“Is there anything else? Something that’s maybe not part of a gas station?”
“I don’t know. Nate’s, I guess.”
“Nate’s. What’s that?” I asked.
“An ice cream store. They sing when they serve you. It’s kind of weird. Little kids like it. I don’t know if it’s still open, though.”
“Wow, perfect. A weird singing ice cream place,” I said. “That’s exactly what we’re looking for. We were just saying that. How far is it?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes.” She placed the check facedown on our table and walked away.
“Nate’s, a singing ice cream place,” I said. “Sounds too good to pass up. I think we should all go. Have some quality family time, explore the region, make some memories.”
“Sorry, but I’ll pass,” Karen said. “I’ve had enough family time today.”
“Don’t confuse quantity family time with quality family time,” I said. “Too many people make that mistake.”
“I’m not going either,” Mindy said. “Naked and Afraid is on tonight.”
“I’m starting to get disappointed.”
“Maybe the waitress will go with you,” Mindy said. “She seems like fun.”
“I’d be happy to accompany you,” said Mary.
I tried to swallow my surprise and delight. “Really? Well, thank you, Miss Ex-Wife. Ethan and I would enjoy your company.”
“Ethan can stay back with us,” Karen said. “We’ll take him swimming.”
“Swimming!” Ethan finally looked up from the Etch A Sketch.
“We will?” Mindy asked.
“Yes,” Karen said. “We will.”
“Swimming!”
Mindy’s eyes darted around the table. “Right, swimming, yeah, sure.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering what Mary thought of this arrangement. “You up for some singing and ice cream?”
“Sure.” She reached for her red bag. “I’m always up for ice cream.”
*
Even though it had been a while, years possibly, since Mary and I had been alone together in a car, the drive over to Nate’s felt very familiar. She sat crossed-legged, looking out her window, while I drove slowly with the radio on low. It was a fine evening, warm and windy, and memories of past drives, past summer evenings together, before the girls, before Ethan, before everything, filled me.
“Nice. Outside,” I said.
“Beautiful.”
“So, how do you think Karen’s doing?”
“She’s still in the day-by-day phase. In the long run, though, this is a good thing. I never liked him.”
“Neither did I. That jaw of his.”
“There were worse things than that about him.”
“You’re right—there’s a whole list. She can do better than that. She’ll meet someone else.”
“She will.”
“And I’m looking forward to punching whoever it is.”
She surprised me with a small laugh. “I have news for you. You aren’t very good at that.”
I held my fist up. “Say hello to my little friend!”
“God. Please.”
I stopped at an intersection, glanced down at directions the waitress with the purple hair had given me, and made a left onto a dimly lit street. “Glad they seem to be getting along again, Mindy and Karen.”
“Yes, it is. It is.”
“Hope it lasts.”
“I think it will.” She lowered her window and hung her arm out on the side of the van. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard her softly humming along to the radio.
“Anyone else call? The cousins?”
“They’re calling. But I don’t want to talk. They just want to gossip, want the Roger–Karen lowdown. I don’t have time for that. I just want to focus on what we’re doing now. Get there.”
“Does anyone else know where we’re going?”
“Just the Sals.”
We were now in Mason, a few deserted blocks of dreary-looking storefronts, half of which looked unoccupied. The streetlights hadn’t come on yet, and in the twilight, the empty town looked like it was vanishing.
“Ethan had a pretty good day today, for the most part,” I said.
“Thanks mostly to you. I should have helped out more. But once you got going, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“I haven’t really focused on this, dropping him off. I don’t think it’s really hit me, what we’re doing, totally hit me. I don’t have time to think. When you’re with him, you can’t think. You know how it is. And when you have a free minute, you’re too fried to think. This whole trip is a blur.”
I guess I meant this as an invitation to talk about Ocean View—we were in the shadow of New England, getting close—but Mary didn’t respond. She just raised her window and pointed. “There it is,” she said.
*