“You’ve proved your point. We all got out of the house. Now can we go back to bed?”
Instead of answering, Neary started shoving the children inside the car.
“This is only funny if it ends here in the driveway,” Ronnie said, going around to her side of the car.
“You promised Goofy Golf,” Toby said from the middle seat. His eyes were already closed again.
Finally, everyone was in. Ronnie had not closed her door and the ceiling light inside the car was still on. For the first time Ronnie saw it: Neary was red on one half of his face. Bright red.
“Roy, what is that? You’re sunburned.”
Neary peered into the rear-view mirror. This visible evidence made him even redder. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “I guess I took my vacation while you were sleeping.”
“But it’s only half your face.”
But Neary was already backing down the driveway, returning to where the excitement had been most extreme.
He drove quickly to the place where it had all happened, pulled off the road and stopped near the scattered snow fence. The farmer and his family were gone, leaving behind some Colonel Sanders’ boxes and one bottle of Wild Turkey.
Ronnie and the kids sounded like a sleeping symphony of adenoid troubles. But Roy was on point. He kicked circles for a while in the cool early morning, waiting . . . waiting for what? Waiting for the experience to come again. Please come again, he thought to himself. Why had something that was so frightening become so enthralling? He wanted seconds but now the dark was playing tricks.
The police weren’t with him now. He was alone out here. Did they like people who waited alone? Was it easier to get away when—?
Something woke Ronnie. She glanced back and saw her three children snoring against one another. And then there was her husband pacing back and forth nervously, eyes skyward. She got out, closing the car door softly, and fell into step.
“What are we doing here, Roy? Why won’t you tell me what you’re waiting for?”
“You’ll know it when you see it,” he told her without confidence.
“Come on,” Ronnie said. “I came here with you. I’m taking this very well. Now tell me. What did it look like?”
Roy waited, stared up and down the road, watched the sky a moment longer, then: “Kind of . . . like an ice cream cone.”
This was almost too much for Ronnie. “What flavor?” she asked with murderous innocence.
But Neary took her seriously. “Orange. It was orange . . . and it wasn’t really like an ice cream cone . . . it was sort of in a shell . . . this . . .” He made sculpting motions with both hands.
“Like a taco?”
“No, rounder, larger . . . and sometimes . . . it was like . . . like . . . you know, those rolls we had yesterday?”
“Bran muffins?”
“No! Not for breakfast—” Neary was conscious that his wife was humoring him and also running out of humor, but he persisted anyway. “For dinner. What were those rolls? Those curvy ones?”
“You mean the crescent rolls?” she exclaimed, as though dealing with a Romper Room student.
“Yeah!” he said, excited all over again. “And it gave off a kind of neon glow.”
That was definitely too much for Ronnie. She reached into her Baggie for a carrot. Neary walked a few paces away from her munching and hunched down near a rock, eyes heavenward again. Ronnie watched him anxiously. Obviously Roy was going through something . . . something she couldn’t begin to understand, but, apparently, it was important to him. Maybe she had been too bitchy.
Ronnie approached Roy and used her favorite Little Miss Marker voice. “Don’t you think I’m taking this really well?”
He didn’t answer but stood up, still looking at the stars starting to fade in the ever lightening sky.
Ronnie looked up too and gave a little shudder. She didn’t know why, but she was slightly frightened. It was all a little weird. A lot weird.
“Snuggle,” she said to him.
Neary dutifully put his arm
Instead of answering, Neary started shoving the children inside the car.
“This is only funny if it ends here in the driveway,” Ronnie said, going around to her side of the car.
“You promised Goofy Golf,” Toby said from the middle seat. His eyes were already closed again.
Finally, everyone was in. Ronnie had not closed her door and the ceiling light inside the car was still on. For the first time Ronnie saw it: Neary was red on one half of his face. Bright red.
“Roy, what is that? You’re sunburned.”
Neary peered into the rear-view mirror. This visible evidence made him even redder. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “I guess I took my vacation while you were sleeping.”
“But it’s only half your face.”
But Neary was already backing down the driveway, returning to where the excitement had been most extreme.
He drove quickly to the place where it had all happened, pulled off the road and stopped near the scattered snow fence. The farmer and his family were gone, leaving behind some Colonel Sanders’ boxes and one bottle of Wild Turkey.
Ronnie and the kids sounded like a sleeping symphony of adenoid troubles. But Roy was on point. He kicked circles for a while in the cool early morning, waiting . . . waiting for what? Waiting for the experience to come again. Please come again, he thought to himself. Why had something that was so frightening become so enthralling? He wanted seconds but now the dark was playing tricks.
The police weren’t with him now. He was alone out here. Did they like people who waited alone? Was it easier to get away when—?
Something woke Ronnie. She glanced back and saw her three children snoring against one another. And then there was her husband pacing back and forth nervously, eyes skyward. She got out, closing the car door softly, and fell into step.
“What are we doing here, Roy? Why won’t you tell me what you’re waiting for?”
“You’ll know it when you see it,” he told her without confidence.
“Come on,” Ronnie said. “I came here with you. I’m taking this very well. Now tell me. What did it look like?”
Roy waited, stared up and down the road, watched the sky a moment longer, then: “Kind of . . . like an ice cream cone.”
This was almost too much for Ronnie. “What flavor?” she asked with murderous innocence.
But Neary took her seriously. “Orange. It was orange . . . and it wasn’t really like an ice cream cone . . . it was sort of in a shell . . . this . . .” He made sculpting motions with both hands.
“Like a taco?”
“No, rounder, larger . . . and sometimes . . . it was like . . . like . . . you know, those rolls we had yesterday?”
“Bran muffins?”
“No! Not for breakfast—” Neary was conscious that his wife was humoring him and also running out of humor, but he persisted anyway. “For dinner. What were those rolls? Those curvy ones?”
“You mean the crescent rolls?” she exclaimed, as though dealing with a Romper Room student.
“Yeah!” he said, excited all over again. “And it gave off a kind of neon glow.”
That was definitely too much for Ronnie. She reached into her Baggie for a carrot. Neary walked a few paces away from her munching and hunched down near a rock, eyes heavenward again. Ronnie watched him anxiously. Obviously Roy was going through something . . . something she couldn’t begin to understand, but, apparently, it was important to him. Maybe she had been too bitchy.
Ronnie approached Roy and used her favorite Little Miss Marker voice. “Don’t you think I’m taking this really well?”
He didn’t answer but stood up, still looking at the stars starting to fade in the ever lightening sky.
Ronnie looked up too and gave a little shudder. She didn’t know why, but she was slightly frightened. It was all a little weird. A lot weird.
“Snuggle,” she said to him.
Neary dutifully put his arm
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