Chapter 16

“Flume,” Grandma says.

“What?”

“It’s a narrow opening,” she says. “I used to be an English teacher and sometimes I use big words even though it can be impolite.”

She’s either looking at the traffic scenario or I’m giving her too much credit. We’ve slid between a red flatbed truck carrying lumber and a beautifully reconditioned classic Jaguar. The Prius is five cars back. I can’t make out the driver but he appears to wear a hooded sweatshirt. I can’t see the license plate.

“You’re on edge, grandson.”

“Not at all. Everything’s under control.” Not exactly.

My thinking: If I take three quick rights, I can get behind him, or I could pretend I don’t see him and let him get close.

“Be careful, Irving,” Lane says.

I look forward and realize I’ve almost hit the truck in front of us. I slam the brakes to avoid collision.

When I look in the rearview mirror again, the Prius has disappeared.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of Brown & Morrow. They’re located in a modest two-story complex that includes a dentist, a dermatology clinic, and an imaging center with an MRI machine. At the entrance to the small parking lot stands a weather-worn statue of a woman I think is supposed to be Hygieia, the goddess of health. Weeds grow at the base of the deity’s cheap plaster seat.

We were here yesterday, when Grandma refused to exit the car to go to the dental appointment.

“Does this look familiar?” I ask.

Grandma doesn’t say anything. She’s looking down at her game device, turning it over in her hand.

“Do you want to go inside?”

“Harry will look out for me,” she says, absently.

“Did you see Adrianna here?”

No response.

“The man in blue?”

There are a dozen parked cars in the lot with us. A woman in a long skirt helps a frail man, presumably her father, climb from a minivan into a wheelchair. The office doors all face the lot — even the ones on the second floor, which are accessible through an open balcony. So I can see Grandma at all times.

She’s safe here.

“Want to play a game?”

No answer.

I power up her phone. I click the icon for Tetris. Grandma seems transfixed by the falling blocks, though she’s not playing.

“Will you wait a few minutes? I’ll be right back.”

“Be careful,” she says, without looking up.

“Right back,” I repeat.

I lock the car doors.

* * *

The dental office is on the second floor, above the imaging center. I look down at my car. Lane sits quietly.

As I approach the dental office, the door opens. Out walks a Napoleon complex: ninety-eight pounds of hair and bar fight. He wears a jeans jacket with a patch that reads: “Khe Sahn Survivor.” He glowers and closes the door behind him rather than holding it open for me. The product of another festive dental visit.

The door is friendlier. A sign says: “We welcome Medicare, MediCal, and Medicaid.” There is a picture of a cartoon horse, smiling, with a carrot sticking out of its mouth like a cigar.

Inside, I’m met with more attitude.

“We’re closed,” says a blazing black-haired woman with the hollow cheeks of an eating disorder sitting behind the reception desk.

“I just saw someone walk out.”

“Last patient.”

I looked at the clock on the wall. 2:15 p.m.

“Dentists keep odd hours.”

“It’s our lunch. Some people can only come in during their lunch hour, so we eat later.”

“What if I just have a question — about my grandmother? She’s a patient here and I’m worried about her.”

She shakes her head.

“Patient confidentiality. Call if you want to make an appointment. I should warn you that our next opening for a new patient is in January.”

I step toward the desk. “What’s for lunch today—panini?”

“Sir, I told you that we’re closed.”

“I’m just getting a card, so I can schedule an appointment.”

She stares at me as I take a card.

“When I make an appointment, is it possible I could make one with Adrianna? I’ve heard good things about her.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“You seem unusually adamant about that.”

“I told you: we’re closed.”

The discussion is over. She follows me to the door and locks it behind me.

* * *

I’m sitting next to Grandma in the car. She’s clicking the buttons on her phone as blocks fall down the tiny screen. She’s not really playing so much as absently interacting with the game. Her brain on autopilot.

I inch it out of her hands. “There were no signs warning me to floss,” I say.

She looks up at me. “Oh you’ve absolutely got to floss.”

“Grandma Lane, nothing about that place screamed dental office.”

I look on the card I took. It reads: “For appointment, call 415–555–1041.”

Maybe Pauline’s right. Maybe I’m seeing conspiracies everywhere and focusing on distractions and pathologies instead of real life.

“Still,” I say.

“What’s that?”

I take Grandma’s hand in mine.

“Do you remember Thelma and Louise?”

“Were they in our family?” she asks.

“Batman and Robin, Sherlock and Watson, the Lone Ranger and Tonto?”

“Sherlock was a great man.”

“We could be the new dynamic duo: the Overwhelmed and the Octogenarian.”

“I don’t know them.”

“How about: ‘Kid Commitment Phobe and Granny.’ My superpower can be fleeing, and yours knitting.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I can come up with something better than that. Give me some time.”

“Time is nothing to be squandered, Nathaniel,” she says, seeming bemused.

“Grandma?”

“Yes, grandson?”

“How about Butch Cassidy and the Sunset Kid?”

“I like that very much.”

“Time for us to leap into action.”

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