He stayed another night in the motel. The desk clerk directed him to a Chinese restaurant down the road where he ate silently and noticed that he had no desire to drink. He was still numb. Eating and breathing and sleeping seemed all he could manage.
By mid-afternoon the next day, Oliver was in Jacky country. The light was different in Maryland—flatter and more open. It was full spring. As he approached the turnoff to the town where Jacky lived, he admitted to himself that he was not going to stop. It was comforting to think of her. Their passionate relationship had run its course, served its purpose, and, in the end, had left no bad feelings. She was his friend. Be true, she had told him at the housewarming. Well, he had been. For better or worse. Now he needed to be alone. "Be true!" he called out the window as he passed the turn. Leaving Jacky's, he thought—it must be time for Willy Nelson. On the road again . . .
Oliver drove steadily, stopping early, and taking walks at the end of each day. His mind remained knotted in Maine. He went over and over conversations with Jennifer. She had been consistent, always herself—cheerfully ambitious, social, not right for him. He tried not to think about Emma.
Three mornings later he found the Jacksonville Post Office. Myron's check was there; Suzanne's was not. He endorsed the brokerage check for deposit and mailed it to his bank. What to do next?
He was feeling more rested. He'd gotten into the rhythm of traveling and didn't want to wait around for the other check. He bought a road atlas and flipped through the maps over a cup of coffee. Key West looked interesting. Oliver had never been all the way down the coast. But then what? He pictured himself doing a u-turn and driving back up the length of Florida. I think I'll hang a right, he decided. Arizona. Tucson. That ought to be different.
He left a forwarding card at the Post Office and turned west. As he settled into the drive to Tallahassee, he let out a sigh and relaxed. He'd made the right decision, although he didn't know why.
The lush green South eventually gave way to the Texas plains and then the dry highlands of New Mexico. There was something elemental and down home about New Mexico that was similar to Maine, Oliver found. The Indians were impressive—silent and aware, not unlike the Japanese in that respect. New Mexico wouldn't be a bad place to live.
Tucson was a small city in a basin rimmed by desert mountains. The University of Arizona was a modern oasis in the center. Suzanne's letter was waiting at the Post Office—a check and a note:
Oliver,
Everything is the same except you're not here. I miss you. Don't worry about me—I'll be O.K. in a couple of months. There will always be a place in my heart for you. Please be careful. All my love,