The garage door was open, though the light was out. She sailed right up the driveway and braked only at the last minute. Lucky he had put his bike away this time, she thought grimly. The front bumper clanked the junk against the wall. She turned the engine off and hung forward on the wheel.
Nested bicycle fenders and a hubcab Gary’d hung on a nail were still making noise. The streetlight penetrated only as far as the back bumper, so she could just about see her hands.
“You were going too fast,” Todd said.
“Was it my fault?” Joanie said. “Did he just come out of nowhere at us, or not?”
“You were going too fast,” Todd said.
“I was not going too fast,” Joanie said. “I was not going that fast.”
Todd shifted around on the seat next to her. It was possible he’d refuse to get out of the car. Decide to go next door and call the police.
“How could I have seen him in time?” she said. “What could anybody have done?”
Her ears were ringing, like she’d been shouting. She sat back against the seat and closed her eyes. She’d been going too fast.
The engine was ticking as it cooled, the way it did after the accident. Todd noticed it, too, and got out of the car and slammed the door. When she got to the front door, he was standing there with his head down, like a dog waiting to be let in.
“I’m going to call,” she said as she wrestled with the key. She swung the door inward, and he slipped by her and through the front hall.
“How ’bout some lights?” she said. He went directly to the back door.
She hit the lights and put her bag down and stood near the phone. Her chest felt the way she did at the beach when she’d breathed in too much water, too much mist.
“Audrey’s back,” Todd said. He opened the door, and the dog pitter-pattered in across the tile.
He closed it behind her and relocked it and crossed to the kitchen table. He sat in one of the chairs. Audrey checked her dish and then walked over to him and put her head beside his knee. He played with her ears. He was waiting for Joanie to call.
She had her hand on the phone. It was a wall phone, white. It reminded her of hours ago at her mother’s. She let it go and pulled open the junk drawer beneath it. She pulled out the phone book and searched the municipal section at the front. Pages slapped back and forth.
“You could just dial nine-one-one,” Todd said.
She ignored him.
She found the precinct number and dialed. Todd was looking at the dog. She had her hand on the phone, for support. It was ringing at the other end. Her index finger swung over into the cradle and pressed the switch hook. She took her hand away before he could see. Look what you’re doing, she thought, as horrified as she’d been at any other point that night. She pressed the earpiece tighter to her head. He’d hear the dial tone, she thought.
“Hello,” she said. “I’d like to report — Yes,” she said. “Yes.” She stopped. The dial tone was deafening. She thought of the story she’d read in junior high, the murdered man’s heart you could hear under the floor.
She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “They got me on hold,” she said.
Todd was still contemplating Audrey, testing the floppiness of her ears.
Minutes went by. Joanie didn’t know what to do. Her mashed ear was sore. She wanted Todd to leave, to take some pressure off the second part of her performance.
“Get ready for bed,” she said. “I’ll be right up.”
He looked up at her with surprise, and she had the terrified premonition she’d blown it. “They’re gonna want to interview us and stuff,” he said. “I can’t go to bed.”
“They’re gonna want to interview me,” she said. “They’re not gonna want to interview you. Why would they want to interview you?”
“I’m going with you,” he said stubbornly. “They’d want to interview me.”
She felt a rush of shame, his loyalty juxtaposed to her weakness, her ongoing lying.
She was still standing there with the phone.
“Try nine-one-one,” he said.
She hung up.
“I’ll call them tomorrow,” she said, but his face when she said that made her turn back to the phone, and, exasperated, as if he’d been relentlessly asking they stop for ice cream, she dialed 911. What she’d do now she didn’t know. Try the hang-up thing again?
When the busy signal came on, she angrily held the receiver out for Todd to hear.
When she hung up again, he started to cry. She crossed the kitchen and knelt beside him and hugged him. She was crying, too. The dog walked around them in circles.
She checked him again to make sure he was okay. She took him upstairs. He got undressed and into bed. She went into the bathroom and leaned on the sink, her arms spread apart and holding her weight. She used the Pond’s to take off what little eye makeup she had on and washed her face.
It was hot but breezy. Her bedroom windows were open. She maneuvered around her room in the dark and got on the bed, still in her clothes, and lay on her back. Downstairs, the dog was making the rounds, her license tag clinking on the metal water dish. Todd was crying quietly in his room.
She slapped at herself, spread her fingers over her face and pulled at it. She had to talk to people, her father maybe. She thought of Bruno, what he would say.
What frightened her most was her inability to picture the terrible things ahead. It seemed like the best evidence of how inadequate she was.
She imagined a generalized scandal, everyone’s understanding of her changed. Maybe Todd taken away from her.
You killed somebody, she thought. Someone’s dead because of you, and this is what you think about, this is what you’re worried about.
He could’ve had a family, she thought.
What was he doing in the road? What was he doing there in the road?
At some point she heard Todd get up, the bed springs, the floorboards. He was going downstairs.
She got up, too, still dressed. It was late. She was chilly and walked with her arms folded.
She found him in the kitchen. He was eating M&M’s in the dark. He’d put them in a little bowl. The bowl caused her a pang: he always got neat when he was scared.
She was going to pull a chair over next to his but suddenly was too tired even for that. She sat on the floor beside him, her head on his thigh. He didn’t say anything.
She half dozed. She had the impression he was alert, awake, the whole time. The kitchen floor, the walls, were getting lighter. Through the doorway to the living room, she could make out shapes of chairs and a small table. Did she own these things? She remembered Todd that morning at breakfast, smiling speechlessly. She remembered nodding to herself as she drove, as if consenting to her life.
“We’re not going to tell anyone, are we, Mom?” he said above her. His voice was so pitiful and despairing that it hurt too much to answer him. The M&M’s rolled and clicked together in the bowl like abacus beads. He put his hand on her head, tentatively. He came down to the floor with her and brought the bowl.
Outside, some garbage cans clanked. On the floor, his legs stuck straight out and his shoes were run over at the heels.
He finally fell asleep. His mouth was open against her shoulder. She listened to morning birds with cries like the workings of scissors. She sat there with her son and waited for the next thing.
BRUNO
I was going to give Joanie a ride to her mother’s for her kid’s confirmation party, I couldn’t, I had to show this Korean every single fucking thing about a Dodge Dart we had on the lot, a trade-in from 1901. He wants to see all the paperwork, he wants to climb underneath it, he wants to go through the buyer’s manual like he’s prepping for a space shot. The manual’s so old it’s coming apart in our hands. It’s six-forty-five and he’s not buying today, we can see that, but he’s not going anywhere, either.