A Curve in the Road(9)

I hear Zack crying softly, and I give him a moment.

“Are you still at the rink?” I carefully ask.

“Yes,” he replies in a low, broken voice.

“Can you get a ride home with someone?”

“Jeremy can take me.”

“Good. And keep your cell phone on. I’ll let you know when we’re getting on the helicopter.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“I love you.” I’m about to end the call when he asks one more thing.

“Wait, Mom. Where’s Winston? Wasn’t he with you?”

I close my eyes and exhale heavily. “Yes, he was in the back seat, but he got thrown, and . . . well, we’re not sure where he is right now. He must have run off.”

“He’s lost? On the highway?”

“Yes, but some men from the fire department are searching for him, and the local cops have been informed as well. They’ll find him, Zack. I promise.”

Knock on wood.

“I hope so,” Zack replies. “What if he gets hit by a car?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “Let’s not think those kinds of thoughts. Just say more prayers, and I’ll let you know more as soon as I hear something.”

We say goodbye, and I look up at my mother, who has just swept past the privacy curtain with two cups of coffee, one in each hand. She looks pale from all the stress. “I thought you might like one.”

“Thank you. But you should sit down, Mom.”

She moves closer and hands me the cup. I peel back the plastic lid and take a sip. The warmth feels good between my palms—a welcome comfort after so many ordeals.

Mom sits down. “How did he take it?”

I shrug with resignation. “As good as can be expected, but he’s upset and worried. I told him to go home and wait until I call.” I cup my forehead in a hand. “Where is that damn helicopter?”

Just then, the Star Wars theme begins to play at the foot of the bed, and I see Alan’s cell phone flashing. “Someone’s calling him. What am I supposed to say?”

Neither of us makes a move to reach for the phone. “You don’t have to answer it,” Mom says. “You could just let it go to voice mail.”

I consider that briefly because I’ve been through so much and I don’t feel ready to talk to anyone—especially about what happened to Alan—but what if it’s about work? I can’t just let it ring. “Could you pass it to me?”

She quickly hands me the phone, and I check the call display. “It’s a local number.”

Mom inclines her head.

“Hello?”

There’s a long pause at the other end, and then a woman asks, “Is Alan there?”

I wet my lips and take a breath. “No, I’m sorry—he’s not. Would you like to leave a message?”

I perceive another conspicuous pause. “Um . . . I’m calling from Handy Hardware in Lunenburg. I don’t suppose this is . . . is this Abbie?”

I slowly sit up on the edge of the bed. “Yes. Who is this?”

“It’s Paula Sheridan. We went to high school together.”

I remember Paula Sheridan, though we haven’t spoken to each other since I graduated. We didn’t know each other that well because she was a year behind me, but we sometimes moved in the same circles and went to the same parties. I remember bonding with her one night at a summer campfire when her boyfriend dumped her. She cried her eyes out, and I held her hair back when she threw up in the bushes. But that was it. I went off to college in Ontario. I don’t know what she did after high school, and I have no idea why she’s calling Alan’s phone. Yet more questions to add to the growing list.

“Why are you calling?” I ask.

“Oh . . .” She seems lost for words. “I’m just looking for Alan because he ordered something from the store. He was supposed to pick it up today.”

“The hardware store . . . ?”

“Yes. My husband and I own Handy Hardware in Lunenburg. Your husband comes in sometimes to get things, usually on Sundays.”

Ah. Now I understand. He’s always helping my mother with handiwork around the house. I glance up at Mom, and she’s watching me curiously.

“He was supposed to pick up a . . .” Paula hesitates. “Let me see . . . a power washer.”

My stomach turns over as I struggle to figure out how to respond. “I’m sorry—he won’t be coming in.” Does she not realize there’s an ice storm out there? “Are you even open?” I ask, checking my watch.

“Oh, we closed at six. I’m just here taking care of a few courtesy calls.”

Neither of us says anything for a few seconds.

“Could you let him know that I’ll hold the power washer here for him?” Paula finally asks. “He can come by anytime.”

I sense that she’s ready to say “Thank you and goodbye,” but I don’t want to end the call just yet.

“Wait a second, Paula. Did he say specifically that he was going to pick it up today?”

“Yes.”

“When did he say that?”

She pauses again. “Earlier today, when he called.”

“I see.” I don’t know why I suddenly want to divulge something personal to a woman I haven’t spoken to in years, but I can’t help myself. She’s someone I used to know, someone from my hometown, and I really need a friend right now. The words come spilling out.