Caeli Widger - Mother of Invention

“Go to hell, Gary.”

“Message me an acceptance of this order within five minutes. Copy Winger and Hurst. Clock’s starting now.”

Borlav hung up.

Wayne lowered his phone to his side and squeezed it as if he might break it. During the conversation he’d been impervious to the cold night air, but now he was freezing. He tilted his head and looked up at a hazy smudge of stars in the sky. City stars. At the Colony, they were clear and abundant, constellations traceable with a finger, the Milky Way a gauzy net.

Pulse beating fast in his neck, he raised his phone and hovered his thumb over the keyboard. Typed “Accept.” Sent the single word to Borlav, copying Winger and Hurst.

Then he hurled the device into the river.

2021

The morning was cool and fresh, dew beading the grass as Wayne steered a silver Ford Focus, rented that morning, through the lanes of the Weldon campus to its Route 16 exit, then to pick up the Mass Pike, which would connect them to I-93, a straight shot north to New Hampshire.

He’d told Viv he wanted to take her away for the weekend. An early graduation present, before her parents came to town for the June 11 ceremony. Anywhere she wanted, he said. This was a part of his process, letting them choose a destination. It kept them calm for as long as possible, created the illusion of their control. Of normalcy.

She’d wanted to hike to Arethusa Falls, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Fine. He’d assessed the location and found a viable airstrip along the way.

So New Hampshire it was. He’d chosen a bed-and-breakfast in a town near the trailhead. Sent her the link, to which she’d responded with the smiley face emoji with hearts for eyes.

But of course, he never actually booked the room. How he wished he could have. How he wished they were actually going to New Hampshire to hike through the pure mountain air and swim in a waterfall.

Wayne steered through the campus with one hand on the wheel and the other on Viv’s knee. Staring out into the brilliant spring morning, watching her classmates amble around campus, giddy, he could almost pretend they were a normal couple, headed out on a spontaneous weekend trip. Viv scrolled through the music app on the car’s console and selected something with jangly guitar and a nasally guy on vocals.

“Sensitive white boys,” Wayne said. “My favorite.”

“The Nocturnalists are the best sensitive white boys,” said Viv. “Give them ten minutes and I bet you’ll agree.”

“You need a little punk rock in your bloodstream, babe,” said Wayne. “And maybe some old-school country.”

“My bloodstream will tolerate no such thing.”

“I love that about you.” Wayne slowed to a toll booth, lowered his window to pay it.

Beyond the toll was the interstate, and Wayne accelerated. As the Focus picked up speed and Viv played songs she loved, she watched one of Wayne’s hands begin to drum the steering wheel ever so slightly, indicating that he was maybe a little bit into the Nocturnalists. Viv cracked the car window to let the fresh morning air swirl through the car. Traffic on I-93 was light and she watched billboards and green exit signs whiz by.

Wayne closed the car window.

“Hey,” said Viv. “Wasn’t the air nice?”

“It was. But too loud.”

An exit appeared and Wayne signaled and veered onto the ramp.

“You hungry?” he said. “I’m kind of hungry. And we need gas.”

Viv glanced at the gas gauge. “It’s practically half full, Captain Cautious. And I just watched you eat a ginormous breakfast an hour ago. Can’t you wait for lunch?”

“Sorry, can’t wait,” said Wayne. “Something about being on the road makes me hungry.” He reached over and squeezed her knee.

He turned off the ramp onto a commercial road with a few gas stations and motels. He drove right by them.

“Hello, gas?” said Viv.

“There’s this diner about two miles down I want to take you to.”

As he expected, a large doughnut-shaped sign with MITZIE’S DONUTS & SANDWICHESwritten around it appeared. Their surroundings had turned green and pastoral: Laconia, New Hampshire. CITY OF THE LAKES, read the welcome sign. POPULATION 18,061.

Wayne parked in the lot and stepped out of the car.

“Hang on,” said Viv, rummaging in her purse for her phone. “I want to take a picture of that sign.”

He watched her check the pockets of her jacket, then compartments of the car door, and then the glove box. No device. It wasn’t in her overnight bag on the floor of the back seat, either.

“Hey,” she said, stepping away from the car. “I can’t find my phone. Have you seen it?”

“Nope,” he said. “But you had it at breakfast. It must be in there somewhere.” He gestured to the silver car. “We’ll find it after we eat.”

Inside, they sat down in a red vinyl booth. A waitress with a green apron took their order: eggs and a doughnut for Wayne, a baconless Cobb salad for Viv.

“This place is great,” said Viv. “How’d you find it?”

“I can’t reveal my sources.”

“Ha ha.”

They fell silent for a minute. He reminded himself to act normal, to keep talking.

“Want to play a game?” Wayne asked.

“What, like an icebreaker?”

“Just something my family used to play on road trips when I was a kid.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. It’s called Something You Might Not Know.”

“Never heard of it.”

“The rules are simple. You guess a secret you think I have. Out loud. That’s it.”

“Weird.” She took a bite of her salad. “How do you win?”

“It’s not a clear-cut thing. It’s all in the reaction of the other person. The winning comes in the form of personal satisfaction. You want to go first?”

“Um, okay. You secretly cry at the end of cheesy movies,” she said.

“Are you kidding? Of course I do. Like a baby.” He took a bite of fried egg. “Okay, my turn. When you were a kid, you planned to run away.”

Viv started. “How’d you know that?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You’re right. Bags packed, allowance saved, route plotted.”

“Why’d you want to go? Was your mom really that bad?”

“I wish I could say she did something awful. That she was cruel or indifferent. I suppose, in little ways, she was cruel. Always pushing the athletics and weight control. But that was the extent of it. My dad was harmless enough also. His biggest offense was his passivity.”

“So why the runaway fantasies?”

“It was this sense that they didn’t understand me,” said Viv. “The way all teenagers feel, right? My turn now.” She paused, thinking. “You used to be religious.”

This startled him. He’d never told her. “Bingo. Harlem, Montana, Church of Christ Youth Group, grades ten through twelve.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. The youth group leader was this guy named Greg. Greg Harsell. I’ll never forget him. He exuded this total peace and calm, like he’d found the golden key to existence. It was all so straightforward. Singular answers: Christ, the Bible.”

“Let me guess. He ended up a heroin addict.”

Wayne forced a laugh. “Probably.”

The waitress cleared their plates and brought the check. Wayne paid it and stood up.

“Shall we?”

Back in their rental car, Viv remembered her missing phone and searched for it again.

“Dammit. I must have left it at Weldon.”

“So you’ll just go without it this weekend. Isn’t that kind of romantic?”

Viv thought for a moment. “Yes. Okay. I guess it sort of is.”