Anything Is Possible(43)

Lucy was putting her shoes back on. “I don’t want to write that story.” Her voice sounded angry.

Pete said, “And who’d want to read it?”

“I would,” Vicky said.

“I still like to read about the family on the prairie,” Pete said. “Remember that series of books? I have them upstairs.”

“I can’t,” Lucy said. “I can’t.”

“So don’t write it,” Vicky said, with a shrug, “I was just saying— Oh my God, I remember now—”

Lucy stood up. “Stop it,” she said. Her face had two red splotches high on her cheeks. “Stop it,” she repeated. “Just stop it.” She looked at Vicky, then she looked at Pete. She said—and her voice was loud and wobbly—“It was not that bad.” Her voice rose. “No, I mean it.”

Silence hung in the room.

In a few moments, Vicky said calmly, “It was exactly that bad, Lucy.”

Lucy looked at the ceiling, then she began to shake her hands as if she had just washed them and there was no towel. “I can’t stand it,” she said. “Oh God help me. I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it, I can’t—”

And then Pete understood that she could not stand the house, or being in Amgash, that she had become frightened, the way he had been frightened to get his hair cut, only Lucy was so much more frightened than that.

“Okay, Lucy,” he said. He stood up and went to her. “Just relax now.”

“Yes,” Lucy said. “Yes. No. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know—” It seemed she was panting. “You guys,” she said, looking from one to the other, and her eyes were blinking hard. “I don’t know what to do. Help me, oh God—” She kept shaking her hands, harder and harder.

“Lucy,” said Vicky. She hoisted herself up from the couch and walked over to her sister. “Now you just get hold of yourself—”

“I can’t,” Lucy said. “I can’t. I just can’t— Oh, help me.” She sat back down on the couch. “See, it’s just that I don’t know— Oh God—” She looked up at her brother. “Oh dear God please help me.” She stood up again, shaking her hands furiously. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do—”

Vicky and Pete glanced at each other.

“I’m having a panic attack,” Lucy said to them. “I haven’t had one in ages, but this is a bad one, oh God, oh dear God. Oh Jesus, oh God— Okay, now listen to me, you guys, listen to me. Pete, can you drive my car, and, Vicky, I’ll drive with you? Can you, please, oh, please can you, I have to—I just have to—”

“Drive you where?” Vicky asked.

“Chicago. The Drake Hotel. I have to get back, I just have to—”

“To Chicago?” Vicky asked. “You want me to drive you to Chicago? That’s like two and a half hours away.”

“Yes, can you do that? Oh God, I am so sorry, I am so sorry, I can’t I can’t I can’t—”

Vicky looked at her wristwatch. She took a deep breath, widened her eyes for a moment. Then she turned and picked up her red pocketbook. “Let’s go to Chicago,” she said to Pete.

“Oh God, thank you, thank you—” Lucy was already opening the door.

Pete mouthed the words to Vicky: I’ve never been there. Vicky mouthed back: I know, but I have. Pointing to her chest.



In spite of the sun, the day was not hot. There was a clarity to the air that spoke of the autumn to come; Pete felt this as he got into Lucy’s white rental car and waited while Vicky turned her car around; Lucy’s car smelled new and was clean. Then he followed his sisters out to the main road. He could not believe he was to drive to Chicago. He sort of thought he might die. He drove along the narrow roads that were at first familiar, then he followed his sister’s car to the highway. As the sun went slowly across the sky, he drove steadily behind his sister; more than an hour passed by. He could see them, Vicky, her shoulders broad, every so often turning to look at Lucy, who, her head lower, sat in the passenger seat. He drove and drove. He drove past oak trees and maple trees, he drove past big barns with American flags painted on their sides, he drove past a sign that said FIREARMS AND MEMORIES; he drove past an enormous place filled with John Deere trucks and machines, he drove past a sign that said ONE DAY DENTURES $144, he drove by an old shopping mall, no longer in use, that had grass growing up through the cement parking lot. On the steering wheel, his palms were sweating. There was a lot more time to go.

But his sister’s car was suddenly blinking its light, slowing down, and Vicky pulled the car over into the breakdown lane. Pete had to step on the brakes quickly, and even then he went past his sister, but he pulled the car over in front of her.

As he stepped out of the car a truck went by him so quickly that a storm of air blasted over him. Lucy was getting out of the passenger side of Vicky’s car, and she ran up to him. “I’m okay, Pete,” she said; her eyes seemed smaller to him. She threw her arms around him briefly, and her head bumped his chin. “Thank you with all my heart,” she said. “Now you go, I can drive myself into the city.”

“You sure?” He felt confusion and some terror as another truck went by so fast, so close. “Lucy, be careful.”