“Find anything for white elephant?” I ask when we’re back in the truck.
He shakes his head.
“Me, neither. I want something suitably bizarre.”
“I want something unforgettable.” He pages through one of his new books. “Un. For. Gettable.”
I turn to him in the cab, rubbing my hands together in front of the vents. “Now what?”
Hall eyes the landscape. Purses his lips. “Go down to the end of the street and make a turn on the corner next to Last Dollar Lanes Bowling.”
“What’s back there? Hall, you have to tell me.”
“I physically cannot. I like surprises too much.”
I make the turn; right as the bowling alley flashes by,bam!, we’re at an intersection in another town. “Damn it, Hall!”
“Brake! Brake! You have a red!” He halts the car with his magic, and I turn to glare at him.
“Where are we?”
His soulful gaze is a dangerous counterattack, melting my scowl away. “Morris, Wisconsin. I found a brochure in the tower room of your grandparents’ house for this weird little place called...”He fishes the brochure out of his pocket and smooths its trifold illustrations. “The Junk Yard. It’s supposed to feature all kinds of curiosities, and you said you wanted a bizarre white elephant gift, so I think it might be the place. They haveBeetlejuicewallpaper. A teapot engraved with the entire text ofAlice in Wonderland. Taxidermied raccoons.”
“Sounds promising.” I’d love for Athena’s husband to have to deal with a dead raccoon. “Which direction do I go?”
“Straight. According to the map, there’s this big round bend in the road, and it’s off to the right.”
There’s no snow on the ground here, but it’s been raining, mixed with sleet. Only when my eyes are straining to glimpse past the windshield wipers and the headlights have automatically switched on do I realize the sun is going down. I hate that it gets dark so early in winter.
I spot a large building with bright-burning windows and Hall exclaims, “There!” I slow down, but there’s no mistaking the timber sign out front, held up by the paws of an enormous metal grizzly bear standing on its hind legs.Fireside.The place is clearly a restaurant now.
“Sorry, Hall. Looks like they went out of business.”
“Wanna go in, anyway? I’m famished.”
“The parking lot’s full.” As I mention it, a Jeep passing in the other lane turns in front of us, on their way to dinner. “We’ll be waiting ages for a table.”
“If we keep looking, maybe we’ll find another curiosities shop nearby. Sometimes when businesses close, it’s because they’re moving to a bigger location, right?”
“Worth a try.”
I drive around, passing through a town called Beaufort, but we don’t wander across anything that resembles the place in Hall’s brochure. We try a couple regular stores, with little success aside from discovering a music album calledHow to Be a Human Being, which piques Hall’s interest. I see several thousand things I’d want for myself, and Hall sees several thousand things he’d want to give out “as stocking stuffers,” but nothing good enough for his white elephant. He’s putting tremendous pressure on himself. This is going to be the gift of the century. The millennium.
Our trip should be considered a bust: we’ve been driving all day with not much to show for it aside from the indie rock album, finger paints, and Hall’s new books. I glance sidelong at Hall as he pages through one of them, which he’s angling away from me becauseIt contains too much magic for mortal eyes, and I’m hit with a pang of disappointment that the day is drawing to an end.
Hall fiddles with the radio, trying to retain Christmas music stations as we move out of range. “You were right, we should have gone into that restaurant back there,” I lament, my stomach grumbling. “I’m starving.”
“Can I pick where we go? I love trying new places.”
Hall wants to go to White Castle, because it’s “majestic, don’t you think?” but changes his mind at the last second. “Let’s try Rally’s.” So I drive to Rally’s, but right as I’m about to make the turn, he cries, “Little Caesars! Please? Sorry. I won’t change my mind again. I just love that Little Caesars commercial, the one where the two people lay their heads flat on the table to look at how thin the crust is. It’s so thin.”
But the Little Caesars sign reminds him, somehow, that Dunkin’ Donuts exists.
“Hall!” I snap through clenched teeth, switching my turn signal off. The car behind me has watched this happen twice, and honks.
“Iknow, but it’s Dunkin’Donuts, Bettie.” He gazes pleadingly at me. “I swear on my life, all I want is a donut hole. Give me a pile of donut holes, and I’ll die happy.” He pauses. “It’s dawning on me that I might be able to die now that I’m in a human body. A beautiful human male body.” Another pause. “I believe I am having an existential crisis.”
Dunkin’ Donuts is closed. His crisis escalates.
