pencil and wrote a note for herself to call the metro library about a photo shoot.
“He’s Bryan’s old college roommate. The best man, as a matter of fact. It’s the perfect solution.”
“This isn’t the guy you’re trying to fix me up with, is it? Because I really don’t want to be fixed up right now.” Or ever, if Susan was doing the fixing. She was a great friend, but she didn’t have a clue what Marlee really wanted in a man. But then, Marlee wasn’t too sure on that score either.
“Craig?” Susan’s laugh came out more like a snort. “Absolutely not. Craig Brinkman is definitely not your type.”
“Why do you say that? If he’s so awful, why are you suggesting I travel all the way across the country with him?”
“He’s not awful. In fact,
