Chapter 3 - Yellow Walls After Daylight
Leo's car seat buckle stuck on the second try and I had to kneel on the hot asphalt of my aunt's driveway to get it to click. He didn't fight me. That was the part that scared me. At the deck he'd raised his hand high and cried out loud, and now he just sat back and let me pull the strap snug over his white t-shirt with the thin stripes and the little blue pocket. His cheeks were still wet. I wiped one with my thumb and he turned his face toward the window.
My name is Jenna. I was twenty-eight and already tired of apologizing for my son's hunger.
We pulled out at 4:17. I knew because the dashboard clock blinked when I started the car and the radio came on too loud for a second. The backyard noise followed us for half a block — somebody laughing, a cooler lid slamming, my mom calling something I couldn't make out. In the rearview I saw Grandma Carol still standing on the deck in her green floral dress with that white plate of fries balanced in one hand. She wasn't waving. She was watching.
The county road out to Route 9 was empty in that Saturday-afternoon way. Corn on one side, a white fence and horses on the other. Sun cut straight through the windshield and made the dust on the dash glow. I flipped the visor down and kept both hands at ten and two even though nobody was around to care. My phone buzzed once in my diaper bag on the passenger seat and then stopped. I didn't look. I told myself if it was important they'd call back, and then I felt sick for thinking it because they'd already called back eleven times.
Leo didn't talk for the first five minutes. He stared out his window with his mouth a little open, the way he does when he's trying not to cry again. His hand rested on the buckle. Every so often he'd sniff hard and rub his nose on the back of his wrist. I kept glancing at him in the mirror and then back at the road so I wouldn't make him feel watched.
"You thirsty, buddy?" I said.
He shook his head.
"You want the window down a little?"
He shook his head again, then whispered, "Hot."
I cracked his window two inches. The air that came in smelled like cut grass and gas from the station we passed at the crossroads. An American flag snapped on its pole out front. The ice machine sign said 7 lbs $2.99. Leo watched it go by without blinking.
I didn't have a plan except getting him somewhere cool and quiet. The house was too loud. My apartment was twenty minutes back the other way and his nap blanket was there, but I couldn't picture turning around and driving past that deck again with everyone still out there. Then I saw the little yellow building tucked between the tire shop and the empty lot where they sold pumpkins in October. Dot's. I'd eaten pancakes there once after a dentist appointment. The windows glowed even in daylight.
I pulled into the parking lot too fast and the gravel popped under the tires. There were only two other cars, a pickup with a dog in the back and an old sedan with a church sticker on the bumper. I killed the engine and sat a second with my hands in my lap. The air conditioner ticked as it shut off. My phone buzzed again, muffled under a burp cloth and a pack of wipes. I pressed my palm flat against the outside of the bag until it went still.
"Hey," I said, turning around. "Want to go inside where it's cool? Just you and me for a little bit?"
Leo looked at the diner, then at me. He nodded once.
I came around and unbuckled him and lifted him out. He was getting too big to carry, his legs dangling past my hips, but he wrapped his arms around my neck and put his face into my shoulder and didn't let go. His shirt stuck to my skin where he'd been sweating. His breathing was shallow and warm against my collarbone. I locked the car with the key fob and the beep sounded too loud in the empty lot.
The door had a bell that jingled when I pushed it with my hip. The cold air hit us first, then the smell — coffee and bacon grease and clean dishwater. The walls were painted a soft yellow and the ceiling lights were on even though daylight came through the front windows. A wood counter ran along the left with round stools bolted to the floor. Framed pictures hung crooked near the pie case. It was quiet except for the hum of the drink cooler and a fork clinking somewhere in the back.
My shoulders dropped before I told them to.
I slid onto a stool near the middle and settled Leo on the one next to me, keeping one arm around his back so he wouldn't slip. The vinyl was cracked and cool through his shorts. The wooden counter was worn smooth under my forearms, nicked near the edge where a hundred people had tapped their coins. Leo put both hands in his lap and stared down at the wood. He didn't swing his feet. He didn't look for the crayons in the plastic cup by the napkins.
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The harsh white daylight from the deck was gone. Here the light was warmer, yellower, pooling under the ceiling fixtures. I could see the dried salt on his eyelashes and the red rim around his eyes. He leaned just enough that his shoulder pressed into my side.
We sat there like that, not ordering yet, just breathing in the cool air while my bag buzzed soft against my ankle and I left it alone.
