Chapters (65)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Part Two
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Part Three
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- About the Publisher
“Maybe so,” I said, although that was an outrageous assertion. I held my glass midair, as if anything were possible at this point. “Want another?”
Just then the phone rang; the receiver bounced slightly on the kitchen table. Was this grenade about to go off?
Thirty-Three
Cally
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 8, 2002
Afternoon
The older couple in the car had pulled over and put on their hazard lights while they waited for us to answer. Their passenger window was open.
“No, we’re fine,” said Digger, charging ahead along the shoulder of the highway.
“Are you sure?” said the woman, noticing that Digger’s hands were full, car seat in one, gas can in the other.
“Digger?” I said, trying to change his mind. “It would be a lot easier.”
“We only gotta go up this hill,” he said, nodding forward.
“Okay, then,” said the older man behind the wheel. “Vera, they said no.”
“It’s so cold for the child,” said Vera.
“She’s bundled up good,” I said.
“Is she?” said Vera, squinting at the car carrier.
“Roll up your window, Vera,” said the older man.
“Okay, Stan, hold your horses,” said Vera, rolling up her window and waving at us. That was the same phrase my dad used whenever I got impatient.
They drove away slowly as we walked in the opposite direction. “That was nice of them,” I said to Digger’s back. He marched with a rhythm, determined. Stubborn. It was cold enough that I could see his breath in the air around his head every three or four steps. A warm ride would have been nice.
“That old Buick wouldn’t have made it up the hill anyway,” said Digger.
I turned back to look at the Buick. A mauve-colored sedan, full-sized. It was turning into the Mobil station where we’d just been. The hazard lights were still on.
We plowed along in silence up the hill. “Hang on,” I said, needing a rest. Digger kept marching. “Digger,” I said louder, “wait!”
Digger sighed and turned around to see me. “Come on,” he said, and kept going.
I continued behind him, slowly, so the cramping wouldn’t get too bad. Finally, when we got inside, Digger set the carrier down next to the bed. I uncovered the baby’s face, and she was asleep. “Look at her cheeks, they’re so red,” I said. “I hope she’s okay.”
“She’s fine,” said Digger, and we both stood looking at her, deciding he was right.
“I don’t feel good,” I said. “I’m gonna take a nap.” I started taking off my wet clothes and looking for dry ones.
“The guy is gonna be here in like an hour,” said Digger.
“What guy?” I said as I dressed.
“The guy from the fucking gas station that we just talked to. The guy who’s gonna jump the truck.”
“Oh yeah, I remember.” I crawled into bed.
“I’m gonna put the gas in,” said Digger.