Not Without My Father: One Woman's 444-Mile Walk of the Natchez Trace Read Online Free Page A

engulfed me.
    Without anything to hide behind, my eyes sizzled to life. “I can’t believe I’m crying.” I swiped tears as Alice pulled me close. With a hug, she whispered, “Most people would never take five weeks to just walk. Alone. Through scary, remote, even dangerous places. You’re here. You’re doing it. Don’t wish it away. Promise me you’ll savor it, okay?”
    The ground blurred, a lens out-of-focus.
    How many souls passed there in 10,000 years?
    One of them whispered.
    “Get moving, girl.”

I WALK ALONE
    Green Day
    My feet pogoed along the pavement of the Natchez Trace, two victims of adrenalin and the craving to launch a novel and make history. After I posted my open-mouthed picture in front of the parkway sign, my phone lit up with words of encouragement from readers around the globe, stalwart people who cheered my writing. I hoped they would bolster me through all 444 miles, because as long as they were there, I couldn’t quit without public humiliation. At the starting line, they didn’t disappoint.
You’re a badass, Andra!
Go, Andra! Go!
You’ve GOT this!
    Praise was always light to my inner moth. I bounded across the road and stuck to the white line on the opposite side, a continuous ribbon of paint that stretched to middle Tennessee. I knelt on the pebbly tarmac and snapped a picture. Perspective merged the line with infinity. I choked on audacity and burning rubber, not caring whether I applied enough sunblock on my fair hands. Before I could push myself to stand, an engine rattled toward me. Hot fumes stung my face and slithered up my nostrils. I rolled sideways onto grass as an extended cab pickup blasted past and disappeared around a bend.
    The driver never braked. I couldn’t tell if he saw me.
    “Sheesh, Andra. Remember, you’re just a five-seven white woman in a hat. Walking. These people aren’t expecting you.” I spoke into early spring air. If I talked to myself and no one heard me, that meant I wasn’t crazy.
    Right?
    I scrolled through my texts again.
With you all the way, Andra!
You’re gonna kill this!
Can’t wait to see you in Tennessee!
    And one from my mother.
Be careful
    No surprise she chose those words for her only daughter. Always pushing boundaries, stepping over lines.
    I leaned into the railing of a concrete bridge. Cars blitzed underneath me. Each speeding vehicle was a time I jumped too soon. My first, disastrous marriage. My initial choice of career. Even my own entrepreneurial efforts. For me, life had always been about having the guts to jump.
    At forty-four, I needed a place to land. A soft spot. Not a splat of bone and blood on concrete.
    “You’ve already jumped, Andra. For real. No point doing it again.” The back of my head scraped against the guardrail, and I comprehended my first victory.
    Milepost 1.
    Angst forgotten, I skipped to the bend in the road and hoisted my foot along a sliver of browned steel bolted into grass, posts that would mark every mile of my uphill trek to Nashville. As my iPhone recorded the moment, I whispered, “There. Only 443 to go.”
    Anthills volcanoed along the pavement edge, and the shoulder fell into a ditch. “I hope it’ll be okay if I just walk in the road.” I picked up my step and hugged the sloped pavement on the southbound side, confident I would see approaching cars.
    Even though I never saw what was coming in Life.
    Near milepost 2, a white truck stopped. A man’s uniformed arm waved me to his open window. “Great. This is where I’m gonna be told I can’t walk the Trace. Barely two miles in.” I inched toward him, one conversation ringing in my ears.
    Before I left for Mississippi, my husband Michael had just one request. “Call the authorities along the Trace, Andra, and let them know what you’re doing.”
    I dug in along my side of our shared desk and looked into his blue eyes. “Why? One of them’ll just tell me I can’t, and I’ll have to quit before I start.”
    “Just promise me