wasteful and profligate. Methane engines are the wave of the future. As long as matter decays we have no lack of methane. Et cetera, et cetera,” she recited, sounding like one of the more righteous of the advertisements for the new methane engines.
“It’s true. I’m simply not used to it yet,” Harper said in his most reasonable tone. “In weather like this . . .”
“It’s okay, Dad. There’s that special light on the thermometer, remember?” He pointed to the various dials, relieved to have something to talk about that was not connected with Kevin’s death.
“Which one?” Harper asked, appearing more confused than he was.
“There. If it turns yellow, then you have to . . . you have to engage the supplemental coolant. I think that’s how it goes. And if it turns red, then pull off the road and idle for two minutes, engage the supplemental coolant and then turn the engine off.” He said the last with pride, amazed at himself for remembering what the mechanic had told them when they bought the car the year before.
“No yellow, no red.” Harper leaned back in the driver’s seat and adjusted the angle of the lower back. “So long as we’re going to sit for a while, we might as well—”
He was interrupted by whooping sirens as two ambulances and a highway-rescue firetruck sped by on the shoulder of the road.
“Fuck a duck!” marveled Grant, watching the emergency vehicles fade into the mists.
“Oh, stop it,” Susan said, more irritated than angry now.
“Must be pretty bad to bring all that sh . . . stuff out,” said Grant. “Wonder where the cops are?”
“They’re probably the ones who radioed for the ambulances and the firetruck,” said Harper, lapsing into the same manner he adopted when lecturing in class. “It’s the most sensible explanation, in any case.”
“Someone with a CB might have done it,” suggested Mason.
“Yes, that’s true, but then the cops would have come along with the others.” He had both a CB and police monitor in his car, and for a moment toyed with the idea of turning them on and listening in. Then he realized that more disasters could be more than anyone of them was prepared to handle that day. He studied the instrument panel and let himself get lost in the information they offered.
“How long do you think we’ll have to sit here?” Susan asked when almost five minutes had gone by.
“I don’t know.”
“You could turn on the radios and find out what’s happened,” she said sharply.
“I don’t want to heat up the engine or put too much strain on the battery. We could be here quite a while and if we are, we’ll have to use the supplemental interior heater; that thing eats up battery power like a hog eating hops.” Harper hoped that his excuses were sufficient for Susan; he had no intention of turning on the radios.
She sighed. “All right. Why not? We might as well be stranded here as anywhere.”
Inthe back, Grant started to fiddle with the zipper on his jacket, his face blank, his eyes drifting into the hypnotic stare that had been part of him for the last four years. He began to hum, first very softly and aimlessly, then slowly getting louder, until he was forcefully grunting out the same four notes in endless repetition.
“I wish you’d stop,” said Mason, not expecting to get a response.
“Leave him alone, Mason,” said Harper. “It’s been a hard day for all of us.” He paused. “I wish I could call Linda. I don’t want her to think that we’re not coming.”
“Use the CB,” said Susan, unconcerned.
“She probably knows about the accident. Restaurant people usually do,” said Mason, doing his best to be neutral.
“If this lasts too much longer, I will call,” said Harper, staring out into the mist. “It’s terrible.”
“They say it isn’t going to clear up for a couple more days. Then we’ll have rain,” said Mason, repeating what they had all heard on the news that morning.
“I guess the McPhees
“It’s true. I’m simply not used to it yet,” Harper said in his most reasonable tone. “In weather like this . . .”
“It’s okay, Dad. There’s that special light on the thermometer, remember?” He pointed to the various dials, relieved to have something to talk about that was not connected with Kevin’s death.
“Which one?” Harper asked, appearing more confused than he was.
“There. If it turns yellow, then you have to . . . you have to engage the supplemental coolant. I think that’s how it goes. And if it turns red, then pull off the road and idle for two minutes, engage the supplemental coolant and then turn the engine off.” He said the last with pride, amazed at himself for remembering what the mechanic had told them when they bought the car the year before.
“No yellow, no red.” Harper leaned back in the driver’s seat and adjusted the angle of the lower back. “So long as we’re going to sit for a while, we might as well—”
He was interrupted by whooping sirens as two ambulances and a highway-rescue firetruck sped by on the shoulder of the road.
“Fuck a duck!” marveled Grant, watching the emergency vehicles fade into the mists.
“Oh, stop it,” Susan said, more irritated than angry now.
“Must be pretty bad to bring all that sh . . . stuff out,” said Grant. “Wonder where the cops are?”
“They’re probably the ones who radioed for the ambulances and the firetruck,” said Harper, lapsing into the same manner he adopted when lecturing in class. “It’s the most sensible explanation, in any case.”
“Someone with a CB might have done it,” suggested Mason.
“Yes, that’s true, but then the cops would have come along with the others.” He had both a CB and police monitor in his car, and for a moment toyed with the idea of turning them on and listening in. Then he realized that more disasters could be more than anyone of them was prepared to handle that day. He studied the instrument panel and let himself get lost in the information they offered.
“How long do you think we’ll have to sit here?” Susan asked when almost five minutes had gone by.
“I don’t know.”
“You could turn on the radios and find out what’s happened,” she said sharply.
“I don’t want to heat up the engine or put too much strain on the battery. We could be here quite a while and if we are, we’ll have to use the supplemental interior heater; that thing eats up battery power like a hog eating hops.” Harper hoped that his excuses were sufficient for Susan; he had no intention of turning on the radios.
She sighed. “All right. Why not? We might as well be stranded here as anywhere.”
Inthe back, Grant started to fiddle with the zipper on his jacket, his face blank, his eyes drifting into the hypnotic stare that had been part of him for the last four years. He began to hum, first very softly and aimlessly, then slowly getting louder, until he was forcefully grunting out the same four notes in endless repetition.
“I wish you’d stop,” said Mason, not expecting to get a response.
“Leave him alone, Mason,” said Harper. “It’s been a hard day for all of us.” He paused. “I wish I could call Linda. I don’t want her to think that we’re not coming.”
“Use the CB,” said Susan, unconcerned.
“She probably knows about the accident. Restaurant people usually do,” said Mason, doing his best to be neutral.
“If this lasts too much longer, I will call,” said Harper, staring out into the mist. “It’s terrible.”
“They say it isn’t going to clear up for a couple more days. Then we’ll have rain,” said Mason, repeating what they had all heard on the news that morning.
“I guess the McPhees
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