London Is the Best City in America

/> I put my hand over the receiver. “You need to talk to her,” I mouthed to Josh. “Please.”

He shook his head, and pointed toward the stick-figure sign marking the men’s restroom. Then he got up and headed that way.

I took my hand off the receiver.

“Not to mention the fact that your father’s a mess,” she was saying. “What did you give him to drink last night? He had a beer for breakfast and is saying crazy things about hairs of dogs.”

Dogs. Crap. I didn’t want any further reminder of where Josh and I were headed. We’d be there in an hour now, less than an hour, and who knew what was waiting for us after that? Who knew what was waiting for him?

“You two should just stay away from here this afternoon, okay? Stay away until five or so, if you can. The fewer people here, the better.”

I let a deep breath out, glad for some good news. At least we weren’t going to be suspicious for staying away from the house all day, wouldn’t be missed. We’d just be following the rules.

“Now, what’s going on with you?” she said. “How is everything? How is Meryl holding up?”

“Oh, well, you know Meryl,” I said. “She tries not to let these things really get to her.”

“You know, that’s funny,” she said. “Because that’s exactly what Meryl said when she called here a few minutes ago looking for you guys.”

I felt my eyes opening wide in disbelief. Total panic. She knew we weren’t with Meryl. She knew! I looked in the direction of the bathroom, but Josh had disappeared inside. I considered hanging up the phone, pretending later that we’d just gotten disconnected. She would keep calling back, though. I knew this. I knew she would leave a good seventeen messages on my voice mail if she couldn’t get through.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” she said.

It didn’t seem like the ideal time to point out that it was Josh’s note, Josh’s lie. But I wanted to. I wanted off the hook. Twenty-six years old, and—inside—I was still a tattletale.

“But you know what? It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You don’t need to tell me. Because I already know. What do you think? He’s my son. Obviously I would know something like this. And don’t give me any of your niceties about how Josh doesn’t want to worry me. Since the twenty-one and a half hours I was in labor with him, I’ve lived the majority of my life worried.”

I moved my now-empty plate farther away from me, the smell of leftover syrup starting to make me queasy. “Easy with the imagery,” I said.

“The point is,” she said, “if Josh didn’t want to worry me, he wouldn’t be off easy-riding.”

“Easy-riding?”

“You know, getting on a Harley. Cruisin’ down the highway.”

I looked at the receiver as if it would explain to me what the hell was going on here. “Who is this?” I said.

“All I’m saying, Emmy, is that I saw Josh’s face when we were watching that movie the other night. The Erin Brockovich movie with Julia Roberts. Josh was looking at that motorcycle rider who played her boyfriend. Talking all about Harley engines, and how taking care of one of them properly was like taking care of a patient. Like I was supposed to be excited that he could talk intelligently about such things. I knew what he was thinking. When can I get myself on one of those? And let me tell you, I wasn’t impressed.”

Josh sat down at the table and gave me a look of disbelief that I was still on the phone.

I put my fingers to my lips for him to stay quiet.

“Just one question. You’re not planning on going also, are you? You know what that’s called? Enabling. What you need to do is try to stop him. Because he thinks this is his last window of opportunity. God knows Meryl won’t let him go. But he’ll listen to you. He’ll listen to you before he’ll listen to me.”

Josh was staring at me. “What’s going on?” he mouthed. “What is she saying to you?”

“I hear you, Mom,” I said, looking at Josh.

“Good. Because if you tell him not to do this,” she said, “he won’t.”

We passed the Pascoag town line right around 11:00 A.M., the sign for Hamilton Breeders not long after that. The sun was shooting down strong, and we had all the windows open, the air conditioner on us. Josh took a left onto the long dirt road right beyond the Hamilton announcement—a little blue arrow, directing us to there. Everything around us seemed to be getting woodsier: thick trees and long, broken branches, logs covering the thin road. But eventually we came upon a second blue arrow directing us left and then a third one pointing us right, and before I knew it, we were pulling into this large clearing and underneath a tall archway into wide open space. The sky hit down on acres of land, little hills, the forest now just a canopy in the distance.

To the left was a large fenced-in field, several low-riding chain-linked dog pens, matching white dog runs. To the right was a large white farmhouse, and—behind it—a misty lake. As we pulled in, the dogs all ran out, in succession, barking loudly. It was the first time I’d ever seen a bullmastiff, let alone several. They kind of looked like small horses. Protecting their empire.

I turned and looked at Josh. “This is where she lives?” I said.

“This is where she lives,” he said. And he was nodding his head, proud, like he was responsible, like it was his home too.