The final members of the reunion party had not yet reached Losien.
Their car was moving slowly along the highway, forcing all in the long line of cars behind them to pull out one by one to get past. In the front passenger seat sat Phil; a large man, muscular rather than overweight, with small grey eyes, a heavy, square jaw and close cut, greying hair. He was frowning out at the scrub and trees lumbering slowly by and his glowering expression was not improved when, yet again, the occupants of one of the overtaking cars hooted derisively and gestured obscenely before speeding away. Phil couldn’t take much more of this.
“Lou, for the love of God, will you stop the car and let me drive?”
Lou, a rather beautiful young woman, kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead as she answered.
“There’s no need, Honey, I’m fine. I’m not tired at all.”
“Did I ask you if you’re tired? Do I look like I care if you’re tired or not?”
Lou allowed her eyes to flick across to his for just a second.
“Well thank you Mr. Congeniality.”
“The answer is no, I don’t care,” Phil’s fists were clenched, “What I do care about is you driving so freakin’ slow. If you don’t put your foot down we are never gonna get there.”
“Oh you silly thing. Of course we’ll get there and more importantly, we’ll get there in safety.”
“You can overdo the safety thing,” said Phil quickly, “and right now I’m all for screwing safety. I’d rather just get there.”
“Shh. Why don’t you try to relax, maybe take a nap?” said Lou, smiling, soothing. Irritating.
That was it.
Phil hated that tone, the measured, patient tone that told him Lou had not the slightest idea of how much she was bugging him. She was really bugging him, and not for the first time. Over the years Phil had come to realise that being oblivious to the way you were irritating other people was a trait common to all the women in his life. That’s a problem with these good looking babes, he thought; because they expect life to go their way, they just have no clue about the real world and how to deal with people. Lou thought the world should be pretty and sweet, so she just poured honey onto everything till it fitted into her way of seeing things. She thought that sugary tone would calm him, make him forget the last three hours spent crawling along, suffering the abuse of other road users. Three hours of getting nowhere, painfully slowly. Phil tried hard to keep the irritation out of his voice.
He failed.
“I don’t wanna take a nap. I don’t wanna relax,” he spat through clenched teeth, banging his fist on the dashboard, “I just wanna get to this freakin’ hotel before next freakin’ year!”
Lou was outraged.
“Phil! Ethan!” she hissed, “Don’t talk like that in front of him.”
“The kid’s asleep, for chrissake, so I’ll speak anyway I choose. Now, will you please pull over right now and let me drive?”
For a moment more, Lou dug her perfect, pretty nails into the wheel and wondered whether she should refuse to acknowledge such boorish behaviour. It would go against all her instincts for correction and self-improvement if her distaste of further unpleasantness were to allow Phil to have things his way. And besides, he wasn’t a particularly good driver himself. He was the one who had reversed into the trash cans this morning. And then there was Ethan, gorgeous little Ethan, currently asleep in his car seat behind her. Ethan had to be protected from all danger, and that obviously included fast cars. However, Lou could also see that Phil was working himself into one of his moods. If she made him promise to drive carefully, she reasoned, it would probably be OK.
“Alright. But you must promise to drive carefully. Dr. Hoffmeyer writes about the long-term psychological impact of even mild physical trauma in infancy. I’ve got his book here in my suitcase, if you’d like to read it later on.”
“Lou, he’s in a car seat for chrissake. Strapped into a freakin’ car seat. So Hoffmeyer can just go fu -”
“Phil, that’s enough! OK, I’ll pull over.”
As Phil, still scowling, pulled out into traffic, Lou checked back on Ethan, sleeping contentedly in his car seat. She smiled. Her son was the very centre of her life. She was daily overwhelmed with wonder at him and she could hardly remember a time before she’d had him. Looking at him now, his head back, hot, rosy cheeks pressed against the side pillow, little plum mouth open wide, and his whole body relaxed and peaceful, she felt that smile, close to tears, lighten her face. As always, she tried to fix this image of him in her mind, knowing that he would be growing up, and away from her, all too soon.
She sighed and turned back to Phil, her head still awash with warm, peaceful love for her son. Almost drowsily, she asked,
“You will drive carefully, won’t you Sweetie?”
That tone again!
Phil slammed his foot down on the gas and the car leapt forward, pushing them both back into their seats. Lou gasped.
Grim-faced, Phil had had enough.
Dave and Neil had arrived at the hotel. For a few moments they contemplated the building in silence. Neil was obviously unimpressed, but Dave was determined to be positive.
“OK,” he said, “it’s not the Hilton, but it’s not Grizzly Adams’ cabin either.”
“No, Grizzly’s place would at least win one star for authenticity.”
“Oh, come on man. It’s rustic, it’s charming, it’s...”
“Yeah?”
“...only for a week.”
“I guess.”
“Come on, let’s go see what pleasures await us within.”
Dave was already out of the car and wrenching his luggage from the back seats.
“Dave, are you on something?”
The manager greeted them in the lobby.
“Some of your party are already here, sir, but there’s no one in the lounge yet, so I imagine they’re still in their rooms. Could I ask you to sign in please?”
Neil down put his cell phone and picked up the pen to sign in for both of them.
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to use that here, sir. There’s no reception this far away from town.”
Neil fixed the manager with an angry glare.
“If I lose the murder case because the firm can’t contact me this week, someone will pay.”
Dave tried to placate him.
“Come on man, we’re on our holidays; who needs a cell phone? But I’m sure,” he said, looking to the manager for confirmation, “there’s a phone here in the hotel for emergencies.”
The manager was happy to concur.
“Certainly is, sir. Just through this door. In the office.”
“How charmingly last century,” Neil muttered, sweeping up his useless cell phone.
Dave smiled apologetically and led Neil away.
Once in their room, Neil unpacked his overnight bag while Dave agonised over what to wear.
“Wear whatever you like,” said Neil unhelpfully.
“What are you wearing?”
“I’ll wear one of the shirts you bought me at the five and dime.”
“You like them? Oh great. I was worried because their range was limited and the shade...Not too dull?”
“No. Dull is fine. Thank you.”
“OK, if we’re going native then...”
Dave was soon sporting blue jeans and a bright orange shirt.
“You paid money for that?” Neil asked, in obvious disbelief.
“The saleswoman said it’s a hunter’s shirt.”
“So give it back to the hunter, it’s godawful.”
“No, it’s supposed to be this bright. It’s so’s you don’t get yourself shot by accident.”
“Oh yeah? Well don’t worry about that, you won’t be shot by accident; you’ll be shot by someone with good dress sense, aiming very carefully.”
“Oh ha ha. Very droll. Thank you so much.”
“Here,” Neil threw Dave one of his own new shirts, “wear this.”
“I don’t wanna,” said Dave, playfully throwing it back.
Neil grabbed it out of the air and held it scrunched in his fist.
“Wear it!”
“No, it’s OK man, I’m beginning to quite like this,” Hands on hips, Dave gave a catwalk model flounce, “Come on tell me, you think orange could be the new black?”
Neil didn’t even look up.
“Just get that thing off,” he said, “and wear this.”
Dave was beginning to feel pressured. Why was Neil making such a big deal out of this?
“No man, I don’t want to wear your shirt. I’m cool in this.”
“Just wear the fuckin’ shirt! I don’t want to introduce you to my friends all dressed up like some fuckin’ fruit.”
Dave was stunned. Where had that little explosion come from? What the hell was up with Neil? Slowly, Dave reached out and took the shirt, then he stood for a moment, staring down at it.
“If it means that much to you…” he muttered.
“It does.”
There was an awkward moment of silence between them, then Dave said,
“OK man, I’ll wear the shirt.”
Dave didn’t look at Neil as he turned away. He’d been stung by Neil’s sudden outburst but he didn’t want him to know how much his words had hurt. Much as he loved him, he didn’t want to give Neil that satisfaction.
Phil, Lou and little Ethan had finally reached Losien.
Phil was sitting at the counter in the diner, stirring a cup of coffee. He’d been slowly stirring it for at least three minutes, his mind elsewhere. After all this thought, he had decided that Annie’s idea of getting everyone together for this reunion week had been a mistake. Or, at least, his bringing Lou and the kid had been a mistake. They were in the washroom now and Phil was sitting on a stool from which he could see the washroom door, but he knew Lou wouldn’t be coming out any time soon. This was the fourth stop they’d had to make since he’d taken over the driving. Ethan was too hot. Ethan was too cold. Ethan was hungry. Ethan was thirsty. Jeez that kid was a royal pain in the ass. And right now Lou was probably breastfeeding him too. She’d promised she’d stop that, hell, the kid was two years old! But Phil was sure she carried on when he wasn’t around to see. The bond between those two was way too intense. That kid was going to turn out weird. No question about it.
Phil should have left them back at home for the week. Yeah sure, like he had a choice. Hell, he might as well be married for all the freedom he had. And it’s not like the kid was even his.
His spoon ground harder into the base of the coffee cup.
Phil was feeling very low, life had dumped on him again. Intent on wallowing in self-pity, he conveniently chose to forget that Lou hadn’t actually wanted to come on the trip. ‘Go have a great time,’ she’d said. ‘We’ll be just fine,’ she’d said. But Phil had wanted her there with him, this beautiful young woman, a real babe, on his arm. That’d show the rest of them, with their careers and their big houses and their goddam happy freakin’ families. But then the kid had to come along too. Always the kid, with his crying and his puking and his stinking diapers. Goddamit, he hated that kid.
He continued stirring the cooling coffee in stony silence.
The woman behind the counter was drying some glasses with slow thoroughness, occasionally holding one up to the light. But all the while, out of the corner of her eye, she was watching the guy with the coffee. She didn’t like the look of him; he looked moody and powerful, angry, and his eyes were way too small. And that coffee stirring? How irritating was that? She watched Oprah; she knew about obsessive-compulsives, and this guy sure fitted the bill. But she’d missed the end of that particular show, so she now had a nagging worry that it might have concluded that obsessive-compulsives go on to become psychotic. But no, looking at him again she decided, based on nothing more than a hunch, that he was just a big lug, probably harmless enough. And not too bright. She’d stiffed him with his change when he paid for his coffee and though he’d frowned for a moment, staring at the notes in his palm, he hadn’t said a word.
And they say that living in the city makes you sharp! A few more customers like this one and she could make a living wage.