Woke Up Lonely A Novel - By Fiona Maazel Page 0,104

this had been her idea all along—at least for a couple of hours—she should have been pleased with their concord. But she was not pleased, which was like when your coin turns up heads and you are let down, apprised of feelings that were secret to yourself until then. Only it wasn’t feelings she had but terror.

“And after that?” Not that she didn’t know the answer or the spectrum from which an answer would present itself: immunity, a presidential pardon, or just her taking it in lieu of the fifty staffers who saw the Helix proliferate and did nothing precisely to hasten a crisis that would justify trawling nationwide for the last liberal drowning.

“Just get your daughter and let’s go,” he said, and when she didn’t get up he covered her hand with his own and squeezed until it hurt, which was when Ida erupted from the bathroom, saw this man pledged in affectionate consort with her mother, and skated down the lane for their table.

“Dad?” she said, and the glow on her face was colors a person was lucky to see once in her life.

They were in a van with a table in the back and a screen that dropped down from the roof. Ida was watching a soap opera about thirteen-year-olds that was, apparently, in vogue. Esme looked over her shoulder and said, “Hey, Jack, how many episodes you got?” Despite her negligence as a parent, or because she was well practiced in its art, she knew the value of a pacifier when she saw one. So did the escort, since he said they had enough to get them there. Still, she decided to test what was what. “Hey, Jack, what if Ida needs to be sick?” He said there was a bucket with a snap top and a deodorizing puck adhered to the underside. “Hey, Jack, what if we don’t get there in time?” He said, “In this weather, time rushes for no man.”

The light from Ida’s entertainment console was enough to write by, but it still felt dark. Like flying at night when yours is the only light in the cabin, everyone else asleep, snoring. It was, Esme thought, a shit way to be.

“Hey, Jack,” she said. She could see his eyes in the rearview, and they were closing. “Hey, Jack!” She poked him in the shoulder.

“It’s Noah,” he said. “Nouh.”

“Sleeping Beauty’s more like it. Let me drive.”

“And stuff me in the trunk. Sounds like a plan.”

“We’ve gone ten miles in the last hour. Who can fall asleep like this?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m Sneezy, how do.”

Their eyes met in the rearview. He was not amused, but at least he was awake. And talking. In almost any situation, talking is like doing squats in your tight jeans—it gives you room to breathe.

“So,” she said, and by now she had made use of the swivel part of her swivel chair. She was faced forward and square with the tension of this drive—the snow, the wind. She said, “How’d you end up with this job, anyway? You work for Jim?”

“Thurlow Dan is a terrorist,” he said. “A sociopath. And for once being married to you, this taints you. And your kid. So just go back to her and stop talking to me.”

Esme U-turned quick, but it was okay: Ida was passed out, lips parted and chapped because she was congested. Esme could hear laughter—the audio had been leaking from Ida’s headphones all night—which meant Ida couldn’t know what had been said outside the soap in her ears. Esme was about to turn off the TV, except perhaps this was the noise Ida needed to sleep, and in no galaxy did she want to wake her up. Who knew what that shitbird up front would say next.

The snow had picked up. Noah had his face near pressed to the windshield. Wiping the view with his hand, as though the frost were what stood between him and Mexico. They fishtailed once. Twice. Three times a heyday, only what happened here was Ida waking up green. Esme could actually see the green overrun her cheeks as she said, “My stomach hurts.” What could Esme do? She tossed her the bucket. It thumped her chest.

“Pull over!” Esme said, and it was done. He killed the engine, and what was left was a gale that rocked their luxury caravan and a child who was retching and crying into the pail. Esme unlocked her seatbelt and made for Ida’s chair. Tried to rub her neck and pull