A Song in the Daylight. Paullina Simons
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had melanoma on their back, basal cell on their face, squamous cell on their arms.
The irony of this conversation did not go unremarked upon by Jared, who in the car on the way home said, “Larissa, you didn’t think that was odd, talking about moles at such excruciating length?”
“No, why? Did you?”
He coughed. “You and I both know you haven’t got a single blemish on that body of yours, not a single mark of any kind, not even a childhood scar!” Jared chuckled. “Waxing all poetic about non-existent moles. You’re hilarious. So why’d you blow Maggie off?”
She chuckled too, sheepishly. He leaned over and kissed her at the red light. “You’re so funny. Why don’t you just tell her you don’t want to hang out all the time? Tell her you’re reading. It wouldn’t even be a lie. You are actually reading nowadays.”
“Yes.” Larissa’s gaze focused on the road.
Saturday passed and Sunday too, and then Monday came, and she drove her Jag to Stop&Shop.
Kai wasn’t there. Not there on Monday, his day off from work, when he always showed up and they did their weekly shopping together.
Larissa didn’t know what to think. She hung around thirty minutes on Monday, ten on Tuesday, and then Wednesday morning came and she looked at herself in the hall mirror, at her straight highlighted hair, her sensible brown eyes, her long arms, slender fingers, her body, trim from walking, from downward-dog yoga poses, everything still slim, still in proportion. She thought about a manicure with Fran, maybe a mommy-and-daughter day in the city with Emily, just the girls. She thought about organizing a fundraiser for the spring play, she thought ahead to planning the Hawaii trip in August and whether they should take an extra day for Memorial Day Atlantic City weekend.
Larissa thought of writing to Che, telling her she’d been eating kinilaw for two months, and she ruminated on packing up all her winter sweaters and taking out her summer shirts. But what she really contemplated was never ever ever going to Stop&Shop again, and the knot inside her for a brief moment was untied and loose of anxiety, like dangling threads. Clear of everything.
She would go back to King’s. Sure it was crowded and the aisles were narrow, and the parking lot was tiny, but her leg wasn’t broken anymore, and to celebrate, she got on the treadmill for thirty minutes and watched a talk show and then showered, and cleaned her bedroom, and got dressed, and made coffee and sat in the kitchen for five minutes, ten minutes, planning dinner and vacation, with Love’s Labors Lost opened to the page that said, The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity’s revolt to wantonness. And in her head, brutal words swirled about like blood-on-snow candy canes. What are you doing here? What do you want? Is it music? We can play music. But you want more. You want something and someone new. You want ecstasy.
She bolted from the island, got into her car and drove to Stop&Shop.
He wasn’t there.
This time Larissa waited an hour, as if saying goodbye. She sat in the parking lot, overlooking the graveyard, eating sushi and listening to Chet Baker singing “These Foolish Things” that made his heart a dancer, and wondered about spring, and whether she needed new shoes, new sandals, perhaps. A girl always needed new sandals for spring. At two she drove to pick up Michelangelo, and sat quietly in the parking lot at her son’s school. So close to the end, to the beginning. So close to the middle, which implied just as much ahead as there had been behind. And yet close to absolutely nothing.
On Thursday Larissa called the Jag dealership to schedule an appointment for service. “Have you had the car for three months, Mrs. Stark?” Brian, the service manager, intoned into the receiver. He had a seedy voice.
“Um, no,” she stammered. “But I think the oil might be low.”
“Has the oil light gone on?”
“No, but the car’s making a funny noise at higher speeds, like a rattling noise.”
“What kind of speeds?”
“I don’t know. Seventy?”
“Hmm. Okay. Bring it in tomorrow, we’ll check it out.”
When Larissa hung up she wondered if there was a way they could tell that she’d never taken the car on the highway, had never gone above fifty in it; that it was smooth as silk—all the way to fifty. How high was self-immolation-by-lying-to-service-station-flacks on the list of venial things human beings were taught not to do?
On Friday she brought the Jag into the shop. She looked for Kai’s amber bike, but couldn’t catch a pumpkin glimpse of it. Brian, a tall, scrawny man with thin greasy hair, shook his head. “We’re busy before the weekend,” he said. “You really had to bring it in early. I told you to bring it in by eight, and here it is, nearly ten. Can you leave it till Monday?”
Not to have her car for the weekend? But then she’d have to explain to Jared that there was something wrong with it, and Jared knew about cars, he might get upset, go in, or call. Might demand another car. Perhaps cancel the deal. So much scrutiny. Too much.
“No,” she said. “I can’t leave it, we’re going away. Please, can you try for today?”
“Miss, I don’t know.” She loved it when they called her miss—her, a wife, a mother.
She tried cajoling, using the voice she used on her children. “Come on. Maybe it’s nothing. Just a simple oil change.”
Brian looked into the monitor. “Car brand new, factory-delivered four weeks ago. I don’t think it’s the oil. Who sold you this car? Kai?”
That’s all she needed, an in. “Yes. Is he here? Maybe he can help?”
“Nah, he’s not. Besides he’s not a mechanic.”
“Yes, but I have a technical question for him. I lost the card with the keyless entry code.”
“I can get you that. I’ll have to call the factory.”
“And,” Larissa continued, “I wanted to see if he could order me a navigation system.”
“A nav? Really? Well, I can do that for you. He’s not here anyway.”
“Will he be back on Monday?”
“Dunno.” Brian wasn’t looking at her as he typed up her order on the computer. “He had a funeral or something. Had to fly back to Hawaii, I think. We don’t know if he’ll be back. He just left abruptly.”
A funeral!
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” Brian grinned. “I do this stuff. Kai just sells the vehicle. All the after-sale service, I do. Sign right here. I’ll call you in the afternoon. Do you need a ride?”
“I kind of do, yeah.”
“Hmm. Lemme see.” Brian paged Gary, the other salesman, who gave Larissa a ride home. On the way they barely talked. Except for the words she couldn’t help.
“So what happened to my salesman?”
“Who? Kai? No one knows. He took personal leave. Our manager asked him when he was coming back and he said he didn’t know.”
“Is he coming back?”
“The way he left, we don’t think so.”
“Did he clear his desk?”
“Never had anything there to begin with.” Gary shrugged as he drove. “Weird guy. But a good salesman, I’ll give him that. Very good.” He smiled. “The ladies liked him.”
“Did