Hitchers

The rum relaxed us past the awkwardness, until I felt like I was catching up with a friend.

My phone interrupted us. It was Mick.

“It’s Mick,” I whispered to Summer. I felt a stupid rush of pride saying it.

Summer nodded, pointed, indicating that she’d go into the bedroom to give me some privacy.

“You’re not going to believe who I just got off the phone with,” Mick said as soon as I answered.

“God?” I joked.

“Almost as good. A bloke working for FEMA. He filled me in on what they’ve learned.”

“How did you pull that off?”

Mick chuckled. “You haven’t been famous long enough, mate. Doors open magically when people recognize your bloody name.”

“What did you find out?”

“Not over the phone.”

I almost laughed; it sounded so cloak and dagger. But maybe he had a point. I was torn—I wanted to stay and talk to Summer, and be with Lorena, but I needed to hear what Mick had learned. I arranged to meet Mick at his place in an hour.

I called to Summer as I pulled on my coat. “Mick has new information that might help us understand what’s happening. I’m going to meet him.”

She nodded. “Well I’m sure I’ll see you—” she paused, raised her finger to her lips and considered. “Would you mind if I came along? It’s okay if it’s not, it’s just—”

“No,” I interrupted, “that would be great.” I wanted to stay close to Lorena and, now that Summer understood what the voice was, I imagined the thought of being with others like her was comforting.

Suddenly I had to pee. Maybe the rum was getting to me, or maybe it was this latest jolt. “Can I use your bathroom before we go?”

Summer motioned toward the open door, then croaked, “Annie called. She met a guy at Cosmic Charlie’s.”

The bathroom was as old and decrepit as the rest of the apartment, the linoleum stained and peeling up around the toilet. All around the mirror were index cards, each with an ornate, handwritten epithet.

Walk with the noble. Avoid fools and assholes.

Never give up. Never ever ever give up.

There is no hurry. Nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do.

The cramped space around the sink was jammed with soap, cosmetics, toothpaste, an Elmo toothbrush holder with two toothbrushes in it: a grown-up one with badly frayed bristles and a kid’s toothbrush with a cartoon fairy handle. I felt like I was intruding on a very private place, but I had to go, and this was the only bathroom.

“Ready?” I asked as I hurried toward the door. Summer was already wearing her coat, her purse dangling against her elbow.

CHAPTER 20

“It must be hard to be away from your daughter,” I said as we pulled out, an attempt to make conversation.

“It’s very hard. Will this be ready by the thirtieth? It’s for my husband’s birthday. Rebecca likes going to her dad’s house, though. He’s the fun one—he swoops in every other weekend, a month in summer, and takes her places I can’t afford.” She’d kept on going after the blurt, not missing a beat.

“That doesn’t sound fair. Doesn’t he pay child support?” I asked, struggling to carry on the conversation. I resisted the urge to tell Lorena that I knew which birthday she was talking about. I was wearing the engraved watch she’d bought me.

Summer laughed sardonically. “He was just a poor college student when I had Rebecca. I had to drop out of high school to raise her while he went on to a comfortable if boring and empty life as an insurance salesman.”

“An.”

“Are you sure you’d even be happy drawing Toy Shop?”

Summer pressed her hand over her throat. “This is worse than it’s ever been. Tell her she’s scaring the hell out of me. I can’t sleep. My hair is falling out.”

“I will,” I said. I braked to avoid a cardboard box lying semi-flattened in the wet road. The rain had mostly stopped. “You just told her yourself, though. Remember, she can hear us.”

Summer threw her head back. “I’m sorry about the butter! Please, please, leave me alone.”

“Do you…” I wasn’t sure how to put it. “Would you mind if I talked to her?”

“Yes. I mean no. Go ahead.”

I cleared my throat, feeling nervous, like I was on stage. How many imaginary conversations had I had with Lorena since she died? Thousands. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Hello, Lore,” I began. “I know you can hear me. I miss you. Your sister and mom and dad are doing well. I keep in touch with them a little. They miss you, too.”

Enough platitudes. What did I want to say? I found myself dropping to a whisper, as if I could speak to Lorena without Summer hearing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I should have been watching out for you. I’m so sorry.”

Summer glanced at me, then out the window, then down at the floor mat. It was strange: I was talking to Summer, or at Summer, but she was only in the way. She didn’t know what to do to get out of the way.

“I don’t know what’s happening, how you’ve gotten inside this woman. Summer. But we’ll sort it out. I’ll stay close so we can figure it out.”

Summer’s head was bowed, like she was in prayer. “I’m done for now,” I said to her.

She nodded, lifted her head. We drove in silence for a few minutes, swishing through puddles.

“I don’t think I would want to talk to the loved ones I’ve lost,” Summer said, her voice soft.

“Why not?” I asked.

She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. “It’s hard to put into words.” She bit her fingernail, thought for a moment. “There’s an order to things. We love people while they’re alive. When they die, we mourn them and move on. They’re part of the past, and we’re not.” She shook her head. “I know that sounds like something out of Chicken Soup for the Soul.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. If I disagreed she might think I was arguing that it was okay for Lorena to be inside her. I didn’t agree with her, though. She didn’t understand because she hadn’t lost someone like Lorena.

“What does it feel like when they take over? Does it hurt?” Summer asked.

You’ll never be the same, I might have said. You’ll never recover from it. “It doesn’t hurt, exactly.” I said instead. “But it feels bad, almost like there are snakes under your skin.”

Summer gaped at me.

“Just for a second,” I added quickly. “Then you don’t feel anything; you’re numb.”

“Numb is good. Better than snakes under my skin.” She rubbed her thighs, as if warding off the prospect of snakes. “Your wife keeps talking about snakes.”

“She was afraid of snakes. Terrified.” I considered telling Summer how Lorena’s fear of snakes had been instrumental in her death, but decided it was too personal.

I studied Summer out of the corner of my eye. She was wearing red Keds high-tops, one foot propped on the dash. Lorena was in there. Some essence of her was right beside me, inside this woman. Incredible. Maybe part of the reason Lorena had been drawn to Summer was that, despite their differences, they seemed to have some similarities. Both were high-energy, self-assured. Maybe it went even deeper than that, though. There was something about Summer—an appealing something that she radiated.

“I’m not sure how much I want to know about her,” Summer said. “If she becomes a person to me I might feel sorry for her.”

“Maybe you’ll also feel less scared of her,” I suggested. “You might sleep better.”

“I don’t want to sleep better, I want her out of me.”