Beyond the Exit
By Joseph L. Licari
It was Monday morning, and Alan Dedicasio had been driving for twenty minutes when it happened. He was supposed to get off the expressway at Exit 49 and turn left onto Pinelawn Road. It was the way he drove to work every day. An engineer, he had timed his commute down to the minute. He’d leave home by 7:55 and get on the expressway heading west. He would turn down Pinelawn at 8:15, park at 8:20, get coffee at 8:25, and be sitting at his desk ready to work at exactly 8:30. Every single day, it was the same routine, an unbreakable habit.
Today, his hands gripped the steering wheel as his Ford Explorer continued straight past his usual exit. He didn’t consciously decide to skip it. The car simply kept heading west, as if it had made up its own mind, and he was just along for the ride.
Ten miles after the Pinelawn Road exit he should have taken, Alan continued west with no destination in mind. It wasn’t like he was driving one of those new autonomous vehicles he had read about. He was at the wheel of his trusty ten-year-old Ford Explorer with 148,321 miles on the odometer. At the next exit, he left the expressway and headed north, winding through hilly terrain and tree-lined roads.
Morning sun flickered through the trees, bathing everything in its warm, sparkling glow. As the road twisted and turned, an old stone church perched on a hill came into view, quietly overlooking the neighborhood below. On impulse, Alan slowed down, signaled, and turned up the long, steep driveway. He pulled into the empty gravel lot at the top and stepped out of his car. For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze locked on the towering chapel resting on the edge of the cliff. Beyond it, the cloudless blue sky met the shimmering great bay in the distance. The old stone-and-fieldstone structure was shaded by hundreds of tall trees surrounding it, as if they were shielding the church from the outside world.
He climbed the stone stairs to the top and stepped inside. The heavy, dark wooden doors closed behind him with a soft thud.
Alan took a deep breath. The blended scent of old wood, candlewax, and incense filled his lungs, bringing back memories from long ago, before life got complicated. At the front of the church, above the altar, was a large but simple wooden crucifix, decorated in the dim morning sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows on either side of the vestibule.
He walked slowly down the center aisle and slid into one of the pews toward the front. His knees found the kneeler almost on their own. He folded his hands, lowered his head, and did something that he hadn’t done in years. He prayed.
“Thank you, God,” Alan said, moving his lips in a soft whisper that was barely audible. “Thank you for the life you’ve given me. For my wife, Maria. Our two beautiful daughters, my parents, my job… for everything.”
He suddenly paused, sensing someone’s presence nearby. He looked over his shoulder, but the chapel was empty.
He closed his eyes and thought of Maria. They had slowly grown apart, both of them so busy caring for everyone else they neglected themselves. And each other. But their aging parents needed them. So did their daughters, whom he loved more than anything. He worked hard and, when the bills kept coming, he worked even harder. He didn’t mind any of it but could no longer ignore the growing void he felt inside.
When he was younger, he had dreamed of doing something big, even spectacular. He once believed he could make a real difference in the world—somehow make it better and perhaps inspire others in the process.
Alan shook his head. Not like that had happened. In a few years, he would turn fifty. Life wasn’t at all what he had imagined.
Still kneeling, he felt his thoughts slowing, quieting. He just listened to the silence. Minutes passed. Then, a single tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another. Crying softly, shoulders shaking—and he wasn’t even sure why. When the tears stopped, he wiped his face on his sleeve and sat back in the pew.
He should be at work, but for the first time in years he felt no urgent need to rush there. It seemed more important to simply sit, emptying his heart into the stillness.
Slowly, a calm and loving peace washed over him—deeper and more complete than anything he had ever known. He rested in that feeling, chasing the word for it—serenity, grace. He let it go and focused only on his steady breathing.
When he walked back outside into the bright morning light, Alan knew he didn’t have the answers. But his anxiety had lifted. He climbed into the Explorer and started the engine. His phone, sitting on the passenger seat, started buzzing. He answered.
“Alan, where are you? Are you okay?” Maria’s voice was tense with worry.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why? What’s going on?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you. They said you weren’t at work. There was a huge accident, and I thought…” Her voice trailed off.
“No, honey, I’m okay. Sorry I worried you.”
Maria exhaled in relief. “Okay, thank God. I was so nervous.”
“Maria,” Alan said gently, “can you meet me at that little coffee place in town in about half an hour? There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Of course. You’re sure you’re all right?” she said.
Alan assured her he was.
After they hung up, he tapped his phone, and multiple news alerts flooded the screen about a multi-car accident on Pinelawn Road at 8:15 that morning. Serious injuries reported. Motorists advised to avoid the area.
Alan’s hands began to tremble. That was exactly when and where he would have been if he had taken his usual exit.
Sitting in that empty parking lot on the hill, he stared at his phone, then gazed up at the old stone church. He smiled, feeling only gratitude, and whispered, “Thank you.”
Alan turned the wheel and drove back down the long driveway and toward the coffee shop. Maria would be waiting for him.
Joseph Licari is an award-winning children’s book author and music instructor. His debut series, Mia’s Mouses, entertains young readers while building literacy skills and a love for language. He integrates both reading and singing in his dynamic author visits and reading workshops at schools and libraries. Visit www.miasmouses.com for more info.