One Door From Heaven

tomorrow, and she would save money, as well.
        "Don't you try to drive all night," Aunt Gen cautioned.
        "Not to worry."
        "They don't even have a full day's head start, so you'll catch up with them easy enough."
        "I should make Sacramento by midnight. I'll get a motel there, zonk out for six hours, and try to reach Seattle by tomorrow evening. Then Nun's Lake, Idaho, late Sunday."
        "Things can happen to women alone on the road," Geneva worried.
        "True. But things can happen to women alone in their own homes."
        Putting the lid on the insulated picnic cooler, Geneva said, "Honey, if the motel clerk looks like Anthony Perkins or if some guy at a service station looks like Anthony Hopkins, or if you meet a man anywhere and he looks like Alec Baldwin, you kick him in the crotch before he has a chance to say two words, and you run."
        "I thought you shot Alec Baldwin in New Orleans."
        "You know, that man's been pushed off a tall building, drowned, stabbed, mauled by a bear, shot-but he just keeps coming back."
        "I'll be on the lookout for him," Micky promised, lifting the picnic cooler off the table. "As for Anthony Hopkins-Hannibal Lecter or not, he looks like a Huggy Bear."
        "Maybe I should go along with you, dear, ride shotgun," Geneva said, following Micky to the front door.
        "Maybe that would be a good idea if we had a shotgun." Outside, she squinted into the hard sunlight that flared off the white Camaro. "Anyway, you've got to stay here to take Noah Farrel's call."
        "What if he never calls?"
        At the car, Micky opened the passenger's door. "He will."
        "What if he can't find the proof you need?"
        "He will," Micky said, setting the cooler on the passenger's seat. "Listen, what's happened to my aunt Sunshine all of a sudden?"
        "Maybe we should call the police."
        Micky closed the car door. "Which police would we call? Here in Santa Ana? Maddoc's not in their jurisdiction anymore. Call the cops in whatever town he might be passing through in California or Oregon, or Nevada, depending on the route he's taken? Hitler could be passing through, and as long as he kept moving, they wouldn't care. Call the FBI? Me an ex-con, and them busy chasing drug lords?"
        "Maybe by the time you get to Idaho, this Mr. Farrel will have your proof, and you can go to the police up there."
        "Maybe. But it's a different world from the one you see in those old black-and-white movies, Aunt Gen. Cops cared more in those days. People cared more. Something happened. Everything changed. The whole world feels… broken. More and more, we're on our own."
        "And you think I've lost my sunshine," said Geneva.
        Micky smiled. "Well, I've never been exactly jolly. But you know, even with this damn hard thing to get done, I feel better than I've felt in… maybe better than I've ever felt."
        A shadow seemed to pass through Gen's green eyes, between the lens and an inner light, darkening her stare. "I'm scared."
        "Me too. But I'd be more scared if I wasn't doing this."
        Geneva nodded. "I packed a little jar of sweet pickles."
        "I like sweet pickles."
        "And a little jar of green olives."
        "You're the best."
        "I didn't have any pepperoncini."
        "Oh. Well, then, I guess the trip is off."
        They hugged each other. For a while, Micky thought Gen wasn't going to release her, and then she herself couldn't let go.
        Gen's words came as hushed as a prayer: "Bring her back."
        "I will," Micky whispered, half convinced that making the pledge in a louder voice would seem like bragging and would tempt fate.
        After Micky got in the car and started the engine, Gen kept one hand on the sill of the open window. "I packed three bags of M&M's."
        "After this trip, I'll be on a strict lettuce diet."
        "And, dear, there's a special treat in a small green jar. Be sure you try it with your dinner tonight."
        "I love you, Aunt Gen."
        Blotting her eyes with a Kleenex, Geneva let go of the door and stepped back from the Camaro.
        Then, as Micky pulled away, Geneva hurried after her, waving the tear-dampened tissue.
        Micky braked to a full stop, and Gen leaned down to the window again. "Little mouse, do you remember a riddle that I used to puzzle you with when you were just a