lives to the health and stamina of dray horses.
Movies. California. He is in California, home of the movies.
Move, move, move.
From time to time, an involuntary mewling escapes him. The sound is
like that of an animal dying of dehydration but within sight of a
watering hole, dragging itself toward the pool that offers salvation but
afraid it will perish before it can slake its burning thirst.
Paige and Charlotte were already in the garage, getting in the car,
when they both cried, “Emily, hurry up!”
As Emily turned away from the breakfast table and started toward the
open door that connected the kitchen to the garage, Marty caught her by
the shoulder and turned her to face him. “Wait, wait, wait.”
“Oh,” she said, “I forgot,” and puckered up for a smooch.
“That comes second,” he said.
“What’s first?”
“This.” He dropped to one knee, bringing himself to her level, and with
a paper towel he blotted away her milk mustache.
“Oh, gross,” she said.
“It was cute.”
“More like Charlotte.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“She’s the messy one.”
“Don’t be unkind.”
“She knows it, Daddy.”
“Nevertheless.”
From the garage, Paige called again.
Emily kissed him, and he said, “Don’t give your teacher any trouble.”
“No more than she gives me,” Emily answered.
Impulsively he pulled her against him, hugged her fiercely, reluctant to
let her go. The clean fragrance of Ivory soap and baby shampoo breath.
He had never smelled anything sweeter, better. Her back was frightfully
small under the flat of his hand. She was so delicate, he could feel
the beat of her young heart both through her chest–which pressed
against him–and through her scapula and spine, against which his hand
lay. He was overcome with the feeling that something terrible was going
to happen and that he would never see her again if he allowed her to
leave the house.
He had to let her go, of course–or explain his reluctance, which he
could not do.
Honey, see, the problem is, something’s wrong in Daddy’s head, and I
keep getting these scary thoughts, like I’m going to lose you and
Charlotte and Mommy. Now, I know nothing’s going to happen, not really,
because the problem is all in my head, like a big tumor or something.
Can you spell “tumor”? Do you know what it is? Well, I’m going to see
a doctor and have it cut out, just cut out that bad old tumor, and then
I won’t be so frightened for no reason….
He dared say nothing of the sort. He would only scare her.
He kissed her soft, warm cheek and let her go.
At the door to the garage, she paused and looked back at him.
“More poem tonight?”
“You bet.”
She said, “Reindeer salad . ..”
“. . . reindeer soup . ..”
“. . . all sorts of tasty . ..”
“. . . reindeer goop,” Marty finished.
“You know what, Daddy?”
“What?”
“You’re soooo silly.”
Giggling, Emily went into the garage. The ca-chunk of the door closing
behind her was the most final sound Marty had ever heard.
He stared at the door, willing himself not to rush to it and jerk it
open and shout at them to get back into the house.
He heard the big garage door rolling up.
The car engine turned over, chugged, caught, raced a little as Paige
pumped the accelerator before shifting into reverse.
Marty hurried out of the kitchen, through the dining room, into the
living room. He went to one of the front windows from which he could
see the driveway. The plantation shutters were folded away from the
window, so he stayed a couple of steps from the glass.
The white BMW backed down the driveway, out of the shadow of the house
and into the late-November sunshine. Emily was riding up front with her
mother, and Charlotte was in the rear seat.
As the car receded along the tree-lined street, Marty stepped so close
to the living-room window that his forehead pressed against the cool
glass. He tried to keep his family in view as long as possible, as if
they were certain to survive anything–even falling airplanes and