Lone Star

“Yeah, well, um. Is Chloe ready?”

Chloe was ready.

Lang pulled her into the vestibule, that is, the very same short hall Blake had taken over with his broad flannel-clad frame. “You two have fun,” Lang said, “but come back before six.”

“Okay,” Chloe drew out. “Wheels is from eleven to one, and you know that, so.” She broke off. “That’s well before six. What’s up?”

“Moody is coming tonight for dinner,” Lang said reverentially, as if announcing the arrival of Queen Victoria. Moody was Chloe’s terrifying grandmother. “I hope you don’t have any prior engagements.”

Why would she? It was only Memorial Day weekend, when the kids from six towns would be gathering for the fireworks in North Conway, staying out, hanging around by the outlet shops, miniature golfing, eating ices, listening to the free bands in the old town square, making out, maybe other things. “Prior engagements? Who talks like that, Mom?” was all Chloe said. Moody was coming to dinner! Blake pretended to study the picture of Castlecomer on the wall.

“I just want to make sure you’ll be home.”

“So you talk like Edith Wharton? Why do I need to be home? Why is she coming?”

“She wants you to drive her to the cemetery to visit Uncle Kenny.”

“Ugh, no!”

“Yes. Plus she wants to talk to you.”

There it was. Chloe’s teeth set against each other as if in battle. Her antennae shot up, spring-loaded. “About what?”

“Am I Moody? How do I know?”

“I can tell you know.”

“Go. Just be back.”

“Mom! Is it about Barcelona?”

“Go!”

This was a futile conversation, and the fact that Lang allowed it as long as she did only spoke to Lang’s own anxiety about her mother-in-law’s upcoming visit. It was the first time in three years Chloe’s grandmother would be coming to their house. Chloe glanced over at her dad, to gauge his reaction to his mother’s arrival, but he was head down, buried in the newspaper.

“Blake, ready?” Chloe wanted to storm out of the house.

“It was nice to see you, Mrs. Devine. Have a great day. Chief, I’ll be by later to help you with that tree. I’ll bring some rope too.”

“Wait,” Jimmy said and got up. He handed Blake the keys to the Durango. “Take my truck. It’s easier to get in and out of than the Subaru.”

“Yes, it is, thank you very much, sir.”

“Dad, you’re giving Blake your truck?”

“Hardly giving.”

“You don’t lend it to Mason!”

“When Mason takes you to deliver food to the infirm instead of parking with you behind Subway, he can have my truck.”

“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down in that regard, or any other.”

“I know, son.”

“One quick thing—where do you keep the siren lights? Somewhere in the truck?”

“Get out of here, Blake, before I change my mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

Six cold meals and six hot meals were delivered to St. Elizabeth’s on Main Street, the Devines’ parish church, by Petey, the Meals on Wheels delivery boy, who did not like to be kept waiting. Wheels didn’t usually deliver on Saturdays, but a dozen homes depended on Chloe, and that was the only day she could work.

“I’m surprised you still want to go,” Chloe said to Blake as he opened the Durango door for her. She was in a dismal mood. Moody was coming!

“I told you I would. I must meet this Lupe.”

“I don’t even know if she’s on the schedule today. Petey gives me a list. We should hurry. Sometimes she cancels. She doesn’t want me to go all the way out there just for her. Blake, what are you doing, what are you looking for?”

Blake was searching through Jimmy’s truck. “Looking for those damn siren lights. I want to slap them on top of the truck when we get on the highway. You said we should hurry. Turn the suckers on. Scare the shit out of the cars in front of us.”

“No! You can’t use them, Dad will throw you in jail for sure.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

On the way to the church, Chloe wanted to tell Blake she was happy for his company but didn’t know how to phrase it without sounding like an idiot, so she didn’t. She liked it when Hannah used to come with her. Chloe drove, Hannah navigated, though she was awful with directions, but they had some laughs getting lost. And the old people enjoyed seeing the girls. Chloe got dressed up a little, wore jeans without holes.

But today Blake was driving her. It was better. Until he said, “So why didn’t you tell me Hannah doesn’t come with you anymore?”

Chloe fake-studied the map. “You know, you should teach Hannah how to drive.”

“You should teach Hannah how to drive. I tried.”

“So did I.”

The two of them chuckled. “Let’s just agree she’s a reluctant learner,” Blake said. “But it’s in your best interest to teach her, not mine.”

“It’s in your best interest to teach her, not mine.”

“What are you, four? Stop mimicking me. Do you want to be driving her around Bangor when you two start college, the way I drive her around here?”

Chloe was very, very busy with the map. “Maybe she’ll get a car and I won’t have to.”

“Where’s she going to get a car from?” Blake said. “If she has any money saved up, it’ll be spent on empanadas in the Ramblas.”

So he was reading up on Barcelona too. That made Chloe smile, until she recalled Moody. Thinking of her grandmother coming for dinner and, oh God, going to the cemetery made Chloe tighten her spine, squeeze shut her lips and reveal to Blake nothing about her other anxieties: the lack of their funds, the lack of permission, the lack of passport, the lack, the lack, the lack.

She said, turn here, but Blake was already turning. He could find the dirt roads around Fryeburg and Brownfield blindfolded. He seemed to have an innate ability not to get lost even when the rural roads were unmarked. His navigation skills were pretty impressive. When she praised him, he replied by asking why she was dressed so nicely. She pretended she wasn’t dressed especially nicely; how to explain that the old people enjoyed looking at her? But the thing that was great about Blake was that no question lingered in his hyperactive brain for long, and often, when the answer was a few seconds in coming, he would make up his own reply, which was what he did now.