Around the Bend Read Online Free PDF

chest pains? Find a lump? Tell me, Ma. Don’t—” But I couldn’t finish that sentence. I didn’t want her to surprise me, the way my father had. Didn’t want her to shut me out, like he had. But for some reason, actually saying it was harder than thinking it.
    “Don’t worry. If there was something I thought you should know, I’d—” She cut off her sentence. “Hilary, where is the car?”
    “Right there, Ma. In the spot next to the—”
    Before the words “white van” escaped me, I saw the empty space. My mind rewound quickly, slipping in the mental tape of when we’d parked. What had been near us, where we’d entered the building. Had we come out of the rear exit by accident? Gotten turned around? Been sidetracked by a second white van?
    I spun around, my wrist shading my eyes, looking for my little red Mustang.
    And seeing nothing but a sea of primary colors, the shiny finishes of America’s rental car industry.
    “The car was right there, I swear.” I left my mother on the sidewalk with the coffees, then ran down the length of the sidewalk, weaving in and out of travelers heading inside for a comfort break. Back again, around to the back of the building, up to the gas station, down to the trucks lined up domino-style. No Mustang anywhere.
    “It’s gone,” I said, my pitch high with disbelief as I returned to my mother’s side. “Who would steal my car?”
    “Oh, God.” Ma pressed a hand to her heart. “Who would steal Reginald? And your father?”
     
    Two hours later, we finished filing the police report and going over the meager evidence. The parking lot surveillance tape revealed that my car had, indeed, been jacked by a redheaded guy wearing a blue bandana and a backpack. He’d jimmied the lock, slipped inside, his head disappearing beneath the dash for a moment, before he had the car running and gone. All in all, it took exactly sixteen seconds for my car, my father’s picture and my mother’s pig to disappear.
    “We’ll keep an eye out, ma’am,” said the cop, who didn’t look old enough to shave, never mind pin a badge on his chest, “but a car like that, in a state this size…” He shrugged, then left the room, not leaving so much as a shred of hope behind.
    “Goddamn it!” I shouted at the cold cement block walls of the New York State Police building. “Who the hell would do this?”
    “Watch your language, dear,” my mother said, but her words sounded robotic, dull.
    “My car has just been stolen. I think it’s a good time to swear.”
    She considered that. “You may be right. When we catch the monster who did this, I’m going to sue him for everything he has, right down to his goddamned underwear.”
    We shared a laugh. A second thread of connection extended between us and I wondered if it was possible to stitch a connection, one thread at a time, and build a bridge over that glacier between us, rather than trying to thaw it. Had I been going about this all wrong for years? Or was I just reading too much into a few hours spent together in a plain gray police station room?
    My mother rose and paced for a moment, muttering about lawsuits and car thieves before returning to her seat, seeming winded. Or maybe just overcome by the whole grueling experience. Either way, I had no doubt she’d go after the guy who did this. People didn’t mess with Rosemary Delaney because she wasn’t the type to forgive and forget, even when the judge found in the other party’s favor.
    That, she said, was why God created appeals court.
    Even after sitting for a bit, Ma’s face was red with exertion, her breath coming a little too hard, too fast. “You okay?” I asked.
    “Fine. Upset. That’s all.”
    “Listen, we should rent a car and go back home. I’m sure the police will find mine. And if not, there’s always insurance.”
    “No,” my mother said, the word quiet and final, in her no-argument voice. “We will not go home.”
    “Ma, we have no car. No