Читать книгу A Song in the Daylight - Paullina Simons - Страница 29

On Thursday Larissa called the Jag dealership to schedule an appointment for service. “Have you had the car for three months, Mrs. Stark?” Brian, the service manager, intoned into the receiver. He had a seedy voice.

“Um, no,” she stammered. “But I think the oil might be low.”

“Has the oil light gone on?”

“No, but the car’s making a funny noise at higher speeds, like a rattling noise.”

“What kind of speeds?”

“I don’t know. Seventy?”

“Hmm. Okay. Bring it in tomorrow, we’ll check it out.”

When Larissa hung up she wondered if there was a way they could tell that she’d never taken the car on the highway, had never gone above fifty in it; that it was smooth as silk—all the way to fifty. How high was self-immolation-by-lying-to-service-station-flacks on the list of venial things human beings were taught not to do?

On Friday she brought the Jag into the shop. She looked for Kai’s amber bike, but couldn’t catch a pumpkin glimpse of it. Brian, a tall, scrawny man with thin greasy hair, shook his head. “We’re busy before the weekend,” he said. “You really had to bring it in early. I told you to bring it in by eight, and here it is, nearly ten. Can you leave it till Monday?”

Not to have her car for the weekend? But then she’d have to explain to Jared that there was something wrong with it, and Jared knew about cars, he might get upset, go in, or call. Might demand another car. Perhaps cancel the deal. So much scrutiny. Too much.

“No,” she said. “I can’t leave it, we’re going away. Please, can you try for today?”

“Miss, I don’t know.” She loved it when they called her miss—her, a wife, a mother.

She tried cajoling, using the voice she used on her children. “Come on. Maybe it’s nothing. Just a simple oil change.”

Brian looked into the monitor. “Car brand new, factory-delivered four weeks ago. I don’t think it’s the oil. Who sold you this car? Kai?”

That’s all she needed, an in. “Yes. Is he here? Maybe he can help?”

“Nah, he’s not. Besides he’s not a mechanic.”

“Yes, but I have a technical question for him. I lost the card with the keyless entry code.”

“I can get you that. I’ll have to call the factory.”

“And,” Larissa continued, “I wanted to see if he could order me a navigation system.”

“A nav? Really? Well, I can do that for you. He’s not here anyway.”

“Will he be back on Monday?”

“Dunno.” Brian wasn’t looking at her as he typed up her order on the computer. “He had a funeral or something. Had to fly back to Hawaii, I think. We don’t know if he’ll be back. He just left abruptly.”

A funeral!

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” Brian grinned. “I do this stuff. Kai just sells the vehicle. All the after-sale service, I do. Sign right here. I’ll call you in the afternoon. Do you need a ride?”

“I kind of do, yeah.”

“Hmm. Lemme see.” Brian paged Gary, the other salesman, who gave Larissa a ride home. On the way they barely talked. Except for the words she couldn’t help.

“So what happened to my salesman?”

“Who? Kai? No one knows. He took personal leave. Our manager asked him when he was coming back and he said he didn’t know.”

“Is he coming back?”

“The way he left, we don’t think so.”

“Did he clear his desk?”

“Never had anything there to begin with.” Gary shrugged as he drove. “Weird guy. But a good salesman, I’ll give him that. Very good.” He smiled. “The ladies liked him.”

“Did they?”

“Yeah. He could really turn on the charm when he wanted to.”

“Huh,” said Larissa, staring straight ahead at Springfield Avenue. She enjoyed the grilled cheese sandwiches at the Summit Diner. Maybe she could go back to having them. “I didn’t see much of that. Neither did my husband. Make the next right on Summit.”

Gary laughed. “No, the husbands never saw much good in him, that’s true.”

What was she going to do? After she was dropped off, she rushed to Michelangelo’s school; she was the mystery reader that afternoon and had plumb forgot.

Of course the car was fine. “I can find nothing wrong with it, miss,” said Brian when he called later. “You gonna come pick it up?” She thought about asking Maggie to drive her to the dealership, but didn’t want it to get back to Jared that there might be a problem with the car. Gary came to pick up her and Michelangelo, and Larissa had to pay a hundred and thirty dollars to Brian for doing nothing.

Afterward she took Michelangelo for ice cream at Ricky’s. The boy had yum-yum bubble gum and she a crazy chocolate; they sat at one of the outdoor tables and licked their cones and chatted. It was an unseasonable sixty-four degrees, sunny, windy. Michelangelo talked about Jumanji, the book his mother had picked to read to his class. He didn’t understand why so many kids were scared by it, because he wasn’t scared at all, and he watched the movie like thirty-one times. Well, you are a good brave boy, Larissa said, licking her crazy chocolate through clenched teeth, through a tight throat.

He might not be coming back. That was something she wasn’t ready to get used to, the suddenness of it. Sitting next to Michelangelo in his blue camo pants, dripping melting bubble gum ice cream on them and licking his fingers, Larissa watched her son for a while with her arm on his back. Kai wouldn’t leave his bike behind. She was sure of that. He wouldn’t leave his Ducati Sportclassic behind.

But what if he didn’t leave it?

On the one hand, such a welcome breath of liberation.

On the other, emptiness that felt like pale death.

Monday morning she met Maggie for a quick coffee before her play meeting at ten. They discussed Dylan, who was demanding drums for his birthday, and Maggie, usually indulgent, this time was terrified. “Drums, Larissa. Do you understand?”

Larissa understood. Drums were loud.

“No one else in the house will be able to live.”

“There’s no one else in the house.”

“Ezra likes it quiet so he can read.”

“Frankly a little less reading … perhaps drums are exactly what you need.”

“Don’t joke, it’s not funny.”

“You’ll be fine. Put Dylan in the basement.”

“The basement is where our whole life is! Our pool table is there. Our air hockey. My treadmill. I know I never go on it, but it’s still there. My washer and dryer.”

“So don’t get the drums.”

“He says he can’t live without them.”

“We say that about a lot of things.”

“He doesn’t.”

“So? He’ll learn not to be able to live without something else.”

“Hah.”

“Seriously, divert him. When Michelangelo wants a lollipop three minutes before dinner, I don’t give in. I give him a crayon instead.”

“I hope your child doesn’t suck on too many of those,” said Maggie. “Because how long can you fool a six-year-old? Soon he’ll figure out a crayon is not a very tasty substitute. Dylan is sixteen. He can’t be talked out of things that easily.”

“Easily? You have met Michelangelo, right?” Larissa got up. “So offer Dylan something else. I gotta go. Creative meeting with your husband and Leroy.”

Maggie laughed. “Ah, yes. Waiting for Godot. Ezra is treating this like a Shakespearean tragedy in and of itself.”

“Isn’t it?” Larissa was wearing jeans, a jeans jacket, a white T-shirt, a bandanna around her hair.

“Who’s going to take you seriously at this meeting?” said Maggie. “You look twelve.”

Why did she beam? It was too late for that.