Drives Like a Dream (17 page)

"Seven dollars a pop! What do you get for it?" Void asked, loud enough for the woman at the desk to hear him.

"My treat, okay?" Jessica said sharply and took Void's hand, leading the way out of the building. They followed a path to an elevator, which they shared with a father and son who wore matching Seattle Mariners jerseys. The son, clearly excited, read from a brochure as they slowly dropped two hundred feet toward the water. A recording announced that they were entering the largest sea cave in the world. "The length of a football field and twelve stories high," Void repeated in a faux radio announcer's voice.

The elevator doors opened to an observation area surrounded in chain-link fence. The boy shot ahead, his father trailing.

Void held his shirt over his nose. "More like the largest natural toilet in the world. Help, we're trapped."

"It's not that bad," Jessica said. "Look," and pointed to a sea lion pup slapping its way onto a basalt rock ledge. A green translucent light poured in from the mouth of the cave, brushing the walls and playing on the water's surface. She and Void took a path along the edge of the vast grotto, a good distance from the herd of sea lions, all necks and noses, splashing and diving, sitting high and queenly on the rocks. Void nuzzled up next to Jessica, kissed her on the temple. "Aaarf, aaarf," he said loudly in her ear, but she shrugged him away.

The few people gathered behind the fence, even the boy in the Mariners jersey, spoke in whispers. The tinny whistle of the wind, with the surf, the bird cries, and the guttural moos, had an otherworldly sound.

"I can't tell which is worse." Void stepped away from Jessica and crossed his arms. "This place or the zoo. At least in the zoo everyone knows it's artificial. But here we are, in their natural environment, and we turn them into entertainment. Seven bucks a show." His voice echoed off the walls.

Ordinarily Jessica might have agreed or even gone one further. Void was always expressing his outrage over some new offense, but it occurred to her now that he exhausted her. He spent all of his energy reacting. "This is what sea lions do," she said. "They eat fish and sit on the rocks and couldn't care less if we're watching them."

"How do you know what they think?" Void asked, and caught the attention of the boy in the baseball jersey. The kid had probably heard similar logic on the playground.

Jessica didn't want to get into this. "Look, we're the ones behind the fences, not them. This is nothing like a zoo."

Void continued to pontificate—on whale watching, safaris, the circus, petting zoos. He stopped and leaned against the chain-link fence, the green light throwing a lattice over his face.

"How about we just go back to the cliffs? Would that be better?" Jessica asked.

"If that's what you want." Void seemed to miss the disillusionment in her voice.

They took the elevator back up to the surface, went out to a scenic point overlooking the steel-blue ocean. Tourists fed quarters to coin-op binoculars and watched as more sea lions sunned themselves on the rock shelves outside the caves. Void stood with his hands in his pockets, the wind pasting his hair to his forehead. Jessica wondered what it meant that she was standing at the edge of the United States, as far as she could possibly go to get away, yet the only words that came to mind were
What now?

When Void pulled up to the curb outside her apartment, he leaned over to kiss her. Jessica turned away. It was six in the evening and they'd spent half the day together.

"So? Do you still
neighbor
?" Void gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

"I don't think so," she said.

He put his hand on her leg. "Oh, come on."

She unlocked the car door.

"Let's go out and get some dinner. It's still early," he said. "Don't you want to dance?" But his voice had already trailed off. On the quiet drive home, he must have lost what nerve he had.

"Maybe I'll see you at the checkout." She got out of the car.

"Well, I'll call you," she heard him say as she reached for her keys.

Inside, Jessica lay down on the couch. She had taken Bedlam for a quick walk, and now he trundled up to her and licked her face, then rested his head on her lap. He looked into her eyes, as if no one else in the world mattered.

She must have drifted off to sleep when Davy called. "Well, the inevitable has happened," he announced. "We had a meeting last night and Lowball's shutting down." He told her about their unsuccessful scramble for more investors and their last, depressing meeting.

Jessica put aside her own lousy day with Void. "I'm sorry, Davy. How's Teresa taking it?"

"We aren't talking. I can't imagine packing up is going to be much fun."

"But
she
decided to give you that money. She took that chance."

"I don't know, Jess. I can be really persuasive when I believe in something. And I was sure at the time about Lowball. She lost forty thousand dollars. Half of what her mother left her. I don't know if we can ever get over that."

"So what are you going to do?" she asked.

"An Oregon vacation sounds like a nice idea. I've got frequent flier miles if you've got room on the couch. I clean. I do dishes."

"Are you serious?" She got up and looked out the window. The streetlights had winked on.

"Just for a few days? A long weekend? I need a break, Jess. For now, anyway, I haven't told anyone but you."

She couldn't imagine a worse time. But what else could she say to her little brother but "Of course"?

Later that night, though, she started to get excited about the idea of having Davy visit. As awful as it was for him to face the end of Lowball and, perhaps, of his relationship with Teresa, at least he'd be free to start over, do something new. Jessica wondered what
she
was waiting for. She had come out here to begin her own life. But something was holding her back. It was as if she had never gotten away. She and Davy could rent a car, go places she'd been meaning to see. Together they could talk about
What now.

L
YDIA WAS FEELING
tipsy by the time she and the Spiveys entered the library's computer lab. Walter happened to be working the desk and she worried that he would notice. But his attention was entirely on Casper. "I'm a great admirer of yours," Walter said, introducing himself to the Spiveys. He mentioned some of the ad campaigns Casper had shepherded through at Ford. "My favorite, 'Quality Is Job One,"' Walter explained to Lydia, "turned the focus from cars to the people who built them. Mr. Spivey is the guy who brought Ford out of that long slump."

"That's very nice of you," M.J. said before Casper could get in a word. "But take care with my husband's ego. It's already overtaxed."

Walter looked unsure about how to take this. "So what brings you here?" he asked Lydia.

"Our friend is showing us the wonders of the Internet," Casper answered.

"Well, not exactly," Lydia said. "We're just doing e-mail, that's all. Thank you, by the way, for the Tucker information." She turned to the Spiveys. "Walter put together some Preston Tucker clippings for me."

"Not much of a conspiracy, is there?" Walter added. "Not until you can show me a smoking gun."

Casper gave a little smile. M.J. put her arm around him.

Walter found an open computer terminal and pulled up extra chairs. "So you're all fine here?" he asked. "I'm doing double duty. I've got to rim upstairs in a minute."

Lydia thanked him and signed on to her e-mail account. When she saw that a message from Norm was waiting, her pulse quickened. M.J. pulled her chair up closer. It might have been the wine or her own newfound desire to shake up her life, but Lydia didn't mind M.J. leaning over and reading the note out loud.

"'Dear Lydia,' it says. 'I know all about Detroit's latest plans, and as usual they're going for the temporary fix. The only way they'll pull themselves out of this moribund state is to aim for a sustainable economy rather than the exhaustive one they've been so committed to for the past hundred years. And you can't have a sustainable economy unless you create a physical environment that supports and nourishes it.' My, my," M.J. said. "This is some racy stuff. Are you sure you want us to read this sizzling billet-doux?"

"It gets better," Lydia said. "Look at the next paragraph."

'"The city is pawn to the highway,'" M.J. continued. "Something about casinos. Baseball. The Renaissance Center. Etcetera. Aha, here it gets interesting: 'So you're married to your work?'" he writes. '"That's a line I'm all too familiar with, one I used to hear at home on a regular basis. I've often wondered what might have happened had I married someone else who was married to her work. If two people are married to their work, it wouldn't be so bad, would it? They could come together at the end of the day and have an affair.'"

Lydia stopped on that line. "That's something," she said. "You know when my ex-husband—"

"Our son-in-law," Casper put in.

"When I met Cy for the first time he used a line much like this one."

"So it's auspicious," Casper said.

"I don't know about auspicious. We are divorced, after all."

"But your marriage lasted a long time. Thirty-some years is a good ride in this day and age. What else does the letter say?" Casper asked.

"He talks about his children," M.J. said. "A son and a daughter. Both in college."

"Do you think he's younger than I am? Two kids in college. I bet he's not yet fifty."

"I thought you saw him."

"I couldn't tell. Honestly," Lydia said.

"Men always start late. I'm sure you're contemporaries."

"How does he close the letter?" Casper asked.

"'Warm regards.'"

"So let's hop to that reply," M.J. said, and soon, with the Spiveys' help, Lydia had written a follow-up:

Dear Norm,

I once had a professor in graduate school who used to keep her married life interesting by giving her husband a new name every few months.

You'd think after a while this might get confusing, particularly when they went out in public. I remember meeting her husband on several occasions and under a variety of noms de guerre. It was hard for the rest of the world to keep up with the many names. But it worked for them, and who needs the rest of the world when life at home is never dull?

So, where are your children in school? You forgot to tell me, also, where you live.

Enjoying the distraction from work,
Lydia

Norm replied within five minutes, generating a cackle of glee from M.J. He lived in Windsor, where he had just joined the faculty in Urban and Environmental Planning at the University of Windsor. Both of his children went to the University of Minnesota, where he used to teach.

"So, he's just across the bridge." M.J. rubbed her hands together.

"I don't know," Casper said. "You've got to watch out for those Canadians. They'll eat you alive. Look at me. A shell of the man I was when I met this woman."

"I don't think he's a Canadian." Lydia turned serious. "He just moved to Windsor. I wonder why. Minnesota's a better school and closer to his kids." But she was pleased that they both had a background in planning. And Windsor was less than a half hour's drive away.

"So let's ask him more questions," M.J. said. And Lydia began typing.

The day, like the Internet itself, had an unreal quality. She felt safe sitting behind the hard glass of the computer screen, sending out her queries to Norm, safe also in the company of Casper and M.J. To think that she had dreaded calling them at all.

If Jessica had been witnessing this, she might have called it desperation. But in fact here was a man interested in Lydia—waiting on her every signal. Norman Crawford, professor of urban and environmental planning. At fifty-four, a touch on the young side, but as M.J. said, definitely in range. Lydia had never liked Windsor, but the place seemed almost exotic now: Ontario. Canada. Another country.

After they had at last signed off, Casper and M.J. drove Lydia home.

"I had a wonderful time. I'll call you soon," she said through the passenger side window.

"Thanks for taking care of us." M.J. grabbed her hand.

"I should say the same to you." Lydia waved goodbye and went up the steps to her house.

Jessica, Davy, and Ivan had each left a message on the answering machine.

"I'm calling to check in on the patient," Jessica said.

Lydia had forgotten any conversation she'd had about being sick. She'd eaten a roast beef sandwich that one afternoon, for God's sake. She didn't need to see a doctor, didn't need her children checking up on her to make sure she wasn't wasting away. No, she was the author of four reputable books, a sixty-one-year-old divorcée who had a younger man in the wings, someone with ideas and energy, swooning over her.

Lydia thought about calling her kids back and setting the record straight. She also had an urge to tell them about Norm, let them know that their mother still had certain charms. But secrets could carry even more of a thrill. She wouldn't mention her new admirer, not just yet, and she could play out this so-called medical problem a bit longer, too. She liked hearing from her children, and if a mysterious stomachache could hold their attention for a while, was it a crime to let them worry, just a little?

Over the next two weeks she exchanged several e-mails a day with Norm. Even when he visited his kids in Minneapolis, he managed to dash off a couple of notes to her. Lydia pictured him wandering the hidden metropolis of malls, tunnels, and skyways, telling his children to hold on; he was expecting an important message. She imagined his kids—Jeremy, who was soon to go to Yellowstone to volunteer in reforestation, and Tracy, who planned to waitress another summer at Pizza-delic—sitting in a cybercafé, waiting for their father to write her back. Norm had already told them about Lydia. And while it seemed quite early to her, she wondered if his children had pulled up chairs next to him and, like the Spiveys, dispensed advice.

She had spoken with M.J. several times in the past couple of weeks as well, mostly about Norm, but also about Cy and Ellen. The movers had arrived in Phoenix with their things and soon Cy and Ellen would start their new lives, which at the moment did not bother Lydia. Her days were beginning to fill again. She told the kids that she'd seen a doctor, who thought she looked fine but was putting her through a series of tests.
"Just to be safe," she said. "It's probably a dairy allergy or something." She felt a little bad for carrying on like that, but then again, they were far away and would never find out.