The Weight (25 page)

I waited until the husband’s car pulled off. He drove a big white Lexus, and he was real careful with it, always checking when he backed out of the driveway. I didn’t want him to look up one day and see the shades move, so I just poked a tiny hole in one of them with an ice pick. I could see out fine.

When I was sure, I packed the trunk of my car like I was going away for a long time.

She came outside while I was stowing away the last of my stuff. Leaned over the rail and looked down, putting on a show.

“I think I’ll start working out anyway. You think that’s a good idea?”

“Like I said, the way you can tell, if it makes you feel better.”

“And, like
I
said before, all that matters is that you
look
better, Stan. It’s all right to call you that, isn’t it? I mean, you don’t look like a ‘Stanley,’ somehow.”

“You don’t look like a Mary Margaret,” I said.

“Margo, remember?”

“Sure, I do. I was just saying … it’s like we have something in common.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that. Well, you have a good time, okay?”

“It’s work.”

“Some things are hard work and fun, too, aren’t they?”

“I … I think that’s right.”

She turned and walked back inside.

I had already asked the guy who ran the gas station a few blocks from the railroad if I could rent a space for my car.

He was surprised at first. “You could just leave it over in the commuter lot. It’s pretty safe around here.”

“No, I mean for a couple, three months. You know how people are. They see a car sitting alone for more than a few days, they come back at night.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he said, like it made him sad. “So why don’t you just leave it at home?”

“I don’t have a house. Just an apartment. I have to park on the street. That’s okay for overnight, but …”

“I get it. But I couldn’t guarantee you indoor space. It just depends on whatever comes in, you know? I mean, I could park it out back; there’s the chain-link, and the dogs, too. Anybody would have to want your car pretty bad to risk that.”

I knew what he was saying: who’d want
my
car that bad?

“That sounds good enough. This way, I can catch the train, jump off in Queens, and I’ll be at JFK pretty quick. You got any idea what those long-term lots at the airport are getting now?”

“Yeah. Everything in the city’s gone through the goddamn roof. How about a hundred a month?”

“That’s fair. For both of us, I think.”

I gave him three months in front. Took my suitcases and the shoulder duffel out of the trunk, and gave him the keys—I had another set.

“I’d give you a lift to the station, but …”

“That’s okay. I only need to catch the ten-fifty-five.”

That’s the train I caught. It didn’t matter where I switched—I think every subway line stops somewhere near the Port Authority. Forty-second Street, Times Square, Grand Central—they’re all close enough to walk.

There were a lot of kids on the subway for that time of day. All
different kinds; I guess with summer vacation, they didn’t have anything to do. A couple of times, I wished I hadn’t been hauling all that baggage around. It made me uneasy, no matter what I did. If I put down the suitcases, one of them could be snatched. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have my hands free.

A seat would be better, but I never saw an open one.

When the train finally stopped, I told myself I’d been worrying about nothing.

I made it over to Port Authority with more than two hours to spare. After I paid, I asked the tired-looking black girl on the other side of the counter what platform my bus would be leaving from. She pointed up at this huge monitor. Not real friendly, but I could see it wasn’t anything personal.

They told me I had to check the suitcases. One of the bus people said something about my duffel, too, but another one said the bus was going to be half empty, so what was the big deal?

I was glad about that. You make a fuss, you draw attention to yourself.

The guy in the uniform was right—there couldn’t have been more than a dozen people on the bus when we pulled out. I found a pair of seats all the way at the back. Nobody would want those seats if they had any other choice; the bathroom was just across from them.

I put the duffel on the seat next to me, all the outside pockets facing me, with the strap looped around my wrist. Just habit—who’s going to snatch a bag on a bus?

Probably everybody on that bus had a different reason for going wherever they were headed. I never try and figure out stuff like that—there’s no way to ever find out if I’d guessed right.

It was easier after it got dark. A few people put their lights on—to read, I guess.

The bus smelled a lot like prison. People smells, I mean. Closed in. That kind of smell, it gets into everything—you couldn’t get it
out with a barrelful of bleach and a power-washer. The seat was a lot better than anything you could get in prison, but, even cranked way back, you still had to sleep kind of sitting up, so it was a push between that seat and a cell bunk.

When we stopped to change buses, some people bought stuff to eat or a book to read. A couple of them tried to smoke a whole pack of cigarettes while we were waiting.

They changed drivers, too. The bus filled up a little more, but it was still about half empty. Nobody even got close to sitting near me.

I heard people talking to each other. A real skinny girl walked past me to use the toilet. She saw me, ran her tongue around her mouth. I looked out the window.

She was in there a long time. I hoped she wasn’t still poking herself, trying to find a vein. Or nodding out.

A guy walked back toward me. I could see him coming in the reflection from the window. He wanted the toilet, but he was out of luck. He shrugged, like he was used to it.

The skinny girl finally came out. She had to put her hand on the top of the seats to get down the aisle, but she made it.

I felt sorry for the next person to go in there.

Then I must have fallen asleep.

It was bright outside when I opened my eyes. The toilet was what I expected. When I came out, I poured some of this clear stuff over my hands, and rubbed until they were dry. Then I took out one of those tubes for keeping your lips from cracking and used it on each nostril.

I had two of the power bars and a whole bottle of water. I made them last a long time.

It was still light when the bus pulled into the last stop. There were a couple of cabs waiting, but I moved in the opposite direction.

One thing for sure, I didn’t want to hang around the bus station. Places like that, they get bad at night, no matter where you are. And I knew I didn’t look too good—a day and a half on a bus,
nobody would.
Solly should have told me more about this
, I was saying to myself when a horn beeped. A little beep, like, polite, almost. A dark-blue car was at the curb. The window nearest me slid down. I didn’t think that had anything to do with me, so I moved away a little bit … but the car followed along.

I looked in the open window. It was a woman—her face was shadowed, but I could see her legs.

“Get in,” she said. “I’ll take you where you’re going.”

I knew she had to be Rena. No woman goes to a bus station to pick up guys.