Lake, Romulus, Metro Airport.
Jessica squeezed her mother's hand. "Sorry it's been such a short visit."
"Well, at least we have tomorrow," Lydia said.
"Not much of tomorrow. My flight leaves at eight A.M. I won't get to Eugene until dinnertime. When are you guys leaving?" she asked her brothers.
"I tried to get an afternoon flight but couldn't. So I'm on your heels," Ivan said. "I wish we could stay longer, Mom."
"I'll be around through the morning, anyway," Davy put in.
Lydia sighed. "I guess it was your father's weekend, after all."
"We'll be back before you know it," Davy said.
Lydia leaned forward and patted his cheek. "I'm sure you will."
When she sat back, she felt the arrow again, a sharp pain this time driving up to her ribs. She took Jessica's hand and pulled it toward her. "Here," she said, and placed her daughter's palm against the ache in her middle.
8
J ESSICA KNEW that her mother could have rented a car in Ann Arbor and driven home herself. But who could tell how she would react to Cy's picking up and leaving, not just out of metro Detroit, but clear across the country? Jessica had never been to Arizona, only knew of the Southwest from her ex, the ersatz Buddhist. Now she and her mother could commiserate: they'd both lost a man to the desert.
Blane had moved down to sell his amuletsâEgyptian ankhs, Druid symbols, feathered necklaces, crystal-drop "energy" earrings and pendants. He had tried to make a go of it in Eugene, renting a kiosk in the Springfield mall, but he'd had more stuff stolen by doped-up teenagers than he probably ever sold. And the weather got to him, the unrelenting gray of winter, the slick and constant mist. Jessica was accustomed to demoralizing climates, but Blane, a North Carolinian, had to move to the far extreme to snap out of his daze.
Phoenix, of all places. A city of millions with no downtown that, thanks to the automobile and air conditioning, had metastasized into scores of exclusive communities that more or less governed themselves. In Oregon, people looked down on the Southwest and Southern California, with their vulturelike water policies and desperate overdevelopment. Jessica would not follow a man down there, not to the so-called city of rebirth where retirees did anything but rise from the ashes. But now the Spivey-Modines were joining the mad rush for land. Their sprinkler systems would run all day to keep the desert blooming.
It had been Jessica's idea to say nothing about it to their mother. "She's not ready for this," she'd said during the car ride from the reception to the museum. "She'll chase after him, I'm telling you. Either that or she'll move in with me."
"She has to find out somehow," Davy said. "Shouldn't we tell her in person?"
"I think we should give it some time. Don't you find it strange that today of all days the Escort broke down? She's in Ann Arbor, for God's sake. Are you such a believer in accidents, Davy?"
"In this case, yes. It was only a matter of time for that car."
"Only a matter of timing, you mean."
Ivan accelerated past a car carrier strung with shiny Pontiacs. "It's only a matter of time before she finds out anyway," he said.
"Give it a couple of days, that's all I'm suggesting. That news would be too raw on top of what's already happened this weekend. You know Mom and Dad still talk. I think she imagined they'd get back together someday." Jessica looked out the window at the polluted landscape and pictured the Columbia River Gorge, the Cascades, the winding Oregon coast. As beautiful as it was where she lived, the West had done little to show her a way in the world. She would happily leave the place if there were somewhere else to go.
"When did you become so sensitive about Mom's feelings?" Ivan asked.
Jessica leaned toward the front seat. "I just know this isn't the day to tell someone whose life is tied up in history, who doesn't believe in endings, that her husband of thirty-three years is heading west."
"Literally
Jessica squeezed her mother's hand. "Sorry it's been such a short visit."
"Well, at least we have tomorrow," Lydia said.
"Not much of tomorrow. My flight leaves at eight A.M. I won't get to Eugene until dinnertime. When are you guys leaving?" she asked her brothers.
"I tried to get an afternoon flight but couldn't. So I'm on your heels," Ivan said. "I wish we could stay longer, Mom."
"I'll be around through the morning, anyway," Davy put in.
Lydia sighed. "I guess it was your father's weekend, after all."
"We'll be back before you know it," Davy said.
Lydia leaned forward and patted his cheek. "I'm sure you will."
When she sat back, she felt the arrow again, a sharp pain this time driving up to her ribs. She took Jessica's hand and pulled it toward her. "Here," she said, and placed her daughter's palm against the ache in her middle.
8
J ESSICA KNEW that her mother could have rented a car in Ann Arbor and driven home herself. But who could tell how she would react to Cy's picking up and leaving, not just out of metro Detroit, but clear across the country? Jessica had never been to Arizona, only knew of the Southwest from her ex, the ersatz Buddhist. Now she and her mother could commiserate: they'd both lost a man to the desert.
Blane had moved down to sell his amuletsâEgyptian ankhs, Druid symbols, feathered necklaces, crystal-drop "energy" earrings and pendants. He had tried to make a go of it in Eugene, renting a kiosk in the Springfield mall, but he'd had more stuff stolen by doped-up teenagers than he probably ever sold. And the weather got to him, the unrelenting gray of winter, the slick and constant mist. Jessica was accustomed to demoralizing climates, but Blane, a North Carolinian, had to move to the far extreme to snap out of his daze.
Phoenix, of all places. A city of millions with no downtown that, thanks to the automobile and air conditioning, had metastasized into scores of exclusive communities that more or less governed themselves. In Oregon, people looked down on the Southwest and Southern California, with their vulturelike water policies and desperate overdevelopment. Jessica would not follow a man down there, not to the so-called city of rebirth where retirees did anything but rise from the ashes. But now the Spivey-Modines were joining the mad rush for land. Their sprinkler systems would run all day to keep the desert blooming.
It had been Jessica's idea to say nothing about it to their mother. "She's not ready for this," she'd said during the car ride from the reception to the museum. "She'll chase after him, I'm telling you. Either that or she'll move in with me."
"She has to find out somehow," Davy said. "Shouldn't we tell her in person?"
"I think we should give it some time. Don't you find it strange that today of all days the Escort broke down? She's in Ann Arbor, for God's sake. Are you such a believer in accidents, Davy?"
"In this case, yes. It was only a matter of time for that car."
"Only a matter of timing, you mean."
Ivan accelerated past a car carrier strung with shiny Pontiacs. "It's only a matter of time before she finds out anyway," he said.
"Give it a couple of days, that's all I'm suggesting. That news would be too raw on top of what's already happened this weekend. You know Mom and Dad still talk. I think she imagined they'd get back together someday." Jessica looked out the window at the polluted landscape and pictured the Columbia River Gorge, the Cascades, the winding Oregon coast. As beautiful as it was where she lived, the West had done little to show her a way in the world. She would happily leave the place if there were somewhere else to go.
"When did you become so sensitive about Mom's feelings?" Ivan asked.
Jessica leaned toward the front seat. "I just know this isn't the day to tell someone whose life is tied up in history, who doesn't believe in endings, that her husband of thirty-three years is heading west."
"Literally
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