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“One Christmas elf, coming right up,” he says.
“Just hurry,” Emily snaps. “I don’t want to miss her. This is agony.”
She turns the wheelchair to face the door. Roddy presses a button and the door rolls back. The ramp slides out. Emily rides it down to the pavement. Roddy puts on the four-way flashers and gets out. They have debated the flashers at great length and have finally decided they have to take the risk. They can’t afford to miss her. Em is bad and Roddy isn’t in great shape himself. His hips hurt and his hands are stiff, but the real problem is his mind. It keeps drifting. It’s not Alzheimer’s, he refuses to believe that, but he’s definitely gotten muzzy. A fresh infusion of brains will put him right. And the rest will put Em right. Especially the Christmas elf’s liver, that’s the holy grail, the sacrament, but no part of the animal must be wasted. It isn’t just his motto; it’s his mantra.
8:06.
Bonnie has put the package of Ho Hos back, not without regret. She comes to the counter, billfold in hand. She carries it in her hip pocket, like a man.
“Why don’t you think again about those Ho Hos?” Emilio says as he rings her up. “You’re in good shape, they won’t hurt you.”
“Get thee behind me, Satan. My body is a temple.”
“If you say so,” Emilio replies. “At Jet Mart—this one, anyway—the customer is always right.”
They both laugh. Bonnie pockets her change, slides her backpack off one shoulder, and puts her bottle of soda inside. She plans to sip it while watching Ozark on Netflix. She zips the pack closed and shoulders it.
“Have a good night, Emilio.”
He gives her a thumbs-up.
8:07.
Bonnie puts on her helmet, mounts her bike, and pauses just long enough to adjust one of her pack’s straps. Not far down the hill, across from the part of the park known as the Thickets, Emily is piloting her wheelchair around the rear of the van. The pavement is cracked and uneven. Each time the wheelchair dips and sways there’s an explosion of pain in her lower back. She presses her lips together to keep from crying out, but she can’t help moaning.
“Flag her down!” It’s part whisper, part growl. “Don’t fail, Roddy, please don’t fail!”
Roddy has no intention of failing. If Bonnie won’t stop for him, he’ll kick her off her bike as she tries to pass by. Assuming, of course, that his hips are up to the task. What he would give to be fifty again! Even sixty!
He turns to Em and sees something he doesn’t like. The wheelchair’s guide-light is still on, shining down on the pavement. Hard to believe a wheelchair has a dead battery if the light is still working! And the girl is coming, speeding down the hill.
“Turn off the light!” he whispers. “Emily, turn off the goddam guide-light!”
She does, just in time. Because here’s the girl, their Christmas elf.
Roddy steps off the sidewalk, waving his arms. “Can you help us, please? We need help!”
Bonnie speeds past, and she’s too far into the street for him to even think about karate-kicking her off the bike. He has an instant to see all their planning going to waste, diminishing as the bike’s flashing red taillight diminishes downhill. But then the girl brakes, swerves, and comes back. He doesn’t know if it was him waving his arms, the four-way flashers, the desire to be a good Samaritan, or all three. He’s just relieved.
She pedals slowly, a little wary at first, but there’s more than enough light left in the day for her to see who was waving her down. “Professor Harris? What’s up? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Em. Her sciatica is very bad, and the battery in her wheelchair died. Is it possible you could help me get her inside? The ramp is on the other side. I want to take her home.”
“Bonnie?” Emily asks weakly. “Bonnie Dahl, is that you?”
“It is. Oh my God, Emily, I’m so sorry!”
Bonnie dismounts her bike and pushes down the kickstand. She hurries to Emily and bends over her. “What happened? Why did you stop here?”
A car passes. It slows; Roddy’s heart stops. Then it speeds up again.
Emily has no good answer for Bonnie’s question, so she just moans.
“We need to get her around to the other side,” Roddy repeats. “Can you help me push?”
He bends as if to take one of the wheelchair’s rear handles, but Bonnie hips him aside and grabs both. She turns the wheelchair and pushes it around the back of the van. Emily whimpers at each bounce and jounce. Roddy skirts the ramp, leans in the open driver’s side door, and kills the four-way flashers. That’s one less thing to worry about, he thinks.
“Should I call someone?” Bonnie asks. “My phone—”
