his family for something radical for years, getting them used to living without luxury or even the normal accoutrements of modern life—a constant stream of TV and Internet and video games—plus eating in a way that didn’t depend on the factory system, while the rest of the world went merrily along, driving and flying and buying, all things whose imminent crash Paul constantly predicted.
Only why had he taken the children without bringing her? It made no sense.
The parking lot radiated heat more intense than any Liz had felt yet. The asphalt had softened, giving way beneath her shoes, and making it feel as if the very surface of the earth was unsteady. Liz had to separate her shirt from her skin, like pulling off plaster.
On the rare occasions when she’d had cause to leave the Adirondacks, it always struck her how homogeneous the rest of the world appeared to be. Here she was in western New York, and aside from the thick, wet air, she might as well have been in California. In any strip mall she could eat the same featureless Italian or Chinese, buy the same item of clothing, solve the same first-world emergency, such as replacing a cell phone or repairing a chipped nail.
The coffee in Starbucks smelled the same too, although the refrigerated chill as Liz pulled open the door felt wonderful. The iced version of whatever she ordered would do nothing for her racing nerves,so Liz decided to force down a bite to eat as well. It occurred to her how easy life was outside of Paul’s reach. No scouting options for a healthier alternative, or asking what kind of oil was used for frying. What was the point of asking? It was always a bad kind. It could’ve been a Joni Mitchell song. Give me back my butter, lard, and suet. Assuming they came from a grass-fed, grass-finished animal, of course. All of the fats that scientists claimed were bad for you had turned out to be far more healthy than factory-bred canola or the toxic mélange that became vegetable oil.
Liz took a table looking out on the parking lot. Heat shimmered over the baking black expanse.
She recognized Larry Arnold as soon as he got out of his car, a midsize sedan Liz knew she wouldn’t be able to describe five seconds after seeing it. The sight of the bellhop’s wan face and sparse mustache still brought on a queasy pang. She half rose in her seat, then forced herself to sit back down until Larry Arnold entered the shop. He crossed to the table she occupied, hands fussing with something invisible on his slacks.
Liz stood up. “Thanks for meeting me. Can I buy you a coffee?”
“No, no,” the bellhop said. He paused. “Or maybe you should. Or I can buy myself one. I always worry that the staff will feel taken advantage of by people who don’t order anything. So many people do that these days. Plug their computers in, and peck, peck, peck , but never spend a penny. I suppose corporate is aware of this, of course. Figures it into their bottom line.”
“Right,” Liz said. She took a step toward the counter. “How do you take it?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Larry Arnold said. “Are you sure? There are so many choices. You can’t just know how you take your coffee anymore, light, two sugars. The sizes are strange and there are all those syrups and toppings …”
“Sounds like a latte would do,” Liz interrupted. She decided not to get into the complexities of iced versus hot.
She handed Larry his drink, warding off a meandering stream of thanks with one raised hand. Fear and stress had lent her a dreadful efficiency.
“The police said you saw my husband leave the hotel with our children.”
Larry was rubbing that spot on his slacks. He looked up when Liz went silent, as if surprised she had finished speaking so quickly.
“Yes, I did,” he replied. “I know I should’ve spoken up sooner. But I didn’t understand how the children could be missing with your husband standing right there. It’s like something on TV. Only on
Only why had he taken the children without bringing her? It made no sense.
The parking lot radiated heat more intense than any Liz had felt yet. The asphalt had softened, giving way beneath her shoes, and making it feel as if the very surface of the earth was unsteady. Liz had to separate her shirt from her skin, like pulling off plaster.
On the rare occasions when she’d had cause to leave the Adirondacks, it always struck her how homogeneous the rest of the world appeared to be. Here she was in western New York, and aside from the thick, wet air, she might as well have been in California. In any strip mall she could eat the same featureless Italian or Chinese, buy the same item of clothing, solve the same first-world emergency, such as replacing a cell phone or repairing a chipped nail.
The coffee in Starbucks smelled the same too, although the refrigerated chill as Liz pulled open the door felt wonderful. The iced version of whatever she ordered would do nothing for her racing nerves,so Liz decided to force down a bite to eat as well. It occurred to her how easy life was outside of Paul’s reach. No scouting options for a healthier alternative, or asking what kind of oil was used for frying. What was the point of asking? It was always a bad kind. It could’ve been a Joni Mitchell song. Give me back my butter, lard, and suet. Assuming they came from a grass-fed, grass-finished animal, of course. All of the fats that scientists claimed were bad for you had turned out to be far more healthy than factory-bred canola or the toxic mélange that became vegetable oil.
Liz took a table looking out on the parking lot. Heat shimmered over the baking black expanse.
She recognized Larry Arnold as soon as he got out of his car, a midsize sedan Liz knew she wouldn’t be able to describe five seconds after seeing it. The sight of the bellhop’s wan face and sparse mustache still brought on a queasy pang. She half rose in her seat, then forced herself to sit back down until Larry Arnold entered the shop. He crossed to the table she occupied, hands fussing with something invisible on his slacks.
Liz stood up. “Thanks for meeting me. Can I buy you a coffee?”
“No, no,” the bellhop said. He paused. “Or maybe you should. Or I can buy myself one. I always worry that the staff will feel taken advantage of by people who don’t order anything. So many people do that these days. Plug their computers in, and peck, peck, peck , but never spend a penny. I suppose corporate is aware of this, of course. Figures it into their bottom line.”
“Right,” Liz said. She took a step toward the counter. “How do you take it?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Larry Arnold said. “Are you sure? There are so many choices. You can’t just know how you take your coffee anymore, light, two sugars. The sizes are strange and there are all those syrups and toppings …”
“Sounds like a latte would do,” Liz interrupted. She decided not to get into the complexities of iced versus hot.
She handed Larry his drink, warding off a meandering stream of thanks with one raised hand. Fear and stress had lent her a dreadful efficiency.
“The police said you saw my husband leave the hotel with our children.”
Larry was rubbing that spot on his slacks. He looked up when Liz went silent, as if surprised she had finished speaking so quickly.
“Yes, I did,” he replied. “I know I should’ve spoken up sooner. But I didn’t understand how the children could be missing with your husband standing right there. It’s like something on TV. Only on
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