Repo Madness by W. Bruce Cameron

aloud.
    â€œSo? What are we doing?”
    I glanced around the café. There were no customers, and the woman behind the counter had gone into the back room. “I’m thinking about what Amy Jo said. Lisa Marie wasn’t in the car when it sank. What if that means she got thrown out? Maybe the back window was open. We hit the water going, what, fifty? That could propel a person pretty far. Maybe Lisa swam to the opposite shore that night. I was pretty out of it. And those stoners didn’t know to look for anyone else. If she got tossed twenty yards or so, woke up when she hit the water, and headed for the opposite side, it could explain how she survived.”
    â€œTwenty yards?” Alan repeated skeptically.
    â€œThe point is, Alan,” I responded agitatedly, “maybe what Amy Jo meant was that Lisa Marie started off in the backseat, but she wasn’t in the car when it sank . The water that night was forty-eight degrees, which means by this chart I’m looking at, she could have gone more than thirty minutes without drowning. You could swim that channel in a third of that.”
    The woman came out from the kitchen. “You need something, hon?” she asked. She’d obviously heard me talking.
    â€œNo, I was just…” I gestured with my phone. She nodded in understanding and went back through the swinging doors. Cell phones have made it possible for all sorts of lunatics to operate in society.
    â€œSo then what?” Alan pressed.
    I was frozen, though, staring at the screen. This habitual position reminded me that I hadn’t texted with Katie in hours. I thumbed the message app and double-checked. Nothing from her.
    â€œIs that what I think it is? A conversation with my daughter?” Alan asked excitedly.
    â€œYeah, I was just looking to see if she had sent me a text message. She usually checks in regularly.” Maybe not when we were on a break, though. I scrolled back through the past to show him what I meant.
    â€œWell, that’s revealing,” he said dryly.
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œI’m looking at what she is saying. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks. ‘I miss you. What time will you be home?’ she says. ‘Thinking of you today. Can’t wait for the weekend.’”
    â€œYeah?” I had a feeling I was about to receive the benefit of another lecture from my fiancée’s father.
    â€œThen look at you. ‘Fine,’ you say. ‘Seven thirty,’ you say. ‘I have to work the bar Saturday.’ See a pattern?”
    â€œYou mean the pattern where she asks a question and I answer it?” I snapped, irritated because I understood exactly what he was getting at.
    â€œDon’t you think she deserves more than just information?”
    â€œIt’s the information age,” I retorted. “That’s what texting is for.”
    He was silent.
    â€œFine.” I sighed. I thought about it for a moment, and then typed this: It really meant a lot to me that you came to see me in the hospital. I was glad to see you. I don’t understand why you need a break. I think it is crazy that you’re moving out.
    â€œMaybe just end it at hospital ,” Alan suggested.
    â€œBut it is crazy that we’re living apart. What the hell does a break mean when it is in the middle of a relationship? That’s like saying, ‘My legs are tired. I think I’ll break one.’”
    â€œJust erase everything after ‘glad to see you,’” he insisted.
    I did what he said and sent it. “Okay.”
    â€œOkay. So tell me about Lisa Marie,” he suggested.
    â€œRight. So she gets thrown out of the car. If she spent much time in the water, she would have collapsed. She needed help. When I got to the hospital, I was unconscious, and I guess they warmed me up gradually.”
    â€œSo it’s late at night, and she’s gotten to the opposite shore. Many people