London Is the Best City in America by Laura Dave Page A

explain to me what the hell was going on here. “Who is this?” I said.
    “All I’m saying, Emmy, is that I saw Josh’s face when we were watching that movie the other night. The Erin Brockovich movie with Julia Roberts. Josh was looking at that motorcycle rider who played her boyfriend. Talking all about Harley engines, and how taking care of one of them properly was like taking care of a patient. Like I was supposed to be excited that he could talk intelligently about such things. I knew what he was thinking. When can I get myself on one of those? And let me tell you, I wasn’t impressed.”
    Josh sat down at the table and gave me a look of disbelief that I was still on the phone.
    I put my fingers to my lips for him to stay quiet.
    “Just one question. You’re not planning on going also, are you? You know what that’s called? Enabling. What you need to do is try to stop him. Because he thinks this is his last window of opportunity. God knows Meryl won’t let him go. But he’ll listen to you. He’ll listen to you before he’ll listen to me.”
    Josh was staring at me. “What’s going on?” he mouthed. “What is she saying to you?”
    “I hear you, Mom,” I said, looking at Josh.
    “Good. Because if you tell him not to do this,” she said, “he won’t.”

We passed the Pascoag town line right around 11:00 A.M., the sign for Hamilton Breeders not long after that. The sun was shooting down strong, and we had all the windows open, the air conditioner on us. Josh took a left onto the long dirt road right beyond the Hamilton announcement—a little blue arrow, directing us to there. Everything around us seemed to be getting woodsier: thick trees and long, broken branches, logs covering the thin road. But eventually we came upon a second blue arrow directing us left and then a third one pointing us right, and before I knew it, we were pulling into this large clearing and underneath a tall archway into wide open space. The sky hit down on acres of land, little hills, the forest now just a canopy in the distance.
    To the left was a large fenced-in field, several low-riding chain-linked dog pens, matching white dog runs. To the right was a large white farmhouse, and—behind it—a misty lake. As we pulled in, the dogs all ran out, in succession, barking loudly. It was the first time I’d ever seen a bullmastiff, let alone several. They kind of looked like small horses. Protecting their empire.
    I turned and looked at Josh. “This is where she lives?” I said.
    “This is where she lives,” he said. And he was nodding his head, proud, like he was responsible, like it was his home too.
    I’d anticipated him getting more nervous now that we were actually here. But for the first time that whole weekend, Josh had a smile on his face. A real smile. He was just sitting there nodding and smiling. And he looked totally relaxed.
    “Hey,” I said. “You know what? Why don’t I make myself scarce for a while? I’ll go back into the town, get a cup of coffee or something. There was that happy-looking place Mr. Dough-boys. I’ll go back there and get myself a doughnut and wait a bit.”
    “There’s no reason to do that,” he said. But he wasn’t even looking at me anymore. He was already unlocking the car door, getting out. I wasn’t sure he knew what I was saying.
    Then I heard yelling, and I looked up to see a young woman emerging from the house, telling the dogs to calm down. She was wearing baggy jeans and a white tank top, her hair pulled back in a long blond braid. Even from a distance, I knew she couldn’t be a day over twenty. She was heading toward our car, and then, when Josh stepped outside and she saw who it was, she started to run. Josh started running too, and when he reached her, he picked her up in his arms, hugged her to him.
    I wasn’t sure what to do, so I got out of the car too and walked toward them. Up close, I could see that my estimate had been wrong—Elizabeth wasn’t even close