Drives Like a Dream

by Porter Shreve

  "I don't think they'll mind."

  Jessica wasn't so sure. "Why is there a check from you to this guy?"

  Lydia seemed at a loss for words. "Oh, I told him I'd pay for body paint and any extra parts. That's what the four thousand is for," she said. "Then the six he just gave me is the final payment. He mailed me the first installment already He did it that way for bookkeeping. Unorthodox, I know—" She grabbed the checks and started hurrying up the stairs. "Anyway, we made a tidy sum."

  Two checks for bookkeeping? We made a tidy sum? This didn't sound like her mother.

  A couple of weeks ago Lydia had been impossible to track down, urgent to finish the house, and had threatened to elope. Now she'd sold the Nomad to a man named Chickie, let Norm run off to Minnesota, didn't seem to mind that the house was only half-painted, the kitchen covered in drop cloths, every room littered with partially packed boxes. And all she'd said about eloping when Jessica had asked was, "Oh, we're still thinking about it. But that's off in the future."

  Jessica hadn't known what to expect when she got home—an intervention, perhaps, if it came to that. She had imagined herself facing off against an adversary, or at least finding out what Norm was after. But he was gone for the week. His carrot juice was in the fridge; his power bars and vitamin supplements huddled on a shelf of the cupboard. His work boots sat just outside the back door looking large and tired. His paint-speckled plaid shirts—I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay—were everywhere; he must have left one in each room, as if marking his territory.

  Jessica hadn't spent so much time alone with her mother since college. She found herself sorting through her old things slowly, often bringing pictures to Lydia's office. "Remember this?" she'd say, holding up a browning photo from the seventies. Jessica liked hearing the stories she'd forgotten: how Lydia sold fire alarms door to door when she was pregnant with Ivan, or the time she met Diana Ross at the downtown Hudson's; what Jessica was like as an infant—choleric, determined, quickest out of the bassinet, first to walk. Here, just the two of them, Jessica and Lydia had quiet dinners, watched Audrey Hepburn movies, and ate Neapolitan ice cream from the box. And her mother hadn't once needled her with What are you going to do with your life? or How long will you stay out west? Two was a good number, she thought, a simple line. Three, four, and five made a more complex geometry.

  But Davy was coming home tomorrow for the Fourth, Ivan was talking about driving in as soon as he could get a few days off, and the yard sale was coming up in a couple of weeks. She had been surprised when Lydia suggested she call the Free Press and place the ad—her mother liked to keep everything, and Jessica couldn't help blaming Norm for all of these changes—but she had to admit it would be good to get rid of years of clutter, and to jettison Cy's museum of hobbies at last. She realized that she was locking herself in to stay at least as long as mid-July, but after all, she had come here to keep an eye on Norm, and the way things were going she wondered if she was ever going to meet him.

  The next day Jessica went to Royal Oak to get falafel and grape leaves from Mr. Greek's, and she and her mother ate at the patio table, looking through more photographs Jessica had collected.

  "Notice the face you're making in this one," Lydia said. "Do you remember why?"

  In the picture the whole family sat in a horse-drawn carriage on the main street of Mackinac Island, a Victorian-era resort off the tip of Lake Huron, where cars were forbidden. Ivan, who must have been eight, smiled toothily in a Tigers cap and held Davy the toddler between his knees. Jessica had tucked herself under her mother's arm and wore the most miserable expression. "Was it something I ate?" she asked.

  "Actually, yes," Lydia said. The trip had begun in Oak Grove at Lydia's mother's funeral, where Ivan had run out screaming when he'd laid eyes on Grandmother Warren, waxy and rouged in her open casket. "Your father and I thought we owed you a treat after that, so we went straight up to Mackinac, spur of the moment."

  Jessica had been five at the time but thought she recalled the cabin where they had stayed. "It had a dank smell and we could walk to the water. And I remember a map over the fireplace."

  "That's right; it showed where all the shipwrecks had been, up and down the coast of Lake Huron. Ivan loved that map. We looked all over the island for a duplicate but never found one." Lydia took a bite of the grape leaves.

  "So, there was a patch of toadstools out in front of the cabin and later we figured out that you must have helped yourself to a few that morning. As we walked to town I noticed that you weren't looking so good, but your dad thought it would be nice if we took a carriage ride."

  Jessica had never heard this story—surprising, since her mother loved nothing more than a good emergency.

  "When it finally dawned on your father that you were sick, we went all over in that stupid horse and buggy from pharmacy to hotel looking for ipecac. But no one stocked it and the ferry to the mainland wasn't leaving for another hour. So the carriage driver—I won't forget him—took us to the marina and actually talked some fisherman there into rushing us over to the mainland."

  "Why didn't you stick your finger down my throat?"

  "You would have bitten it off."

  Jessica laughed. Bedlam came over and lay under the table looking cute so he could get some scraps. Jessica scratched his head with her toes.

  "There was a lot of chop out there, and your father kept joking with Ivan that we would be next on the map of maritime disasters. I was furious, completely beside myself. Cy was supposed to have been watching you that morning, but now here he was making light of a crisis. Anyway, the rough ride and the smell on that boat alone should have been enough to make all of us sick. But you held on and we found a pharmacy in Mackinaw City."

  "The only real memory I have from up north is when you panicked and couldn't drive across the Mackinac Bridge. God, I was so mortified," Jessica said. "I almost took the wheel, remember? I would rather have driven right off that bridge than sit by the side of the road waiting for a cop. I can still picture the heads turning and staring at us. Why, oh why, do girls have to be thirteen?"

  Just then Bedlam shot out from under the table and started barking at the backyard fence.

  It was Davy, walking in the back gate. Lydia jumped up from her chair and went to give him a hug.

  "Hey, I thought you weren't getting here until tonight," Jessica said. Her brother put down his shoulder bag and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He was a wreck. Jessica could only imagine what he'd been through in the weeks since he'd left Oregon. She hadn't really spoken to him since then—his cell phone was always off or he didn't pick up—but she knew that he and Teresa were still battling out their relationship. It looked like Davy hadn't packed much, as if he'd left in a hurry.

  "I'm a fugitive." He knelt to scratch the dog.

  "From what, honey?" Lydia asked.

  Or rather from whom, Jessica thought.

  "You don't want to know the details," he said.

  Later that night they went to see the fireworks show at the Huntington Woods municipal golf course. Having slept all afternoon, Davy now seemed willing to talk about Teresa. She'd told him she wasn't angry that Lowball had failed; it wasn't about the money. She just wanted Davy to stop and figure things out, once and for all. "But you know, all we ever do is talk, or at least that's what it feels like to me," Davy said as they sat down on a blanket in front of the clubhouse. "It's like she wants something else from me, but she won't tell me what."

  A real commitment, Jessica was about to say, when an older man in a Havana shirt walked up to their mother. "Hello there," he called out. A young girl, no older than three or four, held his hand.

  "Walter!" Lydia exclaimed. She got up to greet him, and Jessica remembered her mother mentioning him before; he was her friend from the library. Walter shook hands with Jessica and Davy, said he'd heard a lot about them. "And this is my granddaughter, Camille." She hid behind his leg as Jessica waved hello.

  "So, what brings you to the neighborh
ood?" Lydia asked. She seemed almost self-conscious as she touched the back of her hair.

  "I heard there's a great fireworks display here."

  "It's my favorite," Lydia said. In fact, the local show had always been something of a joke when the kids were growing up.

  "How's the Corolla working out?" Walter asked, then turned to Jessica and Davy. "I gave your mother my lifetime warranty. She's the star of the archives. We've got to take good care of her." Jessica liked the way he kept one hand behind his back as he spoke; he seemed shy, yet dignified.

  "The car is excellent," Lydia began, but Walter's granddaughter tugged at his shirt.

  "I guess I better get back to her folks," he said. "They're just down the fairway. See you later. Very nice meeting you."

  When Walter had walked away Jessica said, "Nice man," then, "Is he single?"

  Davy laughed. "He's a bit old for you."

  Jessica gave him a little push. "He seems like a gentle soul. What do you say, Mom? Were you ever interested?"

  "His wife only died a couple of years ago, and did I mention that I'm rather seriously involved?"

  "Did you hear the way he emphasized lifetime warranty?"

  But Lydia wasn't having it. "I'm happier than I've ever been," she said. She smiled as if to say end of story, then turned to Davy. "So, let's get back to Teresa." But the first fireworks shot into the air, bright shatters of red and gold, and Davy shook his head. He'd shared as much as he was going to, for now. Jessica wondered how her brother could be so great at easing others through their problems, but hopeless when it came to his own.

  That night they returned home to find that Bedlam had knocked over a can of paint in the kitchen, covering the new floors in white paw prints. Davy grabbed the dog by the collar and yanked him outside.

  "Be careful!" Jessica yelled. "He doesn't know any better." She soaped a cloth and started cleaning up the wet paint. Her mother laughed and blamed herself for not putting the cans away.

  "It would be nice if Norm could finish what he started," Jessica said.

  "I know what you mean." It was the first time her mother hadn't defended him.

  Davy came back inside. "You've really got to do something about that dog, Jess. You can't just let him roam. His tail is a wrecking ball."

  The next morning, after Jessica took Bedlam for a long run, she and Davy went down to the basement to clear out their father's hobby museum. Jessica had already begun sorting through some of his things, surprised that Norm hadn't left his mark here. She figured it would have been his first order of business.

  "So, what's the plan?" Davy asked.

  "Let's put all the yard sale stuff in the garage. I'm going to turn this basement into a dog pen."

  "Have you asked Mom?"

  "She's fine with it. She's fine with everything lately. Have you ever seen her this loose on the reins? Does she seem like a woman in love to you?"

  Davy set up a record player on Cy's old workbench and began untangling the cords. "She says she's happy." He shrugged. "Who knows what a person in love looks like?" Jessica eyed him sharply and Davy, as if anticipating what she was about to say, added, "This is not about me and Teresa."

  Jessica said nothing more, and together they brought the exercise equipment, fishing rods, telescope, and woodworking tools into the garage, which looked like an open cave without the Nomad.

  Davy took off his glasses and glanced around. "I can't believe she just sold it without telling anybody. I guess it's good that she's moving on and everything." He seemed wistful for a moment. "I kind of wanted that car. I mean, it was an inspiration. Where would the world of rockabilly be without the 57 Nomads?"

  Jessica was about to tell him about Lydia's odd behavior on the day she sold the car, and that business about the two checks, but Davy looked so forlorn she decided to save this information for later.

  She hauled more of her father's things—including a pile of books like Do What You Love and the Money Will Follow and Fire in the Belly: On Being a Man—to the garage, while Davy organized Cy's record collection. Some of Cy's clothes dated back to the seventies, to the days before Lydia had taken over his shopping. There were lean pants and wing-collared shirts with bizarre prints that made Jessica dizzy. One was a wearable canvas of people on a fox hunt; some carried bugles, others carried guns; all were trailing a pack of dogs. The hunters wound around in a repeating line from collar to pocket to shirttail. Jessica searched the entire shirt. Only the fox was missing from the scene.

  As she continued sifting through boxes for the yard sale, Jessica found her mother's wedding gown, balled up and wrinkled, stuffed among Cy's old workout tapes. On top of the dress lay the black-and-white photo of the bouquet. She could almost see her mother ripping the dress out of its airtight bag and snatching the picture off the wall, and she felt bad all over again that she'd gotten angry at her on Cy's second wedding day. She folded the gown and carefully set it aside, along with the picture, for safekeeping.

  After the holiday weekend the painters returned to work—a dozen men up on ladders, blasting Van Halen into the neighborhood, taking breaks in the shade of the front porch. Jessica and Davy had finished clearing out the basement and their bedrooms, filling up the garage with items for the yard sale.

  That morning Jessica climbed into the attic. It was the first thing she had thought of when Lydia suggested the yard sale, but her mother had told her they'd get to it later. "Norm and I have been working on it," she'd said. But when Jessica switched on the overhead light she gasped. There were boxes, old furniture, and crates, stacked high and reaching as far as she could see.

  "Mom!" she called. "Davy!"

  Her brother appeared first. "Wow," he said. "I didn't remember there being so much junk up here."

  "Yes, honey?" Lydia's voice floated up. Jessica rolled her eyes.

  "I thought you said you and Norm had taken care of the attic."

  Lydia came partway up the stairs. "I didn't want to bother you."

  "Well, that's helpful. You expect us to sort through all of this in a few days? The yard sale is this weekend."

  "Goodness, no. I thought you could pick out a few things, then go through the rest later."

  "It's okay, Jess." Davy put a hand on her shoulder. "We don't have to deal with it all at once."

  But Jessica was annoyed. If she'd known there was this much more work to do, she wouldn't have taken such time with old photographs and notebooks, going carefully through each item. It didn't make sense that Lydia would lie about the attic. In fact, much of her behavior wasn't making any sense. Her mother had been curiously absent lately, not at all the hovering figure Jessica had always known. Normally Lydia hated to be left out. But since coming home, Jessica had found herself in the role of seeker, looking for answers and stories, while her mother spent long hours closed off in her office. Working, she said. Or on e-mail with Norm? Jessica wondered.

  "Where is Norm?" she asked, the question that had become her refrain. "Shouldn't he be back by now?"

  "It would be nice if we could get a hand," Davy agreed. "This place is a disaster. And it must be a hundred degrees up here."

  Lydia explained that Norm's daughter had been "having some problems"—"depressed," Lydia whispered—and that he'd decided to stay on longer in Minneapolis than planned. "He coddles Tracy like you wouldn't believe. The slightest trouble and he rushes off to save her. She never dealt well with her father's leaving, and now that she knows about me, she's pulling out all the stops."

  "So she's pretending to be depressed?" Jessica asked.

  "Maybe. People do that kind of thing, you know. Either she's pretending or she is depressed, which is why she's clinging to him."

  Davy wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Well, can you get him unclung?"

  The phone rang and Lydia dashed downstairs to get it.

  "That psycho could become our stepsister," Jessica said to Davy.

  "Just what we need." He sighed. "What do you say we get out of this sauna
?"

  Jessica expected to find her mother in her office, talking to Norm. Lydia had been on the phone a lot lately, off whispering in a corner, like a schoolgirl with a secret crush. "So you're not sure how serious it is," she was saying into the receiver. "Here, why don't I put Jessica on." Her mother motioned to her from the office.

  It was Cy.

  "Hiya, Jess. I'm trying to figure out what happened to the Spiveys," he began. "M.J. left a cryptic message on our voice mail, and I can't get in touch with her. Apparently something happened to Casper. All she said was, 'Ellen, call back, it's about your dad.'"

  "That's it? That could mean anything."

  "She had a tone of gloom and doom. I've been trying their number all day, but no one answers. I'm wondering if you wouldn't mind checking on them."

  "Of course," Jessica said. "I'll let you know what I find out. I'm sure they're fine." But when she hung up she was irritated at her mother for passing the duty on to her. Wasn't she the Spiveys' new best friend? "Dad wants me to drive to their house. What do you think happened?"

  Lydia leaned in the office doorway. "I don't know."

  "We've got a lot to figure out, Mom."

  "What do you want to do?" She could hear the impatience creeping back into Lydia's voice.

  "For starters, we'll have to change the date of the yard sale. I don't see as we have a choice. That attic is a junker's paradise. The house is a complete mess." And, Jessica wanted to say, I haven't even met this elusive boyfriend of yours to make sure he's not some highway killer.

  "Are you sure? I can go check on the Spiveys." Lydia folded her arms in front of her and rubbed them as if she were cold.

  "No, that's all right," Jessica said. "I told Dad I'd do it."

  She called the Free Press and pushed the yard sale date back another week, to Saturday, July 21. Jessica figured that had to be enough time to organize the attic and deal with the Spiveys, though there was no telling how long it would be before Norm's daughter would let him go.