the wheel except when he answered the radio. After the third call came in, he apologized again and told me he didn’t have time to drive me all the way back to my dorm. He said he could take me to my car and that a tow truck was on its way. I could get a ride home with the driver.
This seemed like a reasonable plan. But as it turned out, the tow truck driver—who did not seem at all energized by his long and busy morning—insisted on taking me to my dorm before dropping off the car at a garage. He wanted me to get my checkbook before he took the car anywhere. That seemed reasonable as well. The end result, however, was that I arrived in front of the dorm in a tow truck pulling Jimmy Liff’s famous—and now severely rumpled—MINI Cooper, “FASCIST PRICK” still faintly visible on the door. When we rolled up, thirty or forty people—many of whom only knew me through noise complaints—stood under the dorm’s front portico, waiting for the bus.
I opened the door and slid out of the tow truck. The crowd was silent for several seconds, then someone said “Ooooooooooo,” in a way that sounded pleased.
My cell phone was on my desk, next to my watch. There were four messages from my father. On the first, he sounded worried. On the second, he sounded worried and a little irritated. From then on, he was just yelling. My sister had left a message as well.
“Call Dad,” she said. “He thinks you’re dead in Topeka.”
I sat on my bed, took off my hat, and dialed his number. When he heard my voice, he was quiet for almost five full seconds before he started in.
“Do you know where I am, Veronica? Do you know where I am right at this moment?”
“I don’t.” I sat on my bed. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the parking lot of the Hardee’s on the turnpike in Topeka, where they apparently only let robots answer the goddamn phone.”
“You drove out to find me?” I rested my head against the cool, cinder-block wall by my window. Outside, the sun was still shining, and I could hear the soft fall of melting ice.
“No, honey. No. I just drove thirty-five miles into the prairie because I wanted those little cinnamon rolls they make, and I couldn’t find a Hardee’s in Kansas City. Yes, I goddamn drove out here to find you! I was in court when you called. Why didn’t you have your phone with you?”
“I forgot it.”
He sighed.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I was suddenly warm. The dorm’s heating system, when it decided to work, forced dry, hot air through the vents, and the knob for my vent had fallen off. I stood up and shook off my coat.
“You’re sorry.” He groaned. “You left that message, scared me out of my mind. They told me you’d gotten a ride home with a cop. You’re okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Why were you in Topeka?”
“It’s a long story. I’m fine now.”
There was a beat of silence. “What are you mixed up in?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired. Can we talk about it later?” I stood up and opened my desk drawer. I was dizzy with hunger, but in no mood to go downstairs and across the parking lot for lunch. I had a jar of peanut butter stashed away for emergencies. I got it out, along with a spoon from the dining hall.
“Does this have to do with that Tom guy? Were you with him? You got in a fight, right? And he left you there. Give me his number. We’ll have a little talk.”
“Tim.”
“Who? Who’s Tim?”
“Tim is my boyfriend. Not Tom. I’ve never dated anyone named Tom.”
“So he left you there?”
“No. He’s in Chicago. He had nothing to do with this.”
“Chicago? So nobody goes to class anymore? It’s a Friday, right? But he’s in Chicago, you’re in Topeka. So it’s not really college, right? It’s sort of a voluntary attendance kind of thing. I pay tuition, while you travel the world and scare the shit out of me.”
“Dad.” I could feel my voice start to break. I hated it when he yelled. I worked to keep my voice low, steady. I tried to channel Elise. “A Hardee’s outside Topeka is hardly traveling the world. I’m sorry I scared you. But I would really like it if I could explain all this later. I am having a very bad day.”
“I walked out on a client, you know. Walked right out on him.