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“You sound very angry at your father,” I said, recalling a psych class I’d taken in junior college.
“Sorry. My father is all right. Well, he was. Before he turned into a monster. I mean, he’s a Republican. He voted for George W. And he’s against women’s right to choose. He still supports the war. But he’d never lay a hand on me, you know. But I’m worried about what he’s doing to other people. Where he like, gets his dinner and that kind of thing.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” I asked.”
“Um, I think you know why. Sorry…”
“So you came to me.”
“Well,” she said, “Not everyone’s kid gets stolen by zombies. I mean, I saw it on YouTube.”
Okay, sorry, it’s true. The thing I’m known for is about Max and the Zombies.
I wasn’t really interviewed by the local news. I made a video for YouTube and posted it, talking about what happened. That’s how Coco had found me. Not the guy whose fiancée was cheating on him; he got my name out of the phone book.
See, people think my kid got sick and died but I know better. No one wants to talk about it because they’re afraid everyone will think they are crazy. Or maybe because they’re afraid of even worse consequences.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked Coco.
“Would you please pretend you’re a customer and check him out?” she asked. “They have really good deals on Escalades now,” she added.
“I ride a bike.”
I borrowed Daniel’s car and went to the car dealership where Coco’s dad worked. They hired him back part time after the stroke. It was night and the cars glowed surreally in the fluorescent lights. The air smelled obscenely of flowers and motor oil.
Mr. Hart lumbered out toward me, tucking his shirt into his pants. He had a large belly and stiff legs and arms. His skin did have an unhealthy sheen to it.
“How can I help you, young lady?” he groaned. A foul, sulfur smell emitted itself from his body. “We have some great deals on SUVs tonight. What are you driving?”
“A bike,” I said.
He looked at me dully. “Thinking of upgrading then?”
“You don’t sell any electric cars?” I asked.
“No. Why? You do a lot of driving?”
“Not so much. I’m concerned about the environment.”
“Global warming? Sweetheart, that’s a myth they created to scare you, believe me. No such thing. God knows what He’s doing.”
I smoothed back my hair. It was unnaturally hot for an October evening. There was something hellish about that kind of heat this time of year. I thought of the ice floes melting at the North Pole and the polar bears dying. I was sweating uncomfortably and I was afraid I might be staining my white blouse. I used deodorant but I had stopped wearing antiperspirant because of the link between aluminum and Alzheimer’s. Not that I cared. Alzheimer’s might actually be all right. You stagger around in a state of detachment and forgetting.
There are certain things I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try. No matter how many photographs I hide or how much zombie research I do, they pop into my mind when I least expect them.
Max used to ask me, “Mommy, when is the Earth going to explode? When is the sun going to burn us up?” Once he said, “Mommy, will you hold me from the time the Earth was made until it ends?”
“Yes, honey,” I said. “I will hold you forever.”
He curled up into my arms, his delicately-boned, dusty-brown feet tucked up on my lap. His eyes were big and brown with eyelashes that all the nurses in the hospital said they wanted.
“It’s not fair,” they cooed.
Of course, it was more than fair. The other stuff was what wasn’t fair.
“How about a Prius?” I asked Mr. Hart.
“How about a Hummer? Owned by a little old lady from Pasadena. Almost no mileage.”
