Drives Like a Dream (32 page)

Lydia had to get out of here. She dug into the pocket of her purse where she kept her keys, jumped into her own car and sped off in Norm's wake, not even looking back toward the house. When he turned right on Woodward, Lydia stayed straight, driving toward the town of Royal Oak.

Couples sat in the sunshine having brunch on the café patios, sipping their coffee and reading newspapers on benches outside the shops. Mothers strolled down the sidewalks peering into windows, their children tugging at their arms.

Gripping the wheel, Lydia turned onto the first residential street she could find, went up half a block, and pulled over to try to calm down.

Stupid,
she chided herself, and got out of the car.

She had parked on a tree-lined street. A mix of bungalows and small Queen Annes lined the uneven brick sidewalks. Behind her, Lydia could hear the soft murmur of midtown Royal Oak.

She walked up the block past an open house on the corner and continued on, just to keep her feet moving. She passed another yard sale in the next block, a small collection of antiques, toys, posters, a bicycle with training wheels.

She wondered if, by some stroke of luck, Norm had said nothing to the kids. Perhaps she had arrived on the scene just in time. Last week Jessica had only caught a glimpse of Norm. Perhaps she and Ivan didn't know who the man in the vest really was. They could have been greeting him as just another customer. She thought of Norm's face when she first saw him framed against the van, but she couldn't remember his expression; it was all a blur.

And what was Norm doing there, anyway? He hadn't come to apologize; he'd seen the ad in the paper, he said. Lydia remembered what he'd told her on the People Mover: one person's trash is another's treasure; he loved a good yard sale. Why hadn't she anticipated that this might happen?

She stopped in front of a cream-colored house with an
OPEN HOUSE
sign strung with a clutch of balloons. In four blocks she'd passed three open houses and just as many yard sales. Before long, she would have to go home and face her own clearance—and her children as well.

Lydia watched as a young couple headed into the cream-colored house. It was a craftsman, with a front porch and a pair of Japanese maples in the garden bed. The porch reminded her of her own house, only this was much smaller, with a slate roof and dark red trim. Glad for any excuse to kill more time, she went up to take a look.

The inside was bright and open, with a kitchen that blended into the living area. It was a one-story house with two small bedrooms, but somehow the place felt airy and spacious. Lydia was looking outside at the tidy back yard when the realtor stepped away from the young couple and asked if Lydia had seen the garage.

"It's my favorite part of the house," the realtor said. She had white-gray hair and wore a dark floral dress with a large brooch in the shape of a sunburst.

The garage had been converted into a studio office. A built-in desk ran the entire length of one side; on the opposite wall, a long rectangular window filtered light into the room.

"The owner's an artist," the realtor whispered, stepping inside. "Minimalist. I shouldn't be saying this, but not my cup of tea. She'll do a single horizontal stripe on an eight-foot canvas. This is where she paints."

It felt nothing like a garage. It was quiet, with a pair of large skylights, wood floors layered with patterns and colors. Lydia liked the idea of working where a car used to be, and wondered what it would take to convert her own garage into something like this.

"So how many of you would be living here?" the realtor asked.

The question might have bothered Lydia had it not come from someone her own age.

She thought about it for a moment, then said "Two."

The realtor smiled. "This house is perfect for two."

I
F THE ALARM
wasn't enough to chase the yard-salers away, the two cops pulling up, their siren still yap-yapping as they got out of the car, very nearly was. A crowd had formed on the sidewalk, and Jessica, who had only a few minutes ago cut off the alarm, stood in the doorway. She could hear Bedlam howling in his basement cell.

Ivan was in the yard explaining to the cops that it was only a false alarm. He turned to the crowd and said, "It's okay, everybody. Just an accident. Please go back to what you were doing."

"Not so fast," one of the cops said. "Who's the owner of this house? How did you trigger the alarm? Do you have a permit for this yard sale?" Ivan answered with the deferential patience of the model citizen he had always been.

As the cops complained about the tables encroaching on the sidewalk, Jessica went over to talk to Davy, who sat on a metal filing cabinet in front of his going-out-of-business sale. "And to think I was doing so well." He checked his watch. "Ten-thirty already. We've still got a lot of stuff left."

"There's always eBay," Jessica said.

"So what the hell happened?"

She explained that the second she'd spotted Norm, she made a beeline for him. He'd seemed surprised by the way she ran up to him and said, "We've been waiting for you." In fact, he'd taken a step back. "I'm honored, I guess, but may I ask what for?"

"You've been gone for three weeks and we've done all the work without you. We've been waiting to meet you but you're never here."

"Meet me?" he'd asked.

At that point Ivan had joined them. Jessica let him know that this was Norm.

"Nice to finally see you face to face," Ivan had said, shaking his hand. "You're not what I expected."

Norm seemed to shrink under Ivan's grip and could only get out a few more words, which Jessica, now recalling the story for Davy, could not exactly remember. "I think he said, 'Can we start this over again?'"

"And that's when the alarm went off," Jessica said. "Next thing I knew I was running through the house, punching the code on the alarm box. When I got outside—and I swear it was only a minute later—Ivan told me that Mom and Norm had rushed off as if they'd just robbed a bank."

Davy hopped off the filing cabinet and looked over to see how Ivan was doing. He had a hand on one of the cop's shoulders. Soon the officers shook his hand, climbed back into their patrol car, and were on their way.

As the crowd thinned, the Spiveys and Spivey-Modines, who like everyone else had come out front, barraged Jessica with questions that she couldn't answer.

"So where did your mother go?" Cy asked.

"I didn't even see her leave."

"They took off like Bonnie and Clyde," Davy said.

M.J. scratched under her cast. "Maybe we should send out a posse." She started to laugh.

"This is serious." Jessica was annoyed that M.J. found the situation funny.

"I know, dear." M.J. patted her arm.

***

Eventually everyone went back to where they'd been—Jessica and Ivan to the front, Davy to the side of the house, Cy and Ellen to the garage, and Casper and M.J. to the patio, where they stood in for Lydia. By the end of the morning they'd sold a good half of the items. Davy and their father had particular success; little remained of the office supplies and exercise equipment—all of it priced to go.

In the early afternoon the Spiveys loaded into the back of their rented van. Jessica thanked them for their work.

"I'm sorry about your mom," Cy said to no one in particular. "I'm sure she'll show up soon."

"We know," Jessica said. "She always shows up."

Ellen climbed into the passenger seat. "Give your mother our best," she said.

"And could you make sure she gets her copy of the photograph? It's in the garage." Cy smiled, his teeth bright against his tanned face. "There's one for you, too, Ivan." He put on his mirrored sunglasses. Jessica glimpsed her own reflection in them as she hugged her father.

As Cy was about to close the door of the van, M.J. leaned forward. "I wouldn't worry about your mother, my dears. As we like to say, '
Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point.
'" She sat back, as if she'd summed up in a phrase all there was to know.

"Perhaps you'll tell us what that means?" Casper asked, and M.J. said, "The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of."

Jessica was putting some of the boxes back in the garage when Walter Hill, her mother's friend from the library, drove up to the house. He was embarrassed at having arrived so late and apologized for getting the time of the yard sale wrong. "So is your mother here?" He was in slacks and a faded black polo shirt. His cheeks seemed flushed as if he'd been in a hurry.

Jessica refrained from telling him what had happened. "She stepped out for a while."

Walter asked about the
FOR SALE
sign and seemed surprised that he hadn't heard about the house going on the market. "She's not leaving the area, is she? You know, your mother..."he began, and a worried look crossed his face. "We've known each other for a long time. I'd hate it if she moved."

As frustrated as Jessica was with Lydia right now, she was touched by how her mother's friendship mattered to this man. "She wouldn't leave Detroit," Jessica reassured him, though it occurred to her that at this point anything was possible.

"Well, that's good news." Walter seemed relieved. "Your mother's one of a kind. We need to keep her around." He cast his eyes over the remains of the yard sale. "I get more calls about her books than anyone's by far. She's the best car historian going, and you know why? She's a storyteller."

When Ivan came up and introduced himself to Walter, Jessica took the opportunity to free Bedlam from the basement. She walked the dog past the zoo to the park, thinking about her mother as a storyteller. Trouble was, at the moment too many parts were missing from the story. Norm had looked so confused when Jessica had accosted him, and her mom had seemed nothing short of panicked. Hours had gone by, and still no one had heard from her. Davy had called her cell phone and got her voice mail instead. In the past when she ran off she always called soon after to say where she had gone—a final gesture in her play for attention. But lately it seemed that she would rather no one know.

When Jessica and Bedlam returned to the house, Walter was helping her brothers move tables from the front yard down to the basement. Walter looked a few years older than her mother, but he seemed in pretty good shape. Still, he didn't need to be lifting tables, and she said so.

A band of sweat had gathered on his brow. "It's my penance for missing a great yard sale." Jessica was oddly charmed by his stubbornness.

For the next hour or so they cleaned up the yard. Everything that was left fit into the garage. Ivan walked the last wobbly chair through the door, slid it closed, and announced that he was starving. When he and Davy went in the house to make sandwiches, Jessica sat on the porch with Walter, who was finishing a glass of water.

"Well, I should be getting home," he said, a touch of melancholy in his voice. "But please tell your mom that I stopped by." His nice pants were streaked with dirt, his collar askew, and it occurred to Jessica that he had stayed all this time waiting for Lydia to return.

Jessica went into the kitchen, where her brothers were eating corn chips and sandwiches at the counter. A bit of turkey fell from Ivan's sandwich onto the floor, and Bedlam snatched it up. Ivan pushed him with his foot as the dog made his getaway.

"Don't do that," Jessica scolded.

"Dirty Harry can handle it. He's a tough dog."

Bedlam hid behind her. She made a sandwich and brought it to the table. "Why don't you guys come eat here," she said after a long silence. "Let's talk about this Mom situation."

Davy sat down with his back to the yard. Ivan got a beer from the fridge and settled in kitty-corner to him by the wall where family pictures used to be. Lydia hadn't rehung them since the painters had finished the kitchen.

"First she hires a guy, Chickie Paterakis, and claims he did no work," Jessica began. "But he obviously did a lot of the work around here. I'm beginning to think that Norm did nothing. I mean, his shirts are all over the house, his boots are by the back door. Did you see all those power bars and vitamin supplements? There's evidence everywhere. But where is
he,
I'd like to know?"

"That scene last week when I was headed back to Chicago. That was weird," Davy added.

"Remember I told you how she wouldn't give Davy a ride to the train station, made him take a cab," Jessica said to Ivan. "When Norm drove up to the house, Mom flew into a frenzy, just like today. It's getting ridiculous. She seems bound and determined never to let us meet him."

"Maybe he's a vampire," Ivan said. "She's trying to keep him out of the daylight."

"She's supposed to be in love with this guy. She talked about eloping with him, living with him. Is this what they call crazy in love—setting off the alarm just for kicks?"

"Who said she did that? It's not her fault the alarm went off."

"Are you sure? Then how did it happen? Mom claimed she didn't have her keys, but then she drove off."

Ivan hesitated. "I think you're overreacting. She was flustered."

"When was the last time Mom called you, Ivan? You used to talk at least every week."

"We still talk. She's been a little distracted, but a lot's going on."

Jessica leaned forward. "And Davy—you've had the worst month of your life. But when's the last time Mom called you or sat you down and asked how you're dealing with work and Teresa? A few months ago she was all in your business. Not anymore."

Davy considered this. "She
has
been busy," he said uncertainly.

"But Mom's always been busy. That's never stopped her from picking up the phone or, more likely, getting in a car and driving to Chicago to make sure you were okay. If she were herself she'd have knocked on your door the same day Sanjay announced that Lowball was folding."

The phone rang and Jessica jumped up. "All I'm saying is, it's time to stop defending her and start to take inventory—and I'm not talking about books and furniture."

"If it's her, be nice," Davy said.