Fog 
Chapter Two 
=========== 
Eastbound on Iowa State Highway 92 
Near Oskaloosa, IA 
Tuesday, August 31, 1982 
11:46 a.m. 
"Lunch, Dana?" Melissa asked. 
Dana glanced at her sister, sitting in the passenger seat of Ahab's new Olds 
Firenza.  Missy was watching her steadily, the usual subtle trace of amusement 
sketching her lips. 
"Yeah, I guess," she replied.  "It's about time for our midday call." 
She still couldn't quite believe they were being allowed to do this.  Their 
father had been given new orders three weeks earlier, and they were moving back 
to Annapolis once again.  The night Ahab made the announcement, Missy had 
casually suggested that she and Dana could drive the family car, while the rest 
of them flew.  Dana's jaw almost landed in her mashed potatoes at the response. 
"Sure," Captain Scully said.  "Why not?  Someone's got to do it.  Maggie?" 
Their mother had deferred to their father's judgment, as she almost always did 
-- although Dana had no trouble detecting the worry lines at the corner's of 
Mrs. Scully's mouth.  Dana solved the problem of a possible maternal veto by 
avoiding being alone with her mother for the next few days.  Long enough for 
their trip to become a fait accompli, and no longer subject to second-guessing.  
There was no reason they *shouldn't* be permitted to make this trip, after all.  
Dana was 18, and Missy had just turned 20. 
Of course, this privilege had not come without responsibilities ... and rules 
.... 
"Five hundred miles a day," Dana insisted, once the waitress at the roadside 
diner had taken their orders.  "That's what Ahab said:  five hundred miles." 
"Oh, fuck," Missy replied, pronouncing the word with great deliberation.  Dana 
took pride in the fact that she no longer flinched at hearing such language.  
"Permanent change of station regs say 300.  You know it, I know it -- Dad knows 
it." 
"But Missy --" 
"*And*," her sister continued, "we did 600 miles yesterday and the day before, 
and 500 on Saturday.  What's that add up to?" 
The question was rhetorical, but Dana couldn't keep herself from answering.  
"One thousand, seven hundred." 
"Very good.  Which means that if we do 300 today, we're still meeting our 
quota."  She reached in her jeans pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, 
sticking one between her lips and lighting it as she finished her sentence.  
"Smoke?" 
Dana hesitated, glancing over her shoulder almost by instinct.  No one was 
watching, except for one guy at the counter who was eyeing Missy's breasts.  She 
took the pack of Virginia Slims and joined her sister in rebellion, inhaling 
shallowly so as not to trigger a coughing fit. 
"I don't think that's what Ahab meant," she said after a moment.  She didn't 
like the way her own voice sounded.  Childish.  Petulant.  But she couldn't help 
herself.  Rules were rules, after all. 
"Dana, you're impossible."  Missy rolled her eyes and took another drag.  "But 
whatever.  If you're not sure, ask him."  Again she dug in her pocket, this time 
pulling out a handful of change.  She slapped the money down and pushed it 
across the table. 
Doing her best to maintain her dignity, Dana scooped up the coins and slid out 
of the booth.  It was time to call anyway, she reminded herself.  A promise was 
a promise.  She wasn't doing this because she was a little goodie two shoes.  
And if she didn't look back at Missy, she wouldn't have to see the smirk she was 
almost certain was there. 
The path to the pay phone at the front of the diner took her uncomfortably close 
to the guy who was ogling Missy.  As she walked past him, she saw that he was 
older than she'd thought -- maybe as old as thirty.  He wore faded blue jeans 
and a t-shirt with a picture of a cow, and the word "Bullshirt" printed on it in 
large red letters.  His gaze flicked briefly to Dana as she passed, but then he 
went back to staring at Melissa.  What else was new? 
Ting, ting, ting, went the coins.  What was she going to say?  Missy's challenge 
hung in the air before her, only partly obscured by the smoke from the cigarette 
she still held between two fingers.  One ring.  Two rings.  Three rings ... and 
then it was answered, by a gruff masculine voice. 
"Ahab, it's me," she said. 
"Starbuck!"  His friendly, familiar tones warmed her all the way down to her 
toes.  "Where are you calling from today?" 
"Oskaloosa, Iowa," she answered, stumbling a little over the awkward syllables.  
"That's about ... it's somewhere east of Des Moines." 
"Making good time," he commented.  She could hear papers rustling in the 
background.  "Although that's a bit off the route we planned.  Did you take a 
wrong turn?" 
"No.  We just wanted to see the countryside, and that's hard to do from the 
Interstate."  Actually, it had been another of Missy's ideas, but for some 
reason Dana wanted it to be something they'd decided on together. 
"Well, you should still be able to make Peoria by nightfall," her father said.  
Slight disapproval lurked in his voice now.  Dana had to fight down the impulse 
to apologize -- and then had to suppress a countervailing surge of resentment.  
She settled for taking a quick drag on her cigarette, as Ahab continued, "Should 
be able to join back up when you hit the Quad Cities.  Everything else going 
okay?" 
"Everything's fine," she said. 
We aren't going to make Peoria today, she almost added, but didn't.  We're going 
to stop soon, like Missy said, and spend the rest of the day doing ... whatever 
it was they were going to do that their father wouldn't approve of.  The silence 
lingered, making her uncomfortable, and she added, "We had a flat this morning, 
but we were able to fix it." 
"Good work," he replied.  He sounded preoccupied now, as if his thoughts had 
turned to other things.  "Well, it sounds like you girls have matters in hand, 
Starbuck.  Your mother and I are going out this evening, so no point in trying 
to call.  I'll expect to hear from you at lunch time tomorrow." 
"Aye aye, sir," she responded, and hung up. 
Shit.  It was almost as if he *wanted* them to disobey.  No need to call in this 
evening, Starbuck -- and ergo, no need to work up the guts to lie to him when he 
asked where they were staying that night. 
Shit, shit, shit. 
She turned around, to see that Missy now had company.  The man from the lunch 
counter had come over to their booth, and had pulled up a chair and sat down at 
the end of the table.  He was talking to her with great animation, and then Dana 
heard Melissa's laugh, clear and bell-like, drifting to her from across the 
room.  She was about to turn away again, when Missy caught her eye, and nodded 
slightly.  She sighed, and trouped back over to the booth. 
"And this is my big sister, Jenny," Missy was saying as Dana came within 
earshot. 
"Hey there, big sister Jenny," the man said, his head bobbing as he spoke.  For 
the first time, his gaze traveled up and down her body, and Dana shifted her 
weight uncomfortably.  "Are you as much fun as Sarah?" 
"I ... uh ... I'm not much fun, I'm afraid," Dana said.  "Am I ... Sarah."  She 
fixed her own gaze on Melissa. 
"No.  No, you're not," her sister agreed, mischief dancing in her eyes.  "You're 
a real stick-in-the-mud, I'm afraid." 
"Sorry." 
Dana slid into her seat, having to edge past the stranger to get to it.  She 
felt his fingers flutter across the backs of her thighs, but steeled herself to 
ignore it.  Don't let them get a rise out of you, Starbuck.  That was her 
father's voice again -- although he hadn't had this situation in mind when he 
said it.  Ahab would expect her to slap the man, and stalk out of the diner. 
But if she did that, Missy would just laugh at her and call her a prude.  Missy 
liked to flirt, but Dana had never been able to see the point.  She liked 
solidity in her life.  Stability.  She liked ... she liked .... 
Marcus. 
Damn it.  She ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward to shield her face. 
 She'd promised herself she wouldn't think about him.  After all, they'd said 
goodbye.  She was going to Maryland, and he was going to Senegal.  The Peace 
Corps.  She'd edged around the subject with Ahab; maybe she could join him.  But 
he'd said no. 
"Medicine, Dana," he'd said.  "You have a plan, and you have to stick to it.  
Can't let your life get out of kilter over a silly impulse." 
"Aye aye, sir," she'd said.  But her heart had not been in it. 
She'd gone back to Marcus and told him.  They'd talked it over, and agreed that 
it was for the best that they simply end it.  Long distance relationships didn't 
work.  They weren't practical.  Plenty of other fish in the sea, Missy chimed in 
later that night, when Dana told her about it amidst tears and sniffles. 
But none of those fish were Marcus. 
She was dragged out of her thoughts by the arrival of their food.  The man from 
the counter was no longer sitting with them, although Dana hadn't noticed him 
leave.  She glanced at Missy, raising an interrogative eyebrow. 
"His lunch break was over," her sister explained.  "Real world, Dana.  People 
have jobs, and they have to go to them.  It sucks to be an adult, doesn't it?"  
She smirked.  "Besides, I saw him taking off his wedding ring before he came 
over here." 
It was the wedding ring that stopped it, Dana knew.  It wasn't the idea of sex 
with a stranger.  Missy had done that before.  Ahab would have a coronary if he 
knew how many men her sister had slept with.  There were five that Dana knew of 
for sure, and she suspected a couple of others.  Two of the five had been 
pointless, one-time flings. 
The most recent of the latter had been Sunday afternoon in Denver.  That guy had 
been younger, and displayed no evidence of being attached to anyone else.  He'd 
seemed nice enough, so when he and Melissa disappeared for a while, Dana hadn't 
been too worried.  She'd just gone back to the car and waited, reading a book, 
and eventually her sister returned, a smug smile on her face.  The ease with 
which Melissa carried it off annoyed Dana, but she knew that was irrational.  
She didn't want that, anyway, she told herself. 
"Why did you tell him my name was Jenny?" Dana asked.  "And why did you say I'm 
older than you?" 
"You want to tell your real name to some guy you just met?"  Missy shrugged.  
"Look, Dana, it was a diversion, okay?  We had a nice little conversation, he 
got to look down my blouse.  And now it's over, and we're never going to see him 
again.  No harm, no foul."  She picked up her fork and went to work on her 
salad.  "So.  What did Dad say?" 
"He said it sounds like we have matters in hand."  Melissa raised an eyebrow at 
her, waiting.  "And, uh, about the other thing ... well, it didn't exactly come 
up." 
"It didn't." 
"No."  Another uncomfortable silence.  Finally:  "He and Mom are going out 
tonight, so we don't have to call in."  We don't have to lie, she repeated in 
her mind. 
"There you go, Dana," her sister said.  "I'd say the handwriting's on the wall." 

And so it seemed.  A few miles further down the road, and an hour or so later, 
Dana sat unprotesting in the passenger seat as Melissa brought the Firenza to a 
final halt for the day.  Washington West Motor Inn.  Just outside of Washington, 
Iowa.  The Cleanest City in Iowa, according to the sign they'd just passed. 
#          #          # 
Washington, IA 
3:17 p.m. 
Three hours later, Dana was having serious second thoughts about having gone 
along with Missy's plan. 
Check-in at the motel had gone pretty much as it had the three previous days.  
Dana had felt an itch between her shoulder blades, largely because she was sure 
that everyone could tell at a glance that they were breaking Ahab's rules.  That 
was silly, of course, but knowing that it was irrational didn't stop her from 
feeling like a wanted felon. 
In actual fact, the middle aged woman at the front desk barely looked up from 
her magazine long enough to take their money and give them keys.  They'd carried 
their bags inside, put away their clothes, and headed out, as Melissa put it, 
"to see the sights". 
Such as they were.  Washington was a town of about 7,000 people, with a little 
moribund business district two or three blocks on a side huddled around a 
decaying square.  The highway they'd driven in on bisected the town, and fast 
food places and similar establishments had sprung up along it.  There was one 
movie theater -- which wouldn't be open until seven -- and a small library, 
across the street from the YMCA. 
And Dana and Melissa had been in every single one of the shops, both around the 
square and along the strip.  At least, it seemed like it.  Dana's feet hurt, the 
sun was hot on the back of her neck, and she was starting to get hungry again.  
In every store they visited, the merchandise seemed ordinary and overpriced. 
"You know," she said, as she hurried along, trying to match Missy's longer 
stride, "at least if we'd stopped in a big city, we could have found something 
interesting to do." 
"Fun is where you find it, Dana," her sister said.  She suddenly swerved and cut 
across the street, and Dana had to run a few steps to catch up.  "See?  Just 
what the doctor ordered." 
They were now standing in front of a dingy looking bar, with the words 'Fritz's 
Tap' inscribed over the door.  Dana started to object; not only did the place 
look disreputable, but she was barely 18, and Melissa was only 20.  But her 
sister had already pulled open the door and gone inside. 
Dana hesitated for a few seconds, once again having to suppress the urge to look 
over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching.  She'd been in a couple of 
bars, but she wasn't really comfortable with it.  Well, it was either go along 
with Missy, or hang around on this street corner in a strange town until she got 
around to coming back out.  Dana sighed, and followed her sister inside. 
The interior was just as grungy and unpromising as the outside.  Dusty sunlight 
filtered in through the front windows, supplemented by three or four bare light 
bulbs hanging from the ceiling by wires.  Seating consisted of a couple of dozen 
rickety tables with chairs situated around them, plus a row of stools in front 
of the bar that ran along one side of the long, narrow room.  Two pool tables 
stood in the back right corner.  Dana and Melissa were the only ones in the 
place, other than the bartender. 
"Dana!  Look!"  Missy was pointing at the pool tables.  "Looks like this is the 
place!  You rack 'em up, and I'll get the beer." 
Dana shook her head, but did as she was told.  She picked the less decrepit of 
the two tables and retrieved the balls from the pockets.  She was just finishing 
when Missy reappeared, carrying a pitcher and two glasses. 
"I can't believe he just sold that to you," Dana said. 
She squatted down to examine the cues sitting in the rack beneath the table.  
They were in surprisingly good condition, considering that they probably saw a 
lot of use from unskilled drunks.  She picked one and lined up the cue ball to 
break without bothering to ask.  Missy was the Scully family champion; she 
always let her opponent have the break. 
"Don't be an idiot, Dana," her sister replied.  She paused to sip her beer, 
while Dana took the first shot and balls scattered across the table.  "Places 
like this want all the young women they can get.  That's what makes the men show 
up and spend money." 
Dana nodded without speaking.  She was already getting into the game, and didn't 
want to break her concentration.  She'd sunk the three, and the break had been 
favorable for solids, so she might as well take them.  There was a chance she 
could run the table .... 
The game went fairly quickly.  Dana won the first rack, but Melissa came back 
and took the second and third.  Dana watched with resignation as her sister sank 
the eight ball off a combination shot to put away her victory. 
"You girls are pretty good." 
Dana looked around, and saw a guy standing a few feet away.  He was a few years 
older than the two of them, maybe 25 or so.  He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, 
which seemed to be the uniform of rural Iowa.  He was tall and well-muscled -- a 
bit too well-muscled for Dana's taste.  But that was okay, because, as always 
seemed to happen, he was focusing most of his attention on Missy. 
"Care for another game?" the guy asked.  He moved his eyebrows suggestively, and 
added, "Winner take all?  My name's Matt, by the way." 
Dana rolled her eyes at his lack of subtlety, but Missy just smiled and shook 
her head. 
"I don't think so," she said, kneeling down to replace her pool cue in the rack. 
 "Jenny and I have some things to do.  Don't we, sis?" 
"Uh, yeah," Dana replied.  Something weird was going on here.  The guy didn't 
seem put out at all.  In fact, he was smiling.  "It's getting late," she added. 
"Almost 4:30," Missy agreed.  She straightened up, making eye contact with the 
stranger as she walked around the table to stand next to Dana.  "But we might be 
back later."  Her gaze flicked to Dana, then back to Matt.  "You think you might 
be around?" 
"Maybe." 
Missy nodded, as if that were just the response she was looking for.  Then she 
linked her arm through Dana's and pulled her towards the front of the bar. 
"Come on, Jenny," she said.  "We wouldn't want to be late to the cotillion.  
Bye, Matt!  Catch you later -- I hope." 
Shaking her head, Dana allowed herself to be led from the bar.  Someday she'd 
figure her sister out.  Someday. 
==========END CHAPTER TWO==========