Later

58

The road ran upward in a series of lazy S-turns. At first there were some houses with mailboxes beside the road, but they were farther and farther apart. The trees began to crowd in, their shadows meeting and making it seem later than it was.

“How many do you think there are?” Liz asked.

“Huh?”

“People like you. Ones who can see the dead.”

“How should I know?”

“Did you ever run into another one?”

“No, but it isn’t exactly the kind of thing you talk about. Like starting a conversation with ‘Hey, do you see dead people?’ ”

“I suppose not. But you sure didn’t get it from your mother.” Like she was talking about the color of my eyes or my curly hair. “What about your father?”

“I don’t know who he is. Or was. Or whatever.” Talking about my father made me uneasy, probably because my mother refused to.

“You never asked?”

“Sure I asked. She doesn’t answer.” I turned in my seat to look at her. “She never said anything about it… about him… to you?”

“I asked and got what you got. Brick wall. Not like Tee at all.”

More curves, tighter now. The Wallkill was far below us, glittering in the late afternoon sunshine. Or maybe it was early evening. I’d left my watch at home on my nightstand, and the dashboard clock said 8:15, which was totally fucked up. Meanwhile the quality of the road was deteriorating. Liz’s car rumbled over crumbling patches and thudded into potholes.

“Maybe she was so drunk she doesn’t remember. Or maybe she got raped.” Neither idea had ever crossed my mind, and I recoiled. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m only guessing. And you’re old enough to at least consider what your mom might have gone through.”

I didn’t contradict her out loud, but in my mind I did. In fact, I thought she was full of shit. Are you ever old enough to wonder if your life is the result of blackout sex in the backseat of some stranger’s car, or that your mom was hauled into an alley and raped? I really don’t think so. That Liz did probably said all I needed to know about what she’d become. Maybe what she was all along.

“Maybe the talent came from your dear old Daddy-O. Too bad you can’t ask him.”

I thought I wouldn’t ask him anything if I ran across him. I thought I would just punch him in the mouth.

“On the other hand, maybe it came from nowhere. I grew up in this little New Jersey town and there was a family down the street from us, the Joneses. Husband, wife, and five kids in this little shacky trailer. The parents were dumb as stone boats and so were four of the kids. The fifth was a fucking genius. Taught himself the guitar at six, skipped two grades, went to high school at twelve. Where did that come from? You tell me.”

“Maybe Mrs. Jones had sex with the mailman,” I said. This was a line I’d heard at school. It made Liz laugh.

“You’re a hot sketch, Jamie. I wish we could still be friends.”

“Then maybe you should have acted like one,” I said.