Where I'm Calling From

each time I ask Dean if he wants more milk, more toast, etc.
    “I’ll call you today,” Stuart says as he opens the door.
    “I don’t think I’ll be home today,” I say quickly. “I have a lot of things to do today. In fact, I may be late for dinner.”
    “All right. Sure.” He moves his briefcase from one hand to the other. “Maybe we’ll go out for dinner tonight? How would you like that?” He keeps looking at me. He’s forgotten about the girl already. “Are you all right?”
    I move to straighten his tie, then drop my hand. He wants to kiss me goodbye. I move back a step. “Have a nice day then,” he says finally. He turns and goes down the walk to his car.
    I dress carefully. I try on a hat that I haven’t worn in several years and look at myself in the mirror. Then I remove the hat, apply a light makeup, and write a note for Dean.
    Honey, Mommy has things to do this afternoon, but will be home later. You are to stay in the house or in the backyard until one of us comes home.
    Love.
    I look at the word “Love” and then I underline it. As I am writing the note I realize I don’t know whether back yard is one word or two. I have never considered it before. I think about it and then I draw a line and make two words of it.
    I stop for gas and ask directions to Summit. Barry, a forty-year-old mechanic with a moustache, comes out from the restroom and leans against the front fender while the other man, Lewis, puts the hose into the tank and begins to slowly wash the windshield.
    “Summit,” Barry says, looking at me and smoothing a finger down each side of his moustache. “There’s no best way to get to Summit, mrs Kane. It’s about a two-, two-and-a-half-hour drive each way. Across the mountains. It’s quite a drive for a woman. Summit? What’s in Summit, mrs Kane?”
    “I have business,” I say, vaguely uneasy. Lewis has gone to wait on another customer.
    “Ah. Well, if I wasn’t tied up there”—he gestures with his thumb toward the bay—”I’d offer to drive you to Summit and back again. Road’s not all that good. I mean it’s good enough, there’s just a lot of curves and so on.”
    “I’ll be all right. But thank you.” He leans against the fender. I can feel his eyes as I open my purse.
    Barry takes the credit card. “Don’t drive it at night,” he says. “It’s not all that good a road, like I said.
    And while I’d be willing to bet you wouldn’t have car trouble with this, I know this car, you can never be sure about blowouts and things like that. Just to be on the safe side I’d better check these tires.” He taps one of the front tires with his shoe. “We’ll run it onto the hoist. Won’t take long.”
    “No, no, it’s all right. Really, I can’t take any more time. The tires look fine to me.”
    “Only takes a minute,” he says. “Be on the safe side.”
    “I said no. No! They look fine to me. I have to go now. Barry….”
    “mrs Kane?”
    “I have to go now.”
    I sign something. He gives me the receipt, the card, some stamps. I put everything into my purse. “You take it easy,” he says. “Be seeing you.”
    As I wait to pull into the traffic, I look back and see him watching. I close my eyes, then open them. He waves.
    I turn at the first light, then turn again and drive until I come to the highway and read the sign: SUMMIT 117 Miles. It is ten-thirty and warm.
    The highway skirts the edge of town, then passes through farm country, through fields of oats and sugar beets and apple orchards, with here and there a small herd of cattle grazing in open pastures. Then everything changes, the farms become fewer and fewer, more like shacks now than houses, and stands of timber replace the orchards. All at once I’m in the mountains and on the right, far below, I catch glimpses of the Naches River.
    In a little while I see a green pickup truck behind me, and it stays behind me for miles. I keep slowing at the wrong times, hoping it will pass, and then increasing my speed, again at the wrong times. I grip the wheel until my fingers hurt. Then on a clear stretch he does pass, but he drives along beside for a minute, a crew-cut man in a blue workshirt in his early thirties, and we look at each other. Then he waves, toots the horn twice, and pulls ahead of me.
    I slow down and find a place, a dirt road off of the shoulder. I pull over and turn off the ignition. I can hear the river somewhere down below the trees. Ahead of me the dirt road goes