HE PACED ACROSS the living room, the rubber scaly feet of the costume squeaking madly.
“You can apply for another one,” said Lin.
“The conference is in four days. There’s no time!”
“Another driver’s license, I mean.”
“Lin! That means a test. A driving test! Did you forget the last one?”
She shook her head. “I wish I could. Don’t you have another I.D.?”
“I’ve got that matricula consular card from Mexico, but that won’t get me past airport security. This isn’t the land of free love and honey, or for that matter, the Land of Dairy Queen.”
“How about a private plane?”
“I’m not made of diamonds and gold, Lin. I’m made of water and salt and other nasty bits that aren’t worth anything.”
“Well, I don’t like saying this, Dean, but you’ll have to miss the conference. There’s no way around it.”
Dean put hands on his hips and stared at her.
“All right, I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t see how you’re going to get to Virginia––”
“WEST Virginia.”
“Okay. I don’t see how you’ll get wherever it is without flying.”
“West Virginia may be a dangerous heap of coal trucks, Cracker Barrels, and John Denver, God rest his soul,” said Dean, “But it’s definitely more than a ‘wherever.’”
A rock-guitar riff burst from his cell phone.
“That sounds familiar,” said Lin.
“It’s the opening music for Space Questions. Hello?”
His father’s voice floated into Dean’s ear. “Morning, son.”
“Good morning.”
“Is something wrong, Dean? You don’t sound well.”
“It’s nothing. Just having a rough day.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No, don’t worry about it.”
His father laughed. “Happy birthday, anyway. Your mother is on her way over, so your day is looking up. She’s been talking about the party forever. I really want to be there too, but I have to go to Santa Cruz with my favorite son Steve and lay out. Did I say favorite son? I’m sorry, I meant favorite son-in-law. If I don’t get some color on these legs soon, people will be throwing holy water and pounding stakes through my chest. Which reminds me, I’m absolutely starving.”
“Thanks, Dad. It’s the thought that counts.”
“I’m glad you agree. Oh––I have to go, Steve’s calling.”
“Right. Bye.”
Dean shoved the phone in his pocket. “We’re leaving now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Stop asking questions, Lin! My mother will be here any second!”
Lin scrambled for her keys and purse as Dean’s scaly green claws pushed her out the door.
The familiar blat-blat of a massive V-8 vibrated the neighborhood. Try to imagine that scene from Duel but with frightened Bengal tigers on Harleys being chased by an F-350 with missing exhaust, then wipe that image from your mind because how could you sleep at night, friend?
Dean groaned. “Too late.”
The pink monstrosity of Chip’s ambulance––otherwise known as the PPPP––sat on the driveway nearby. Dean and Lin sprinted across the concrete and crouched behind it.
A black F-350 with missing exhaust roared down the street and slowed in front of Lin’s house. The driver parallel parked with expert precision and window-rattling revs. The engine died with a clatter, and Dean’s mother stepped out.
Short and muscular like a wrestler, she wore ripped jeans, dusty work boots, and a wife-beater T-shirt with a faded “What?” across the front. Her short, strawberry-blonde hair stood out from her head in angry spikes. She lunged across the lawn in wide, confident steps and banged on the front door.
“Let me talk to her,” whispered Lin. “I’ll say you’re out or something.”
“We tried that last time,” said Dean. “She broke through your barely adequate psychic defenses around the third syllable.”
“Well, what do we do? We can’t hide in this driveway forever.”
Dean rubbed his chin. “I’d call the police, but she probably has a few warrants out and muggins here would be the one posting bail. Maybe she’ll get frustrated and leave.”
His phone rang. Dean looked at the number and cleared his throat.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of motivational speaker Dr. Dean Cook. I’m currently out of the office right now. In Barbados, actually. It’s very nice this time of year. Barbados, by the way, is in the Caribbean and very, very far from where I usually live.”
“Pick up, Dean,” yelled his mother.
“Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. From Barbados, which is in a different time zone, and it’s probably three in the morning right now or something so I’m sleeping. BEEP.”
He closed the phone.
“She won’t believe you’re in Barbados.”
“I panicked, Lin.”
They lay on the oil-stained concrete and peered under the ambulance. Dean’s mother banged on the door for a few minutes, then sat in a wicker chair on the porch. She leaned back and rested her boots on the wooden railing.
“Bad news,” whispered Lin. “Looks like she’s in it to win it.”
“What?”
“She’s not going anywhere for a long time, Dean.”
Several plans for escape were whispered between them and discarded, when a car parked behind the F-350 and Chip walked up with yellow bags from Best Buy. Dean’s mother stood up and shook his hand. After a short conversation, Chip opened the front door and escorted her into the house.
“Time for Plan B,” said Dean.
“What’s that?”
“When the first plan doesn’t work.”
“I mean, what’s YOUR Plan B?”
“Chip’s ambulance has a bed, right?”
Lin nodded. “It’s like a small camper. He spent a lot of money on the interior. There’s even a chemical toilet.”
“Let’s go while they’re still inside.”
“I can’t steal my son’s car!”
“We’re just borrowing the vehicle. Seriously, Lin, how many cars does one person need? We’ll drive in shifts and make it to Charleston in time for the conference. If my sister drove cross-country in three days, so can I.”
Lin sighed. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Dean nodded and painfully cracked the back of his head on the ambulance undercarriage.
“That stung a bit. You’re right, Lin, it’s a horrible idea. Let’s go inside, put on our best smiles, and have my mother and her friends throw the same kind of birthday party as last year. Joanie and I had to buy new furniture and cats, and the neighbors still think we were filming the sequel to Road House.”
“I’ll drive,” said Lin.