You’d have thought Mike Brando was her long-lost son, the way mom hugged and made over him when we met up at One Luv, an amazing Caribbean sandwich shop he suggested. Lexi was not with him.
“No go,” he said. “I tried.”
“I don’t understand,” mom said.
“It’s temporary,” he said.
“So what? It still sucks.”
“We had shared custody. It was working fine. Melissa’s lawyers want other things from me—”
“More money?” I said.
“Partly. They tried a gambit. The Court Commissioner awarded temporary full custody to Melissa pending reports from the custody evaluator Jennifer met today. Thank you, by the way.”
“I hope Penny got an earful,” I said.
“Penny is…?” mom asked.
“The custody evaluator,” Brando said. “She’s just doing her job, I guess.”
“You’re taking this pretty well,” mom said.
He cast his eyes down and looked at his hands, then at the people lining up for a taste of whatever smelled so wonderfully. “You’ve missed all the crying,” he told mom. “Punching walls, cursing Melissa, damning the lawyers, private tirades over straight shots, curled up in the dark.” He sighed. “How do you like Seattle?”
Mom chuckled at the abrupt segue. She loved it, she said; most beautiful city; and couldn’t understand all the fuss about rain, clouds, and “seasonal affective disorder.”
“You lucked out. We’re in our annual sunny streak,” he said.
We talked about my nascent career, how much everyone in the office “admires and respects your daughter,” the whole Crimsy-secrecy thing.
“Jennifer is somewhat coy about what you all are working on,” mom said. “Whenever I ask for details, details, she talks about ‘attorney-science’ privilege.”
Brian came up and Brando recalled my angst. “But Jen is pretty stoic,” he said. “She didn’t let on.”
“Brian,” mom said. “Remind me to call him.”
My expression made light of the comment. Dr. Brando was mid-chew, and I don’t think he heard it. Mom talked about her sister like she was still alive, too. “Lucy would love Seattle,” she said. It was close enough to “would have loved” not to raise eyebrows. But then, “I bought some smoked salmon for her.”
Don’t say anything, don’t let on, just keep the conversation moving.
“We used to have a lot of salmon in Lake Michigan,” I said. “Dad loved it.”
After we said our goodbyes, with mom promising a return visit and Brando promising to visit Kenosha, she got turned around after we crossed the street. The car was a few meters away, in clear view under street lights.
“Car’s over there, mom.”
“Got it.” She looked at me. She looked around. “Where?”
“Right there,” I said. “In back of the red truck.”
“That isn’t our car.”
“Yeah it is. You’ve been driving it.”
I went to take her arm but she withdrew. “Don’t. Please.”
“Don’t what, mom?”
“Don’t touch me.” She turned and looked behind her.
“Everything okay?” a guy called out to us.
“Fine,” I called back. “Just looking for our car.”
Mom was frozen, in the middle of the sidewalk. I went for her arm again.
“Don’t” she said. “I can see the car.” She started walking.
“Wait here, mom. I’ll bring the car around.”
“Are you leaving?”
“No. Just getting the car.” I could bring the car remotely, but had never done that before. I was nervous enough being driven around by a bunch of invisible computers. But remote drive beat standing here. I pulled out my cell and scrolled to the app.
“Everything okay?” That guy again. And I recognized his voice. I looked up to see Nathaniel Hawthorn.
“Yes. Hey! Yeah. My mom and I—”
“Your car’s right over…”
“Mom—look who’s here. Remember Nathaniel?”
She looked at him. “You’re Jen’s friend.”
“Yes,” he said. “We met in the parking garage.”
“He found our car.”
“I recognized it.” He pointed. “Up the street.”
She hesitated. He extended his hand. “I’m, uh, happy to—” he said.
She took his hand. I followed.
“This is it, right?” he said.
Mom looked at me. I nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s an unusual looking car, isn’t it?”
I unlocked the doors with the app and he opened the passenger side. Mom got in, buckled up, and turned to him. I could see from the street light her bewilderment was fading.
“Thank you,” she said. “Jennifer, I am so impressed with your friends.”
He looked at me across the top of the car.
“Me too.” I meant to say thank you, but that came out instead. “So what brings you out here?”
“Hoping to catch you guys,” Nathaniel said. “Brando told me your mom was leaving tomorrow.”
“You came to say goodbye? How sweet.”
“And—hungry.” He held up a takeout One Luv sandwich. He leaned in to mom. “Almost missed you,” he said. “Hope you enjoyed your visit.”
“I most certainly did,” she said. “My daughter has found her tribe.”
So here’s a coincidence: Bradford High students from Kenosha designed part of the hyperloop now streaking toward SeaTac Airport. Mom and I dropped the Flyby at a downtown rental car return and boarded the friction-free, electromagnetic bus, which plunged underground for about half the short trip, emerged in a long vacuum tube that paralleled 99 Highway, then—mysteriously until you understood the politics of it—stopped about two miles shy of the terminal. From there, we boarded a shuttle. People rode the hyperloop for the novelty of it. It was supposed to cross the freeway and stop in a bunch of cities along I-5—Kent, Renton, Federal Way, Tacoma, Olympia—but the devil in those details stopped its progress well short of the planned route, Portland, Oregon to Vancouver, British Columbia. From downtown to the shuttle (twelve miles) took two minutes on the much-attenuated hyperloop; from the shuttle to the terminal, ten or more minutes in traffic.
“I hear they’re building one of these from Milwaukee-to-Chicago,” I said.
“And we have the honor of hosting the first section,” mom said. “They eventually wanna run it under the lake. Connect to Michigan.”
“Rowdy the Red Devil is blushing with pride,” I said.
We checked mom’s luggage outside and passed the metal detectors with a couple of carry-on bags into the terminal lobby. We went through the security checklist.
“Wrist, please,” I said. I scanned her microchip with my cell. “Ticket, boarding pass, Real ID, reasonable facsimile photo. You’re good. Just don’t forget your luggage this time.”
“I won’t. I won’t. Speaking of forgetting, I’m making an appointment with a neurologist next week,” mom said.
I took her hands in mine and looked at her. She was so pretty. “I love you,” I said. “You can’t believe how much.”
“To pieces and beyond?” she said. She took me in her arms and we hugged and she kissed my cheek. Her face felt cold and fresh and alive.
“I’m proud of you,” she said, in almost a whisper. “You amaze me.”
Wow. That felt so good, you cannot imagine. I watched her walk toward the boarding sections, missing the days family and friends could wait until the very last minute to say their final farewells. It was noisy out here in the lobby and there was no place to sit and TSSEA agents passed every few minutes, scowling as though we humans were cars parked in the five-minute, terror-proof, tow-away zones. Mom blew me a kiss and waved and I waved back, watching her pass through the first set of body scanners and disappear, into the crowd of passengers and carry-ons, scurrying toward their final identification ritual.