could get her backpack, she held it so he couldn’t see anything. Then, after zipping it back up, she handed him a bill that he pocketed without a glance. Only when he was in the office did he notice it was a hundred. He hadn’t seen one of those since his father died. Michael Sr., like many workingmen, always carried his money in a roll in his front pocket, no doubt comforted by its weight, the illusion of control you couldn’t get from a flimsy credit card. What am I doing here, Pop? he wondered as the woman at the front desk counted out his change, though he knew what his response would’ve been: Find out, Son.
For dinner they went to a family restaurant just up the road, where he ordered a chicken-fried steak, Jacy the baked haddock. For some reason, maybe because they’d be safe in Canada tomorrow, her mood had brightened. “What exactly is chicken-fried steak?” she said when the food was served. “I’ve always wondered.”
That gap again, Mickey thought, forking over a piece.
She chewed it thoughtfully. “It tastes like beef-flavored breading.”
He shrugged.
She grinned at him. “Cracker fare, according to Don and Viv.”
Mickey nodded. “The food of my people.”
“Oh, come on. Your people are Italian.”
Which made him chuckle. “What do you think’s in a meatball?”
“Meat?”
“Maybe a little, but mostly bread crumbs. Some other stuff that’s cheaper than meat.”
“When the truth is found,” she sang, “to beeeeeeee…lies.”
* * *
—
THEY APPEARED TO BE the only guests at the motel, which made sense this far north, still weeks before high summer. Each room had a small concrete patio in the rear with two plastic deck chairs. Mickey still had a smidgen of the weed he’d scored from Troyer before punching his lights out, and he figured they’d smoke that and watch the distant ocean as night fell. Also, driving back from the restaurant, they’d stopped at a convenience store and he bought a six-pack of beer. He’d also paid for dinner out of the hundred she’d given him. There was still some cash left, but he had to wonder: was this how life was going to be now? Him turning to her for money when he ran out? So halfway through the first beer, he decided to bring it up at an angle. “Once we get to wherever we’re going,” he ventured, “how do you see this working?”
“What do you mean, ‘working’?”
“We’ll need jobs.”
“I’ll wait tables. You’ll tend bar.” She said this as if it pained her to state the obvious. After all, they weren’t likely to find work as nuclear physicists. “At some point you’ll start a band.”
“In that case,” he said, “we should’ve gone home first and picked up my guitar.” He had some money in his checking account, assuming he could find somebody in Canada to cash a check, but not enough to replace his Stratocaster. Since graduation he hadn’t given much thought to money, figuring Uncle Sam would soon start picking up the tab. Now, suddenly, it was an issue again. “Anyway,” he continued, “that sounds like what we’d be doing if we hadn’t gone to college.”
She took a swig of beer. “You got a better plan?”
“No, that was my plan. I was hoping you’d have a better one.”
“Nope.”
“How do you see us working? You and me.”
She reached over and took his hand. “Things will be different once we’re in Canada.”
“Yeah?” he said, pleasantly surprised. It hadn’t occurred to him that sexual intimacy might have a geographical component. If it did, she might’ve mentioned it earlier. They were only twenty miles from the border, and he’d have happily driven the extra half hour had he known such a reward was awaiting him on the other side. Hell, he’d have sung “O Canada!” the whole way. Which naturally made him think of the evening when he’d gotten the draft number that set this particular journey in motion.
When he finished his beer, he said, “I noticed a pay phone in the lobby. I really should call my mother.”
“Why?”
“Because I was supposed to get home yesterday. She’ll be worried. Also, before long she’s going to start getting phone calls from the draft board wondering where the fuck I am.”
“Okay,” she agreed, reluctantly, it seemed to him. “But you can’t mention that I’m with you.”
“No?”
“No. Promise me. Nobody can know.”
“What’re you so worried about?” he said. “It’s me they’ll be after, not you.”
“That’s what you think.”
Which gave him genuine pause. Did she mean Vance? Her parents? The sorority