I felt my throat thicken. I could not remember her calling me that in years, not since she was little. It was as though, with one word, she had emerged from a period when it was not cool to show that you loved your dad.
As we walked out of the mall together, I kept scanning, looking for Trevor. My guess was he’d packed it in. We came out into the night air. “Where you parked?” Angie asked. I pointed in the general direction, but said I would walk her to her car before going to mine.
“How is it so far?” Angie asked, referring to our new wheels.
“Pretty good, although I might get it checked out. It wouldn’t start for me right away when I left the house. Had to try it three times before it would turn over.”
“Lemon city,” Angie said.
“I’m sure it was just a one-time thing.”
“Hey,” Angie said, looking puzzled, “you left the house long before I did. What did you do before you went to the mall?” Her question made sense, given that when she did find me at the Midtown Center, I had yet to do any shopping.
“Hobby shop,” I said. I was losing track of the number of times I’d lied to my own children this evening. “There was a new version of the Enterprise ship, from the Star Trek movies, the early ones, with the original crew?”
Angie sighed. “You’re such a dork. At least you won’t be quite as nerdy in your new clothes.”
I was about to laugh when I spotted a black Chevy, lights on, engine presumably running, parked alongside the sidewalk that went around the mall’s perimeter. I could see one head silhouetted behind the wheel. It was hard to tell whether it was Trevor, because he appeared to be holding something in front of his face. Binoculars, maybe, or a camera.
“What is it?” Angie asked. “You see something?”
“No, nothing.”
We got to the Camry, and Angie got in, dropping her Banana Republic package in the passenger seat. I told her not to be too late, waved goodbye, and then, once I was sure I was out of sight of her rearview mirror, sprinted back to the Virtue. Trevor, with his car in position and the engine running, was going to have the jump on me if I didn’t get out of my spot quickly. I’d end up losing both of them.
When I’d left my car, there had been a small compact car on one side of me and a massive Ford Expedition on the other. The compact had left and been replaced by some other kind of SUV, some General Motors variety. It was as though I’d parked the Virtue at the bottom of a canyon. This was the thing about these vehicles: you couldn’t see around them at intersections, you couldn’t see around them in parking lots, you couldn’t—
There really wasn’t time to work up a satisfying rant about SUVs. I had to get moving. I got into the Virtue, threw the Gap bags down in front of the passenger seat, and got my key into the ignition. The engine, much to my relief, turned over right away this time. “Yes!” I said, put the car into reverse, and turned around to see my way out of the spot.
I was looking into walls of steel—massive doors and fenders—on both sides. The only view I had of the outside world was directly behind me, across the aisle to the tail ends of some cars on the other side.
So I began to creep out. Surely, if someone saw me backing out, they would stop and let me—
Someone laid on their horn. I slammed on the brake as a car shot past. Okay, maybe not everyone was as polite as I would have hoped. I began inching out again, just a little bit, just a little bit more.
Another horn. I hit the brake again, and this time a car roared by from the other direction, but at least this motorist had the time to roll down his window and respond to me: “Watch it, asshole!”
And I thought: I do not know who you are, but if I had the time, I would get out of my car, walk over, and beat you with a tire iron. Parking lot rage.
After he drove on, I kept on inching. But two more cars went by and their drivers didn’t even bother to honk. They just drove past, figuring that I, somehow, deep down in my corridor of steel, could see them.
“Fuck it,” I said, threw the car into park, got out, and walked out into the aisle. A vehicle was driving up, and I held up my hand to stop it.
The driver put down his window. “Yeah?” he said as I approached.
“You want a spot?” I asked. “I’m pulling out.”
“Uh, no. I’m picking someone up.”
“Okay, then, just do me a favor. I’m surrounded by those two goddamn SUVs and can’t see to back out. You mind blocking everyone here for a second until I can get out?”
It wasn’t until that moment I actually noticed that this guy, who was now scowling, was behind the wheel of an SUV.
“I mean,” I said, “they’re great cars and all, super in the snow, right? But when you’re driving a little shitbox like I’ve got, it’s hard to see, you know?” He glared at me a moment longer. I did a minor eye roll and said, “It’s my wife’s car.”
He shrugged, indicating he would wait.