A Plague Year

through the window. She was running from her car toward the entrance. (The last time I saw Mom run was on Memorial Day, when Dad had dropped a propane tank in our backyard and it started to fizz.) She ran right past me, all the way up to register two, where she screeched to a halt.

Mercifully, Lilly had no customers in line as Mom started in on her. “What do you think you are doing? You never said a word to me about this… this choice you are making! This choice that could ruin your life!”

Lilly stopped smiling in an instant. And she gave it right back to Mom. “Ruin my life? What life? My life can only get better, believe me.”

Dad hurried out of the office. He grasped Mom’s elbow and started moving her back outside, like a bouncer removing a loud drunk.

Lilly watched for a moment, but then she locked her register and took off after them. There was no way I was going to miss this, so I took off, too.

We all converged near Mom’s car. Lilly leveled a finger at Mom and shouted, “I got a call this morning from the Kroger Pharmacy, Mom. Do you know anything about that? They told me they couldn’t refill my Adderall prescription again because it was all used up. That prescription was for two refills, at thirty pills each, and it was all used up. Do you know anything about that?”

I expected Mom to say no, or some variation of it, but she didn’t. She just stared back at Lilly, her face suddenly white.

Lilly went on, “That’s ninety pills, Mom! I took one of them, because you made me, and I felt sick. So tell me: What happened to the other eighty-nine pills? Who’s been calling for those refills?”

Dad’s jaw was hanging open by now, and I guess mine was, too.

Mom looked at us all and replied quietly, with some dignity, “Am I supposed to be the only one who never has a problem?” She told Dad, “You had yours. For years.” She told Lilly, “And you had yours. So this is mine. All I am trying to do is… keep up. I’m trying to keep up with two children and a house and a stack of bills. And the pills helped. At first.”

A strange silence seemed to fall over the parking lot. No one could think of a thing to say. This was just too weird, almost incomprehensible. Mom was taking Adderall? Of course. How else could she have driven for twelve hours straight?

Dad finally said to Lilly, “Go get your coat and drive your mother home. Tom and I can handle things here. You two can talk about… Well, you can talk.”

Lilly and Mom stared at each other like two schoolchildren who had been fighting and who now had to make up. They both silently agreed to the plan, though, and they were soon driving away.

I watched them go, wondering, What are they talking about? About why Mom took the pills? About why none of us even noticed? About what to do next? Or are they talking about wedding plans? About bridesmaids’ dresses and stuff?

This was just too weird to comprehend.

Dad took over register two and ran it until closing. Near the end of the night, I did a last shopping cart run. I spotted Arthur’s Geo Metro pulling up by the propane cage, so I headed over there. But I was surprised when the door opened and someone else emerged—someone wearing a green satin Haven High Football jacket.

I called out, “Warren! You’re driving the Geo?”

He looked at me and smiled. “Don’t tell anybody, okay, Tom? I got a reputation to maintain.”

“Okay. Uh, did you want some propane?”

“Yeah, give me three tanks. Robin says she’s running low. And we gotta eat, right?”

“Right.” I fished out the key and unlocked the cage. I could barely look at him when I said, “Look, Warren, I am really sorry about what happened down in Florida.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Forget about it. Things like that happen. You just have to deal with them.”

I said, “You really told that sheriff lady some stuff. You sounded like a lawyer.”

He smiled. “Did I? Hey, you have to know your rights in this country. And you have to use them.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m really sorry about that… that prank thing. If there’s anything I can do to make up for it, please let me know.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Tell you what: Buy me the propane and we’re even.”

I was happy to oblige, to pay him back in any way. “Okay! Sure.”

“That way, I can save my money for the Drunken Monkey.”

I pulled out three white tanks, set them on the ground, and relocked the cage.

Warren continued: “Arthur was real upset about what happened down there. He thinks it was all his fault, but it wasn’t. It was my fault.” He thought for a long moment. “Arthur doesn’t have any role models in his life. Never has. His biological father was an alcoholic. Did you know that?”

“Yeah. He was my uncle Robby.”

“Oh, right. Well, his stepdad has some drug issues. And you don’t want to know about the guy who lives in the trailer behind him. It’s a race to the bottom with those guys. They’re all facing hellfire.”

I laughed awkwardly.

So did Warren. He was totally serious, though, when he said, “You seem to have a plan, though. Is that right?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Can you help Arthur make a plan for himself? He can be all talk and no action sometimes.”

What could I say except “Sure. Yeah. I’ll try”?

Warren looked out toward Route 16. “I don’t want him hanging around here, talking trash that he could have been this or could have been that but he isn’t. You know what I mean?”

“I think so.”

“Help him make a real plan and stick to it. Something solid: the military, college, whatever.”

We stood still for a moment. I finally had to ask him, “Do you have a plan, Warren?”

“Me? You mean aside from going to the Drunken Monkey tonight?”

“Yes.”

Warren shrugged. “Well, I’ve always wanted to use my degree.”

“Yeah? What was that in?”

“Chemistry.”

“Oh.”

Warren walked around to the hatchback and opened it. He pointed at my back pocket. “Hey, is that what I think it is? Is that the story you were writing? About the trip?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Did you ever finish it?”

“I finished the trip part.”

“Cool. Can I read it?”

“Sure.” I felt a sudden stab of guilt. “I… uh, I put the bad stuff in it, too.”

“The bad stuff?”

I pulled the notebook out of my pocket and handed it to him. “I wrote about the cops and the arrest and all. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh. That stuff.” He leafed through it. “Hey, if it weren’t for bad luck, we’d have no luck around here at all. Am I right?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Warren held the notebook up. “You sure I can have this?”

“Oh yeah. That one’s just about full. I need to start a new one.”

“I’ll get it back to you. I will. I’ll send it with Arthur.”

I said, “Sure.” And I knew he meant it. But the fact is, I never saw that notebook again.

As I headed inside, Warren called out, “Hey, thanks for the ’pane, Tom.”

“The what?”

He hoisted up a tank. “The propane.”