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Hour Fifteen
A thin stand of oak trees obscures the cornfields that stretch out to the horizon.
The landscape changes, but nothing else. Big interstates like this one make the
country into a single place: McDonald’s, BP, Wendy’s. I know I should probably
hate that about interstates and yearn for the halcyon days of yore, back when you
could be drenched in local color at every turn— but whatever. I like this. I like
the consistency. I like that I can drive fifteen hours from home without the world
changing too much. Lacey double-belts me down in the wayback. “You need the
rest,” she says. “You’ve been through a lot.” It’s amazing that no one has yet
blamed me for not being more proactive in the battle against the cow.
As I trail off, I hear them making one another laugh—not the words exactly,
but the cadence, the rising and falling pitches of banter. I like just listening, just
loafing on the grass. And I decide that if we get there on time but don’t find her,
that’s what we’ll do: we’ll drive around the Catskills and find a place to sit
around and hang out, loafing on the grass, talking, telling jokes. Maybe the sure
knowledge that she is alive makes all of that possible again—even if I never see
proof of it. I can almost imagine a happiness without her, the ability to let her go,
to feel our roots are connected even if I never see that leaf of grass again.
Hour Sixteen

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I sleep.
Hour Seventeen
I sleep.
Hour Eighteen
I sleep.
Hour Nineteen
When I wake up, Radar and Ben are loudly debating the name of the car. Ben
would like to name it Muhammad Ali, because, just like Muhammad Ali, the
minivan takes a punch and keeps going. Radar says you can’t name a car after a
historical figure. He thinks the car ought to be called Lurlene, because it sounds
right.
“You want to name it Lurlene?” Ben asks, his voice rising with the horror of
it all. “Hasn’t this poor vehicle been through enough?!”
I unbuckle one seat belt and sit up. Lacey turns around to me. “Good
morning,” she says. “Welcome to the great state of New York.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine forty-two.” Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but the shorter strands
have strayed. “How’s it going?” she asks.
I tell her. “I’m scared.”
Lacey smiles at me and nods. “Yeah, me, too. It’s like there’s too many
things that could happen to prepare for all of them.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“I hope you and me stay friends this summer,” she says. And that helps, for
some reason. You can never tell what is going to help.
Radar is now saying that the car should be called the Gray Goose. I lean

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forward a little so everyone can hear me and say, “The Dreidel. The harder you
spin it, the better it performs.”
Ben nods. Radar turns around. “I think you should be the official stuff-
namer.”