The Rules of Inheritance Read Online Free PDF Page B

the mountain. I wonder how long it will be before I have to brake.
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    My mother is dying.
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    My mother is dying.
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    I say it louder.
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    MY MOTHER IS DYING.
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    The words mean nothing. I take a drag on my cigarette and steer the coasting car around a curve.
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    My mother is DYING.
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    Nothing.
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    Before long I’m crossing the border into Massachusetts, the road has leveled off. I think about how happy my father said my mother was when she returned home from parents’ weekend. He said she was glowing, that she couldn’t stop gushing about my life at school. I look at the little clock, calculate the hours, light another cigarette.
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    By 6:00 p.m. my body has adjusted to the constant hum of the engine. I’ve only stopped once, for gas and to pee. I’ve smoked too many cigarettes. My heart is pounding. I’ve made it through the endlessly boring stretch of Connecticut, but I’ve still got New York, New Jersey, and Maryland to go.
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    I cross the George Washington Bridge and watch Manhattan fade into the background. I think about my mother living there for all those years. I remind myself that she is dying.
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    DYING.
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    Claire, your mother is dying.
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    Nothing. I feel nothing.
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    I make my way onto the New Jersey turnpike and press my foot even harder against the accelerator. The light is ebbing from the sky and my chest feels tight. Maybe I’ll get pulled over.
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    Do you know how fast you were going, young lady?
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    I do officer, but my mother is dying.
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    Dying?
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    DYING.
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    Right now?
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    Right now.
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    Go, go, he’ll say, his eyes welling with sympathy and awe for this brave, young girl who is alone out in the world, her mother dying.
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    But I don’t get pulled over. I just keep driving, the needle on the speedometer bobbing steadily at ninety-five miles per hour. My heart is pounding and I can’t tell if the vibrating in my chest is from the engine or my own breathlessness. I’ve smoked too many cigarettes. Pound, pound, skip. I’m having heart palpitations. Pound, pound, skip. I squeeze my eyes tight for a moment, take deep breaths. Pound, pound, skip.
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    I start seeing signs for the town where Christopher is living. I want to stop. It’s all I can think about.
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    After the third sign I let the car coast off the highway, down an exit ramp. I park at a gas station and stand in front of a pay phone.
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    I stand there for a long time, just breathing and watching the light fade from the sky. It’s cold and my breath comes in plumes. Finally I pick up the phone and dial the numbers. Christopher’s aunt answers.
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    Is Christopher there? My voice is whispery.
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    There is a long pause while I wait for him to come to the phone. I think about hanging up, about getting back in the car, about continuing on. But then he picks up. I tell him where I am, what I’m doing. He gives me the name of a coffee shop nearby, says he’ll be there in ten minutes.
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    I’m shaking as I dial the next number, the one that will connect me to my father.
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    Dad? I’m in New Jersey.
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    I tell him I’m stopping for coffee with a friend, that I need a break.
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    I can’t breathe, I say. But I’m only about three hours away. I’ll be there soon.
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    My father tells me to take my time. He says that everything will be fine. He is at the hospital with my mom. She is still unconscious. He wants me to breathe. He wants me to rest. He wants me to be safe.
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    Can you stay the night, he asks?
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    You can see your mother in the morning, he says.
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    These are all the things I’m hoping he’ll say.
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    Guilt reaches its fingers through my rib cage, massages my heart. Pound, pound, skip.
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    I stay in the coffee shop parking lot and lean against the hood of the car as I wait for Christopher. It’s cold and I’m shivering.
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    I