hostile.”
“I’m starting to get hostile …”
“See?”
I swallowed hard and told him about pulling over at the gas station, about going into the men’s room, about—
“You left the keys in the car and he took it,” Graham said. “But you found the car again.”
I told him about Trooper Darius.
“That’s where the ‘blood on the dashboard’ thing comes in,” Graham said.
“There wasn’t any.”
“Which is good,” Graham said.
“Graham, I’m scared out of my wits. We checked at the trooper station, the Sheriff’s Office. I called the hospitals, the morgue. What if—”
“Neal,” Graham said, “somebody else probably saw him standing by the road and picked him up. Silverstein’s probably halfway home by now.”
“You think?”
“Sure,” Graham said. “Listen, leave the cops my number. Then you drive to Palm Desert. Check the rest stops as you go, in case someone dropped him off and he’s trying to call. Check in with me every two hours.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll probably get to his house and find him in his living room watching Wheel of Fortune. ”
I started to feel better. Silverstein was probably sitting at home watching Wheel of Fortune. He was fine. Bored, but fine.
Thank God.
“Unless—” Graham said.
“ ‘Unless’? ”
“Unless,” Graham said, “there’s a reason Silverstein doesn’t want to go home.…”
A reason?.…
Not wanting to go home?
What would make Graham think that Nathan doesn’t want to go home? Just because he disappeared yesterday, wouldn’t get on the airplane, wouldn’t get in the Jeep, wouldn’t get in a Toyota, a Mazda, a Nissan, a BMW or a Mercedes, then took the car, drove off, dumped the car and disappeared …
“You think he was stalling?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
“Why wouldn’t he want to go home?” I asked.
I asked Karen this question when I called her up.
“Before you say anything about sperm or hostility or knitting or anything,” I said when she answered, “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m listening.”
I told her the entire odyssey (so far) of my experience with Nathan and finished with the question, “Why wouldn’t Nathan want to go home?”
“Let me see,” Karen said. “In Las Vegas he has booze, a girlfriend, and an audience. And chocolate cake. In Palm Desert he has … television, I guess. The more interesting question is, why would he want to go home? ”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Neal, he’s a lonely old man who had some fun and company in Las Vegas,” she said. “Then you hurt his pride so he decided he’d show you. And he did.”
Yes, he did.
She said, “So go find him, apologize, and then talk to him about getting a nice condo in Las Vegas.”
“Karen, my job is to get him home, not take care of him forever.”
“Neal, life puts things in your way for a reason.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
This is a big difference between Karen and me. She thinks that life is a fated journey of challenges and discoveries. I think it’s a random sequence of arbitrary occurrences. I also thought that she was veering dangerously close to the baby thing. If Karen decided that having a child right now was fate, I was doomed.
“I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore,” I said.
“I didn’t say that I wasn’t mad at you,” she said. “You said that you needed to talk. Now, when I tell you that I need to talk, which is about once a week, you listen, right? So when you tell me that you need to talk, which is once about every eight months or so, I’m going to listen because I love you. But I’m still royally pissed at you.”
“ Royally pissed?”
“Royally.”
“Jesus.”
“Damn straight.”
She broke the silence by saying, “So go find Nathan Silverstein, get him settled, then come home and knock me up.”
Click. Dial tone.
First things first, I thought. First find Nathan, then get him home.
Sigh. Then find out if he’d really rather live
“I’m starting to get hostile …”
“See?”
I swallowed hard and told him about pulling over at the gas station, about going into the men’s room, about—
“You left the keys in the car and he took it,” Graham said. “But you found the car again.”
I told him about Trooper Darius.
“That’s where the ‘blood on the dashboard’ thing comes in,” Graham said.
“There wasn’t any.”
“Which is good,” Graham said.
“Graham, I’m scared out of my wits. We checked at the trooper station, the Sheriff’s Office. I called the hospitals, the morgue. What if—”
“Neal,” Graham said, “somebody else probably saw him standing by the road and picked him up. Silverstein’s probably halfway home by now.”
“You think?”
“Sure,” Graham said. “Listen, leave the cops my number. Then you drive to Palm Desert. Check the rest stops as you go, in case someone dropped him off and he’s trying to call. Check in with me every two hours.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll probably get to his house and find him in his living room watching Wheel of Fortune. ”
I started to feel better. Silverstein was probably sitting at home watching Wheel of Fortune. He was fine. Bored, but fine.
Thank God.
“Unless—” Graham said.
“ ‘Unless’? ”
“Unless,” Graham said, “there’s a reason Silverstein doesn’t want to go home.…”
A reason?.…
Not wanting to go home?
What would make Graham think that Nathan doesn’t want to go home? Just because he disappeared yesterday, wouldn’t get on the airplane, wouldn’t get in the Jeep, wouldn’t get in a Toyota, a Mazda, a Nissan, a BMW or a Mercedes, then took the car, drove off, dumped the car and disappeared …
“You think he was stalling?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
“Why wouldn’t he want to go home?” I asked.
I asked Karen this question when I called her up.
“Before you say anything about sperm or hostility or knitting or anything,” I said when she answered, “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m listening.”
I told her the entire odyssey (so far) of my experience with Nathan and finished with the question, “Why wouldn’t Nathan want to go home?”
“Let me see,” Karen said. “In Las Vegas he has booze, a girlfriend, and an audience. And chocolate cake. In Palm Desert he has … television, I guess. The more interesting question is, why would he want to go home? ”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Neal, he’s a lonely old man who had some fun and company in Las Vegas,” she said. “Then you hurt his pride so he decided he’d show you. And he did.”
Yes, he did.
She said, “So go find him, apologize, and then talk to him about getting a nice condo in Las Vegas.”
“Karen, my job is to get him home, not take care of him forever.”
“Neal, life puts things in your way for a reason.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
This is a big difference between Karen and me. She thinks that life is a fated journey of challenges and discoveries. I think it’s a random sequence of arbitrary occurrences. I also thought that she was veering dangerously close to the baby thing. If Karen decided that having a child right now was fate, I was doomed.
“I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore,” I said.
“I didn’t say that I wasn’t mad at you,” she said. “You said that you needed to talk. Now, when I tell you that I need to talk, which is about once a week, you listen, right? So when you tell me that you need to talk, which is once about every eight months or so, I’m going to listen because I love you. But I’m still royally pissed at you.”
“ Royally pissed?”
“Royally.”
“Jesus.”
“Damn straight.”
She broke the silence by saying, “So go find Nathan Silverstein, get him settled, then come home and knock me up.”
Click. Dial tone.
First things first, I thought. First find Nathan, then get him home.
Sigh. Then find out if he’d really rather live
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