Free The Journey Home by Michael Baron

Mom.”
    â€œIt smells delicious.”
    Warren wasn’t sure about getting to delicious today. He really just wanted to do better than the diner, figuring he’d set the bar low for himself this first time. When he turned the cutlets and saw that the first side had browned well, he began to gain a bit of confidence.
    All of which he lost quickly when he removed the chicken and added the vodka to the pan. The immediate vaporizing of the first drops caused him to flinch, which led to his spilling the vodka over the side of the pan.

    Which led to the pan igniting.
    Which led to his spilling more vodka.
    Which led somehow to the handle on the teapot burning.
    Which led to a surprising amount of smoke.
    His mother screeched while at the same time repeating “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay” rapidly. The smoke died relatively quickly, but not before melting a sizeable portion of the teapot handle and stinking up the entire apartment.
    The knock on the door came seconds later.
    â€œAntoinette? Is everything okay in there?”
    Warren, brandishing a towel to shoo away the smoke, answered the door to find Jan on the other side, looking alarmed. “We’re fine.”
    Jan peered toward the stove. “What are you doing in here?”
    Warren waved the towel in the direction of the pan, which had completely stopped sizzling. “I’m making my mother lunch.”
    â€œHere?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Jan leaned toward Warren conspiratorially. “You know, we don’t really expect people to cook in their apartments.”
    Warren leaned toward her in the same fashion. “Then why do you put stoves in them?”
    â€œI can’t really answer that.”
    â€œYou didn’t call the fire department, did you?”
    â€œI thought I’d check it out first.” She smiled. “One of the attendants is coming with a really big bucket of water, though.”

    Warren looked back at the stove. “Is it okay if I finish this?”
    Jan followed his eyes. “I think only you can answer that.”
    â€œI mean can we avoid having the authorities come down on us?”
    Jan touched him lightly on the arm and smiled again. She had a great smile. “I’m not going to rat you out, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    Warren’s blood pressure was slowly dropping below cardiac arrest levels. “Thanks. Want to join us?”
    â€œThat’s nice of you to ask, but I just had lunch.”
    Warren glanced back at the pan. The chicken just looked soggy and abused now. “You would have said that if you hadn’t eaten in a month, wouldn’t you?”
    â€œNot a month, no.” She backed toward the door. “Have a nice meal. Maybe a salad next time.”
    Jan left and Warren turned back toward the stove, catching his mother’s eye as he did. “I’ll be ready with this in a few minutes, Mom.”
    â€œThat sounds good, honey. I’m just going to put on the TV for a little while. Let me know if you need me for anything.”
    The rest of the dish came together without the intervention of any first responders. In the end it did-n’t taste much like Warren’s memory of Chicken Margaret. He’d forgotten the butter to finish the sauce as well. Mom seemed to appreciate it, but this might have simply been a case of maternal instinct kicking in.

    What was undeniable, though, was that for at least a few minutes, she had seemed genuinely engaged. This adventure in cooking had been, at best, a flawed experiment. But it was an experiment worth repeating.

TEN
    A Random Channel
    It was past eight when Joseph and Will decided to seek out a hotel. The drive after lunch hadn’t been any more illuminating than the drive that came before it. Joseph tried to make sense of the road signs, but none emerged. He took over behind the wheel about an hour out this afternoon, hoping that some sensation would tell him