Don't Look for Me(61)

Mmm.

I used to make this for my kids. We first had it at a ski resort in Vermont where we went in the winter months. John and I both love to ski. Loved to ski, I should say. I can’t remember the last time we went skiing.

It was different after we had children. Our days were spent tethered to little bodies that grew heavy with the pull of gravity, and we would become exhausted after a few runs on easy trails. John liked to hold Nicole’s poles and ski beside her, forcing her to make turns and learn how to control her speed. I would hold the back of a harness tied to Annie’s waist and snowplow behind her. Evan—he always went with the other kids in the group lessons. It was too embarrassing to learn from his parents.

Oh, how Nicole had the taste for speed! She would scream into the cold air, faster, Daddy!

When they were settled in the hotel room, John and I would sneak down to the pub and drink cold beer and listen to country music cover bands. It would remind us of our time together before the kids when we would ski hard all day, get drunk on beer, make love, and fall asleep. Spent and happy.

There was one day that could make us laugh even years later. A man had ridden up with us on the lift, bragging about his proficiency, his house on the mountain, his brilliant children. Then he’d fallen just sliding off the chair, poles, skis scattered around him; the lift stopped, people rushing to help him. Only his ego was hurt, and we laughed so hard it made us cry.

The thought of this takes my breath away. Makes me gag on the food in my mouth which provokes these precious, painful memories.

The mountain had a hut near the lodge that served grilled cheese and tomato soup. People would stand in line for half an hour, sometimes longer, even in the cold and the snow, and they would eat standing up, helmets on, gloves on sometimes. It was the kind of thing that when we met someone who skied there, it would come out simultaneously—grilled cheese and tomato soup!

We stopped skiing after Annie died. I don’t know why I think of that for the first time only now. We stopped skiing, and I stopped making grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“I told you,” Alice says precociously.

I swallow it down.

“It’s delicious,” I say as though I have never had it. As though I am just a silly little animal behind the bars. As though she is my master.



* * *



Hours pass. I play with Alice. We finish her schoolwork.

And finally it’s time. Alice brings me a bag of food and some plastic bowls and dishes.

Mick has bought a small roasted chicken. He has also bought a bag of frozen peas and carrots. I place the chicken in the largest dish. I sprinkle the carrots and peas around it and add some water.

“You can put this right in the microwave,” I say. “For three minutes. Do you know how it works?”

“Yes!” Alice says. “We got the microwave from the Gas n’ Go. They got a new one so they gave their old one to us. It has instructions on the front. You can microwave hot dogs at the Gas n’ Go.”

Now I pause. Information, I think.

“You’ve been inside the gas station? I thought it was dangerous for you to go outside?”

“I haven’t been inside it. But he told me about the hot dogs when he brought the microwave home. Cause I asked him why you needed a microwave to get gas.”

Slowly, I tell myself. Ease into it.

“Well, that’s very nice that they gave him their microwave.”

I take more things from the bag. The instant Jell-O is there and I let out a sigh of relief.

My words linger inside her. I haven’t asked a question so she is not afraid to give an answer. She likes to tell me things when she feels like it. And tonight she does.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she says, in a whisper now.

Always.

“Yes,” I say.

“Dolly has eyes there.” Her face is full of mischief.

“At the Gas n’ Go?” I ask, thinking now about all the times I’ve stopped to get gas.

Every other Thursday in the months of September through November. Again at Thanksgiving and Christmas, several times during the winter and spring, though not on an exact schedule. For three years in a row, I have been making this trip to see my son. Stopping for gas many times. I’ve always been alone. When Nicole came with me, she reminded me to get gas before we left the school. She liked to fall asleep and not have to stop.

“Yes,” she says. “All kinds of people come there. They’re all heading north to get to the their kids’ schools. They all have a lot of money, so it doesn’t matter if they have to pay when they crash into his truck.”

I think about all the times I stood at the counter, buying coffee, candy for Evan, or a bottle of water. How many times I swiped my credit card. How many times my car sat parked at the pump, with my Connecticut plates. You can find plates on the Internet now. People have hacked DMV records and they sell the information. It happened to one of the parents at Nic’s old school in our town. Someone found her name and address from her plates and tried to break into her house. My car is registered to John’s company. Still, there would be a trail.

Maybe Mick works at the Gas n’ Go. Maybe he owns it. Maybe he knows the owners. He managed to put cameras there. And he has their old microwave oven.

I am stunned, but grateful for this new information.

Alice starts to laugh harder than I’ve ever seen her laugh. “One time,” she says. She laughs so hard she can barely get the words out, just like me and John that day we were skiing. “One time, this man was looking at some sodas in the back … and he.… and he … he picked his nose! Right in front of Dolly!” She laughs so hard her eyes begin to water.